Not that I want him to fight Mayfield… okay, maybe I do a little.
No, Noa, stop!I bonk my head on Havoc’s chest, completely forgetting the man in front of us for that moment of distracting alpha muscle, and my head shoots back to the horror at my door.
“What are you doing here?” My voice wobbles, and I hate it. I hate how fear controls me even after two years of being away.
“I can’t shop for a blanket?”
“We’re not open.” Havoc cuts into our conversation. His arms slide off me, and I nearly whine from the loss as he steps in front of me.
“Who's this?”
“Who are you?” Havoc asks, and he takes a deep, noticeable inhale, and I’m confused why.
Mayfield must know because his eyes leave mine and shoot straight to Havoc. Following every move as if watching a predator.
“Just a customer,” Mayfield mumbles as he turns and stalks out of the store. I sigh in disbelief as Havoc locks the door and turns off my open sign.
“Where’s your machine?”
“You’re not gonna ask who that was?” I ask, looking up at him, but he just shakes his head.
“Not right now, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter; what matters is you and you feeling safe,” he says gently, grabbing my arm as he walks me to my workshop in the back to grab my sewing machine.
It’s been hours,but it feels like only minutes. Working in Havoc’s shed with him, in here, was nota great idea. Well, not great for my productivity, good for my pussy, as Ollie would say.
Havoc changed his clothes and set up my very heavy quilting machine on the “spare” bench he had.
When we got to the shed, the bench had sculptures on it, but, he was insistent that he planned to clean it off anyway because he can only work in a clean space, which I believe, but I don’t believe that he didn’t need this table anymore.
Not based on the overflowing shelves he has around the shed. This shed is actually huge, and the front “door”—more like a wall—opens so that daylight can come in. Otis trots between lying in here and out in the grass, and the ice-cold wind blows nicely in here so that we don’t get too hot in this metal box under the sun.
There are two rows of wooden benches that work as tables, with stools randomly placed throughout. There is a kiln towards the back, shelves, and a place to pack orders.
It’s amazing. Similar to my setup, but on a bigger scale. It’s beautiful, with its light wood tones and forest-green walls and exteriors.
After our run-in with my past, Havoc drove us here, and we’ve been crafting since. At least trying to. He seems focused, but I can’t help but stare at my alpha.
My alpha that I wish I knew better.
He’d talk here and there; he told me about his childhood,revealing his time with the New York mafia and eventually his time in prison.
He waited for me to judge him, but I had nothing to judge. Not that what I went through was like… prison… but I was in a cage all the same.
Well, not the same; mine was only two years, he was there for ten. This is when I notice how much older Havoc is than I am.
Giving up on my blanket, I drag my stool to sit across from Havoc at his bench. He’d taken off his shirt, and really, what a sight he was. He had muscle on muscle and those shoulders. Oh, those shoulders have me holding back a whine—filling me with a need I hadn’t experienced before.
I think even if I didn’t have an upcoming heat, I’d want to jump him.
Attraction wasn’t something I’d experience this deeply. There would be guys who were cute but never enough to sleep with.
I’d slept with one guy. I wanted to experience that, but the act, well, was boring. After everything was said and done, I felt more empty than satisfied, and I never did it again.
My toys got me through as best they could during heats, and outside of that, the urge wasn’t there.
Not until I met them. At least I think so. This level of constant horniness is unmatched, and it seems I’m at least a little wet for them lately.
As I settle into the seat in front of him, he chuckles but remains focused on his work. I’m not sure what it is yet, but if I had to guess, a bowl? A bowl plate, maybe? Maybe he’s building onto it.
