Page 41 of The Alpha's Warlock
“You’re the one with the supernatural nose. You tell me.”
Ian grimaced and yanked off his own disgusting boots. He tossed them out after mine and slammed the door shut, as if he needed to be quick before all four of them ran back inside to torture us. Actually, given what I’d done to his socks, maybe he was being prudent.
“Yeah, fair. I’m not going first, though. Go get in. I’ll join you in a sec.”
He wouldwhat? “You’re going to what?” I couldn’t shower with Ian. That was…wet, and slippery, and soapy, and there would be six-foot-something of hard muscle pressed up against me, and that was theabsolute worst idea ever. That was my story and I was fucking well sticking to it.
“I’m going to get in the shower with you,” Ian repeated, enunciating extra clearly. I hated it when he did that. “You’re barely standing up on your own.”
He turned away to start ripping off what was left of his clothes, but not before I saw the red spreading over his cheeks.
Ian was blushing. Ian wasblushing. Okay, so he was embarrassed about…wanting to get me naked and soapy and wet and slippery? And press all his muscles up against me while he held me up in the shower?
Fuck it. Seriously, fuck it. The past twenty-four hours had been a shitshow of epic, no, fucking apocalyptic proportions, and maybe tomorrow I’d be alone again, but for now I damn well deserved a huge, hot, naked werewolf soaping me up and rubbing those huge, rough hands, that could be so gentle when he wanted, all over me.
My cock gave a little twitch, but it was as tired as the rest of me. Probably not going to happen, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy myself anyway.
Fuck it. Like Scarlett O’Hara said, tomorrow was another day. I didn’t need to worry about it until it started.
“I’ll see you in a minute,” I said, my own face hot as a griddle, and headed into the bathroom. Once the water was running and heating up, my clothes went in a nasty sodden heap in the corner of the scuffed linoleum floor. Ugh.
But oh, holy fuck. Hot water was truly better than sex. Even better than coffee. Even better than sex with Ian and then a cup of coffee after. Okay, maybe not quite better than that, but I still quivered with pleasure, letting out little moans, the water beating down on my aching shoulders and running in streams down my too-numb-to-ache legs. I kept my eyes closed. I knew the water swirling down the drain would be rusty-black, and that some of the filth streaming off of me probably used to be my father, and that…yeah, not going there.
I’d be clean soon. Ian was taking his damn time, though. I tipped my head back and whimpered, biting my lip and nearly melting through the bathtub.
A sudden sound had my eyes popping open. I peeked through the clear plastic shower curtain to find Ian standing transfixed, eyes wide, fists clenched, with his cock at half mast.
He shoved the curtain back and stepped in. “How do you even have the energy for that?” I asked, gesturing down at his groin. Casual. I could be it.
“Look in a fucking mirror, why don’t you,” he growled, and took me by the shoulders and spun me around so that my back was to his chest.
He was still completely filthy, but I didn’t care. I ducked my head to hide my helpless smile and leaned back against him, letting him take my weight. I knew he could. Look in a mirror? That didn’t have anything to do with the mate bond. A bond didn’t make a person suddenly look more attractive; you could be mated, have the magically induced hormones, and still know, objectively, that your mate was ugly as hell.
He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t need to. Just the way he touched me was enough to make me feel like the most beautiful thing in the world.
“I can wash my own hair,” I protested at some point in the proceedings. It came out sounding more likePlease wash my hair for me, Ian. He nibbled my ear and massaged the back of my neck in answer.
His cock pressed against my lower back, but it didn’t feel demanding. More like it belonged there, touching me, ready to be inside me, and like I belonged with him. My arms hung by my sides, and I rubbed my palms over his thighs, stroking without purpose.
It wasn’t the world’s most efficient shower, and when the water started to run cold, Ian still hadn’t washed himself. “Get out and get in bed,” he murmured into my ear. “I’ll get cleaned up on my own.”
If alpha mating instincts meant they washed you in all the hot water and then uncomplainingly took cold showers on their own, I couldn’t believe everyone didn’t want one.
And then I got out to the main room and found the bed neatly made with fresh sheets — or at least, different sheets. He’d changed the bed while I got in the shower. Fuck it. Ian wasmyalpha, and no one else was getting him. I’d stop calling him an idiot. I’d stopped that already, anyway, since the evidence was against me. I’d stop complaining, whining, and generally being a pain in the ass. I’d talk less.
Maybe not that last one.
But as I fell into bed, dropping my wet towel on the floor like a dick, my last thought was a promise to myself that I’d do everything I could, and maybe, just maybe, he’d want to keep me.
At least for a little while.
It wasn’t a bad fantasy to have in my head as I fell into sleep like I’d been hit with Dor’s magical knock-out whammy.
Chapter 23
We’re Both Idiots
I woke as Ian tried to sneak out of bed.
