We’re standing too close now. I can see the small flecks of gold in his dark eyes, count the stubble along his jaw. My wolf senses pick up his heartbeat—faster than it should be for someone soseemingly in control. There’s something else, too, mixing with his cologne.
The unmistakable scent of arousal.
Oh.
Hamilton isn’t just angry.
He’s turned on.
And horrifyingly, disgustingly, my body is responding in kind.
“I’m after saving Wolfstone,” I say, but my voice has lost some of its edge. “Nothing more.”
“Bullshit.” His grip on my wrist relaxes slightly, his thumb moving in a small circle against my pulse point. “You want something from us. From me.”
“I want you to go to hell.”
His laugh is deep, rumbling. “You want something, alright. I can smell it on you, Wolf.”
Damn these heightened senses. Damn my body’s betrayal. Damn Hamilton Porkwell and his ability to see right through me.
“So are you,” I snap, but I don’t pull away. I should, but I don’t.
“Am I?” His free hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from my face, the touch feather-light and completely at odds with the tension crackling between us. “Tell me you’re not curious. Tell me you haven’t wondered.”
“Wondered what?”
“What would it be like? With me instead of Percy.”
That’s when I realize… Hamilton is jealous. “You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re lying.” His hand slides to the back of my neck, firm and possessive. “You’ve thought about it. Just like I’ve thought about you, sprawled across my bed instead of his.”
I should knee him in the groin. I should shift right here and tear his throat out. Before I can finish my thought, Hamilton surges forward, his lips crushing against mine, and instead oftearing away, my traitorous body clings to him, matching his fiery passion.
Hamilton responds instantly, a growl of victory rumbling in his chest as he backs me against the wall. His kiss is nothing like Percy’s careful exploration. It’s an invasion, brutal and demanding, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth as his body pins mine against the cold concrete.
I bite his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. He hisses, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat. His teeth—blunt, human, but no less dangerous—scrape along my jugular.
“Fucking wolf,” he mutters against my skin. “Driving me crazy for months.”
“Shut up,” I gasp, clawing at his suit jacket, tearing it open with zero concern for what I assume is a multi-thousand-dollar piece of fabric. “Just shut up.”
His hand leaves my hair to grab my ass, lifting me against the wall. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist; the position pressing the hard length of him against my core, separated by layers of clothing that suddenly feel absolutely intolerable.
“I hate you,” I pant, as his teeth find the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. “I hate you so much.”
“The feeling’s mutual.” His hands are under my shirt now, rough and possessive against my skin. “But that doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to fuck you senseless since the first time you stormed into my office, all righteous fury and wild eyes.”
His crude words send a shock of heat straight to my core. This is wrong on so many levels.
He’s the enemy.
He’s Percy’s brother.
He’s everything I’m fighting against.
And yet, I can’t stop myself from grinding against him, seeking friction where I need it most.
