River Wolf(70)

Her soft cries grew in volume, and he knew the moment he hit the right spot. Three strokes and she came apart so beautifully in his arms. Releasing the leash, he drove into her, heightening the pleasure for both of them until his balls drew up tight and his orgasm crashed through. Catching himself before he collapsed atop her, he lowered himself carefully and nuzzled her throat.

A gentle hand feathered over his back, then drifted down as her breathing began to even. It took several moments to calm his respiration. When he lifted his head, however, he found her fast asleep. The faint, nasal sound of her snores pulled a low chuckle from him. She hadn’t been kidding about not liking early mornings. Easing from her body slowly, he rolled onto his side. Her soft, exhaled sigh tugged at his heart.

Off the bed, he walked into the bathroom and ran a washcloth under warm water. She’d already been sore and tender before their morning wake up call. Back in his bed, he cleaned her gently, stopping any motion the moment the muscles in her face flickered. Once finished, he tugged the blankets over her and tucked her in.

Secure and safe, she rolled onto her side and burrowed against his pillow. The simple, artless act filled him with absolute tenderness. The unfamiliar emotion crept from the dark places where he’d barricaded it away. Brushing the hair away from her face, he made an oath. Whatever she was, however she’d come to him, he would take care of her.

Friend. Lover. Temptress.

A glance at the clock told him it was barely six-thirty. If she held to pattern, it would be several hours before she truly woke. As hard as it was to leave her alone in his bed, he satisfied himself with the knowledge that she was in his bed. Fifteen minutes later, he’d showered pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans before checking on her again. She hadn’t moved.

Damn, she really could sleep. Unable to leave without kissing her, he paused at the side of the bed and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Sleep, gorgeous. I am going to find the answers we both need.”

Once downstairs, he started a pot of coffee for himself and threw together a sandwich. He was famished, but he’d save the real breakfast for his lover when she woke truly. While the coffee brewed, he straightened the stone porch and collected their discarded clothing.

His phone was in the back pocket of his jeans. He hadn’t missed it—though apparently he’d missed more than one call. Holding his sandwich in his teeth for a moment, he fired off a message to his assistant. Cancel all his meetings for the next week, reschedule them at her discretion. What couldn’t be canceled, send one of the VPs in his place. Business taken care of, he sent a second text to Pierce. The idiot Thompson Trio was on house arrest for a month. At the end of thirty days, he expected them in his Manhattan office or at one of the Ivy League schools which accepted them, he didn’t care which. If they flouted any of those rules; Pierce could discipline them as he saw fit.

The senior Hunter replied with a simple acknowledgement. Leaving the dirty clothes in his laundry room, he smiled at the sight of their clothes rumpled together. Then he carried his phone into the kitchen for his coffee and dialed Gillian’s number. The little healer answered on the second ring.

“What’s wrong?” A valid question, since he never woke her.

Owen’s response was far grumpier. “It better be an emergency.”

“It is,” Brett said, ignoring the Willow Bend Hunter’s testiness. He had no time for games. Colby needed him to know what was going.

Beginning with how a woman could be a wolf not wolf.







“If I asked you a question one might consider prying, would you answer it?” Brett’s question put her on guard. She’d slept in till a hedonistic noon. She’d indulged herself in a long soothing shower, easing muscles, which ached in all the right ways. Hell, she even had a hickey and it made her grin stupid every time she caught sight of it in the mirror. When she’d emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, she found Brett waiting for her on the bed with breakfast and coffee.

What a wonderful man. The utter domesticity of lounging on the bed in a towel, with her damp hair clinging to her cheeks while he alternately ate his breakfast and fed her bits of his bacon added to the utter indulgence of the morning. …until he asked that question.

Bypassing the orange juice, she claimed her cup of coffee. He’d added a wealth of little healthy things to the waffles, eggs and bacon including fresh fruit and the aforementioned juice. “Well that depends,” she said, taking a sip.

“On?”

The rigid lines ticking in his jaw seemed to have vanished over night. The deep gray t-shirt he wore clung to what she knew was very chiseled, exceptionally sexy musculature. And he was barefoot to boot. Small changes, but they relaxed him. He hadn’t combed his hair away from his face, either. An errant lock fell over his forehead and it transformed him from remote and intimidating to fucking adorable. But she didn’t plan to alert him to his cuteness factor.