“She caught me off guard. Look, I know I need more control but I can do it myself. I don’t need help.”
Silas ran his tongue along his upper teeth. “Want a drink before Selene gets here?”
Blowing out a deep breath, Jason nodded. “I’d love one.” The crawling feeling was back, under his skin, and his suit felt heavy and constricting. He removed his jacket and unbuttoned his top two buttons.
Although Jason kept a large variety of liquors stocked in the bar next to the fireplace, Silas went straight for the bourbon, pouring two glasses of Pappy Van Winkle. Jason didn’t waste a second. He tossed the stuff back like it was lemonade and held his glass out for another. Silas obliged.
“Selene will be here soon. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“What?”
Silas made eye contact and held it. “You will not leave this apartment without Selene’s permission.”
It was an alpha command. The words sifted through Jason’s cells and formed a heavy weight over his heart as his body processed the command. He snorted derisively. “You bastard.”
“I didn’t like the way you looked at her in the cabin. Almost like you hated her. You need her, Jason. Don’t fuck this up by pushing her away.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Jason slammed the glass down on the counter. “I’m tired. Being brought back from the dead can do that to a person. I’m going to bed.”
“Jason—”
He turned on his heel and headed for his room, leaving Silas standing by the bar.
Goddess,he was an asshole. Locked in his room, Jason stared at the ceiling, the cruel ache of unfulfilled need gathering like a two-ton weight between his thighs. He’d heard Selene arrive and Silas leave, but instead of welcoming her or thanking her for saving his life, he’d stayed locked in his room, brooding over his predicament.
Why he’d thought he could sleep, he wasn’t sure. His cock had an entirely different plan and the long, thick length of him was currently pitching a tent in his covers. He stroked a hand over his sunken abs and palmed that sucker, stroking himself slowly from base to tip. It was a small reprieve, like a sip of air to a drowning man, but he’d suffered under his vice long enough to know the relief would be short-lived. Self-gratification tended to sate his inner beast for a short time, only to be followed by an increased desire for sex. It was like putting out the fire with gasoline.
As he arched his back and rolled his hips, pumping harder and faster, the build of pleasure felt like a roller coaster chugging toward that first major drop. He went over the edge, free-falling down the other side with a clear view of the broken track ahead.
And thenshewas there. It wasn’t his hand but Nickelova’s moving against him. He rolled onto his side and bound from the bed, just barely making it to the bathroom before self-loathing turned his stomach. He heaved but there was nothing inside him to purge. When he was done, he checked his room, under the bed, in his closet. Thankfully, Nickie had been a figment of his imagination this time. Even the thought of her made everything feel dirty, tainted.
He turned on the shower and let the heat build. Stripping out of his pajamas, he stepped into the scalding water and scrubbed. His wolf was already revved up again, and as predicted, the edge of his need was sharper than before. He scrubbed harder, trading the need for pleasure for the sting of pain. Nickelova was on the edge of every orgasm, it seemed, curse or not. As he tipped his head back into the spray, he swore. He would not let her win. No fucking way.
Hours later,Jason lay on his floor, alternating sit-ups and push-ups in an effort to distract himself from his vice. Only problem was, he could smell Selene. Ripe mango and vanilla. She was right outside his door. There were other smells: food, breakfast he assumed. But his brain dismissed everything except the scent of the female. His inner wolf paced restlessly, eager to be in the presence of a woman. “Not this one,” Jason said under his breath. “This one is seriously off-limits.”
Unlocking the door, he passed through the short corridor into the great room, frowning when he saw a pallet of blankets on the floor next to the sofa beside the ugliest brown plaid bag he’d ever seen. Was that her luggage? Had she slept on the floor last night? He clenched a fist against his stomach. Why hadn’t Silas set her up in the guestroom?
After a cursory check of the room, he saw the shape of her seated silhouette through the morning dew on the glass door to his balcony. Quietly, he slipped outside. She’d exchanged her silk robe for jeans that bagged in all the wrong places and a T-shirt he found wholly unacceptable. Her complicated chignon was gone, replaced with a ponytail.
Legs crisscrossed on the concrete, her eyes were closed, her back straight, hands folded in her lap. He stepped around her. That couldn’t be comfortable. It was cold out here, the spring chill hanging in the morning air. She should have a mat or better yet, a chair under her.
“Why didn’t you sleep in the guest room last night?” he said sharply. More sharply than he’d intended.
Her eyes opened, the sunrise constricting her pupils and turning her irises an intense shade of violet. He had to consciously stop himself from gasping. His lips parted and for a moment he just took her in. A flock of black birds chose that moment to take off from the roof, their flapping wings and morning caws contrasting the weighty silence of her presence. It was as if she owned the air around her. The effect was intense.
“Good morning,” she said, a soft, pleasant smile warming her face. “I wasn’t comfortable settling into your guestroom without your permission. I’m here to help you, not to make myself at home.”
Jason tried to respond but the words stuck in his throat. He wiped a hand over his mouth and cleared the thickness from his vocal cords. “I… I can’t have you sleeping on the floor. Come on.” Roughly, he reached out and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her off the concrete and through the glass door. Aside from a guttural grunt, she didn’t protest, though he suspected he was hurting her.
Moving like this, dragging her behind him like a child, kept him from thinking of her as a woman. He couldn’t afford to look at her too closely or to consider the way her cotton T-shirt hugged her curves, not with his wolf pressing against his skin. Not with the crawling need that had kept him up all night.
He swept her ugly brown bag into the crook of his arm and lifted the pallet from the floor. He didn’t stop until they were standing in his guest room, the plush gray of the comforter absorbing the impact of her things. “Until I can convince Silas to send you away, you’ll stay in here. Understand?”
“Okay,” she said softly.
“It would help if you told Silas I don’t need you.”
“But you do need me.”
