Page 53 of Who Let The Wolves Out?

"Or the naked woodland morning-after walks." Her smirk fades. "You stayed though. When I asked. Even as..."

"Course I did." The words come out gravel-rough. "Always will."

Her throat bobs. A beat stretches between us, taut as a tripwire.

She breaks it first—of course—with an eye roll. "Get in here before someone sees you. Your hoodie’s inside-out."

I step into the cramped cabin, sidestepping a laundry pile that’s 90% novelty camp t-shirts. She thrusts a chipped mug into my hands. It’s hot enough to brand cattle.

"Thanks for the swamp water."

"Don’t thank me yet—it’s the powdered stuff from an envelope. Who knows how old." She flops onto her bunk, knees drawn up. "So. Wolf-you. Impressive sniffing skills. Ever think about careers in airport security?"

"Knew you’d make it weird." I sip the cocoa. It’s 60% marshmallow fluff. Perfect.

"Guy becomes literal Big Bad Wolf andI’mthe weird one?" She kicks my shin, toes poking through neon unicorn socks. "Please. Head counselor caught me sneaking back. Told her we were ‘doing night survival training.’ Now I’m teaching fire-building at noon."

"Want me to howl for dramatic effect?"

"Maybe I do." Alice’s eyebrow arches, a challenge glinting in those blue eyes. The corner of her mouth twitches like she’s already won.

"Oh, you’re asking for it." I straighten up, rolling my shoulders like I’m warming up for a wrestling match. Her smirk falters for half a second, and that’s all the encouragement I need. I tilt my head back, letting loose a howl that starts deep in my chest and ends somewhere between a campfire ballad and a wolf’s midnight serenade. It’s loud enough to rattle the windows.

She jolts, spilling cocoa on her unicorn socks. "Jason! Shutup!" She lunges at me, smacking my arm with the force of someone who’s clearly never been in a fistfight. "You can’t just—people are going to hear! Men aren’t even supposed to be in here!"

Her voice wobbles, and then she snorts, doubling over with laughter. It’s the kind of laugh that makes her eyes crinkle and her cheeks flush pink. My chest tightens.

I can’t help it. I laugh too, the kind that starts in your gut and leaves you wheezing. We’re a mess, both of us. Me in my inside-out hoodie, her covered in cocoa stains, and the cabin smelling like wet dog and cheap marshmallows.

Her hand lands on my shoulder for balance, and I glance down at her. She’s close, close enough that I can see the faint freckles dusting her nose, the way her breath catches when our laughter fades into something else. Her laughter dies down, replaced by a quiet that feels like the woods at dusk—electric, waiting.

"Jason," she starts, but her voice falters.

"Yeah?" My voice drops low, rough around the edges.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, her hand slides up to my neck, pulling me down to her level. Her lips meet mine, tentative at first, like she’s testing the waters. I freeze for a heartbeat, thenkiss her back, slow and steady. The cocoa mug slips from her grip, thudding onto the floor, but neither of us care.

Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my hoodie, and I don’t think—I act. I take her by the waist, backing her toward the bed with a low growl that’s more human than wolf but carries the same intent. The mattress hits the back of her knees, and she tumbles onto it, her laughter hushed but wild in her eyes.

“You’re in a hurry,” she teases, her voice breathless, but there’s a flicker of something darker in her gaze. Something that matches the primal hunger clawing at me from the inside.

“You’re not?” I yank the hoodie over my head, tossing it somewhere behind me. The sound it makes as it hits the floor is lost under the sound of her gasp when I lean over her, caging her in with my arms. Her hands are already working at the waistband of my sweats, and I don’t stop her as my cock bobs free.

Her pajama top rides up as she shifts under me, and I take the opportunity to pull it off in one swift motion. Her skin is warm, flushed from the rush of it all, and I drag my mouth along the curve of her shoulder, down to her collarbone. She arches into me with a soft moan that goes straight to my gut.

“Jason,” she murmurs, her fingers tangling in my hair as I nip at her skin. “I want you.”

My hands slide down her sides, tugging at the waistband of her pajama bottoms until she lifts her hips, letting me strip them away. She’s left in nothing but those ridiculous unicorn socks, and something about the contrast—the innocence of them against the way she’s looking at me—makes me laugh, a low rumble in my chest.

“What?” she demands, her voice sharp even as she scrambles to pull me closer.

“Nothing.” I kiss her again, slower this time, letting her feel the weight of me as I settle between her legs. “Just you.”

Her hands roam my back, nails digging in as I press against her, and when I push my cock inside her, her breath hitches. She’s tight, warm, and the sound she makes—half gasp, half moan—sends a shiver down my spine. I freeze for a moment, letting her adjust, but she’s having none of it. She rocks her hips, urging me on, and I give in.

Our rhythm is frantic, desperate, like we’re trying to outrun the world outside this cabin. Her legs wrap around me, pulling me deeper, and I bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her. Her breaths come in short, sharp gasps, and I can feel the tension building in her, mirroring my own.

“Jason,” she whispers, her voice breaking on my name. “Don’t stop.”

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