John woke up in the comfiest bed he’d ever slept in, his head buried in a pillow that felt like it was made of clouds. He stretched his legs out under the covers, pointing his toes like a ballerina, and bit back a groan when his sore muscles screamed out in protest.
“Good morning.”
John opened his eyes at the sound of Carter’s gruff voice. The werewolf was close enough that John could feel his breath on his cheek, and he was looking at John like he needed to memorize every minute detail of his face.
It was unnerving to be the subject of such intense scrutiny.
“Morning,” he said, reaching out and brushing his hand down Carter’s chest. His fingers met with naked skin, warm and soft to the touch, covered with a layer of silky chest hair. The insane leather outfit that Carter had worn the night before was gone—stripped off somewhere between rounds three and four—lying somewhere on the floor and probably in need of a very thorough cleaning.
How did you even wash leather? John had never messed up his leather jacket enough to need to find out, and he found himself suddenly curious.
“How are you feeling?” Carter asked, reaching out and brushing his thumb over John’s nipple. The touch sent a spark of pleasure down into his dick, which twitched painfully.
“Tired,” he said, gritting his teeth when Carter pinched down on his nipple. He grabbed Carter by the wrist and pulled his hand away. “Not up for round five.”
Carter laughed, letting John pull his hand away, shifting it behind John’s neck and holding him still as he leaned in for a kiss.
Apparently John’s morning breath didn’t bother him.
“Was it too much last night?” he asked after he’d pulled back. John’s lips tingled from the soft way Carter had pressed against them. It was completely different from the rough domination of the night before, leaving his stomach tingling with butterflies that he didn’t know what to do with.
“No,” he said honestly. Carter had thrown him around and fucked him to within an inch of his life, pounding into him like an animal in heat, and John had loved every second of it. Everything from the way Carter had grunted and growled to the leather stretched over his body had turned John on.
It had been the perfect night.
The reply made Carter grin, and John found himself being kissed again. It was still soft, Carter’s hand cradling the back of his neck, but there was no question of who was in charge of the kiss.
John closed his eyes and surrendered to the sensation of being claimed.
Eventually Carter broke away and they made their way out of the bed. They showered together—soaping each other up and washing themselves clean—and John luxuriated in the feeling of Carter’s big hands exploring every inch of his body.
He hissed in pain when Carter washed over his rim, and later when he looked at his hole in the mirror his eyes widened at how red and abused it looked. He caught Carter’s eye in the mirror, but the werewolf just looked smug.
“Asshole,” John said, smiling. Carter shrugged and gathered him up in a hug and kissed the top of his head.
“You love it.”
Since John’s pants were ripped beyond repair he borrowed a t-shirt and a pair of sweats from Carter. The clothes made him look like a little kid playing dress up in his dad’s clothes, but it was better than nothing.
Carter made him breakfast—eggs and more bacon than John had seen in his life—and sat down at the kitchen table to eat.
It was nice, and domestic in a way that made John wish he could have this all the time. They weren’t really talking, communicating mostly in looks and smiles, but it was comfortable in a way that he’d miss when it was gone.
“So do you want to stay the weekend?” Carter asked when they were done eating. He was putting the plates in the dishwasher as he asked the question, and when he turned around the expression on his face made it clear that the nonchalance of his tone was completely at odds with how he was feeling.
He wanted John to say yes.
“That would be fun,” John said. Carter grinned wide before schooling his expression into something less ecstatic.
“Good.” Carter walked over and kissed him. “I’m glad.”
***
The rest of the weekend passed in a happy blur of cuddles, orgasms and watching TV, and by the time Sunday night rolled around John didn’t want to leave.
But he had to. He had work in the morning, and Carter had his own life in Forest Hill to go back to.
Walking into his tiny apartment—the heat turned down and the lights off—felt like crash landing back into reality.
