Page 153 of The ARC Unit: Breach

Another draft moved beneath the door and across my bare skin. More goosebumps tightened along my thighs and over the curve of my ass. My nipples stayed hard in the cold, and the air between my legs made the warmth there feel embarrassingly obvious even though nobody could possibly see it. My hair brushed across my bare back when I reached for his shirt.

Wolf’s shoulders rose with one slow breath.

I stopped.

“You still facing the wall?”

“You can see me, Mercer.”

“I can see your back.”

“Then you have your answer.”

Even now, the asshole could find a technicality. I pulled his shirt over my head.

His scent caught around me before the fabric had even settled. The shirt was warm from the locker, heavier than my sleep shirt and far too large through the shoulders. The hem fell to the middle of my thighs, but when I lifted my arms to pull my hair free from the collar, cool air slipped underneath and moved over skin that was still completely bare beneath it.

I tugged the hem lower.

“Done.”

Wolf turned, looking at my face first before his attention drifted toward the open locker. One edge of my underwear had slipped out from beneath the wet clothes, and his eyes paused there just long enough for me to realize what he was putting together.

When he looked back at me, the understanding was already there. Warmth rushed into my face, then settled lower beneath the shirt.

His eyes dropped to the hem brushing my thighs.

He didn’t stare. That would have been easier to fight. His attention simply registered the length of the shirt, the bare legs below it and the absence of anything hanging anywhere else that could plausibly be under it.

“Don’t,” I whispered.

His eyes returned to mine. “Didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“You hung them on my locker.”

I looked toward the underwear and immediately regretted the decision to place them there.

“They were wet.”

“I gathered.”

His eyes held mine long enough that the room felt considerably smaller all of a sudden. Then Wolf reached past me toward the second locker. I went still. His arm passed beside my shoulder, close enough that the hair along my forearm lifted anyway, and he pulled a folded gray blanket from the lower shelf.

“Bed,” he said.

“You really need another tone.”

“Why?”

I glanced from him to the shirt I was wearing.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“I hate you.”

“Get in bed, Mercer.”