Page 77 of Howl for Me
What the hell is wrong with me?
Stacy cries out, face flushed, arms limp as Johnny’s claws dig into her hips as he continues to pump into her. He howls, sharp and guttural, and when he pulls out, it’s like something out of a fantasy I never knew I had. She rolls over and offers herself up without hesitation, hands gripping the headboard, ass in the air. She’s ready, willing and begging. He grabs himself, thick, hard, huge, and there, at the base, I see it. That knot.
It’s so thick and swollen. My core clenches around nothing, and I nearly gasp. No, no, this isn’t me. I’m not turned on by this. I shouldn’t be. But my body isn’t listening because it’s on fire. That deep, aching, traitorous need curling lower and lower until I swear I’m going to combust right here, behind the damn camera. And the worst part? He keeps looking at me. When he looks at me again, panting, wild, beastly, and beautiful in a terrifying way.. I don’t look away. I can’t look away. Our eyes lock onto one another as he growls and shoots his release on her ass. I’m left speechless.
The shoot ends and I’m finally able to walk away, my feet working again. Before I can fully get control of the other parts of my body, I somehow make it back to the room. It’s not long before he is back and shirtless in human form. Dear gods. Ishould’ve left right after the shoot. Should’ve been smart and slipped out before this part, the quiet, the comedown, the silence that begs for a conversation neither of us wants to have.
But instead, I came back to the room. The one with the little bar and the glass he almost drank from before I’d stolen it out of his hand. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m so out of my element, but I refuse to back down. I square my shoulders when he storms across the room, pretending I’m unaffected, pretending my body doesn’t still hum with arousal. He doesn’t say a word, just stands there. Still half wild.
“Nice shoot,” I say, voice sharper than I intended. My tone is all business now, a cold armor I’m forcing over the heat still simmering in my blood. “You’ve got another shoot in two days and a script read through tomorrow. I’ll be in touch. Is there anything you need from me before I leave?”
He stares right through me like he’s seeing something I’m trying hard to bury. His eyes are darker than they should be, almost angry, but not at me. He looks like a man still coming down from something primal and hard to shake.
“No,” he says finally, voice low and flat. The only word he can utter to me is no?
I nod, holding out a slip of paper with my number scribbled across it. “In case you need to reach me before then. I already have your info from Hector.”
He doesn’t take the paper; he doesn’t even look at it. He just waves me off like I’m a fucking fly buzzing too close to his ear. He acts like I imagined every heated glance he threw me. Like he didn’t just eye fuck me with his knotted cock in his hand. Was I just imagining that? Was he just trying to rattle me, make me run?
It dawns on me right then. Of course, how could I be so naïve? I’m not Stacy. I’m nothing like her. I don’t have pornstar curves or a face that makes men look twice. I’m the assistant. The girlwith the clipboard and an attitude she wears like armor. He can have anyone he wants, and he probably has. Men like him don’t look at women like me. Whatever I thought I saw in his eyes, it was nothing. Just him trying to fuck with me. It worked. Congrats, asshole.
I turn and leave before I do something stupid like throw the paper in his face or demand he acknowledge what he was doing. It doesn’t matter, I’m here for a job and confronting whatever that was will only create more problems. I step out into the hallway and nearly collide with Reggie and Teddy. They look like they’ve been napping in the hallway for hours.
“Heeeyyy,” Teddy drawls, grinning like a sleepy golden retriever. “Need a ride?”
I hesitate for a moment. Getting a ride from two stoners who can barely open their eyes doesn’t sound like the smartest decision. But then I think about the bus and the hour-long ride. The way I’d have to sit there stewing in my own confusion, trying not to think about knot-thick cocks and growling werewolves.
“Sure,” I sigh. “Why not?”
The van smells like weed and fast food, and there’s a suspiciously loud rattle every time Teddy hits the brakes, but it’s better than silence.
“You really need wheels,” Teddy says, chuckling from the driver’s seat. “Keep working with Hector and you’ll have your own ride in no time. He knows a guy, you know?”
“Yeah,” I smirk. “The same way you ‘knew a guy’ who got me this job?”
Reggie cackles. “Damn right. I look out for you. We’re friends, you know.”
The ride is oddly comforting, almost familiar. Just dumb jokes and slurred promises, and for a moment I’m not thinking about what I saw or what it made me feel. They drop me off at my apartment, still giggling about some old job where Reggieaccidentally gave an actor shifter-heat suppressant instead of lube. I shake my head and wave them off, climbing the steps up to my floor.
I don’t even turn on the lights, I just peel off my clothes, step into the shower, and try to wash the day off of me. The heat hits my skin and I close my eyes, but all I see is him. Those eyes and that growl linger in my mind. The way his muscles rippled and his claws sank into her thighs. The way he looked at me. I should be scared. Maybe I am, but that’s not the part that scares me most. What scares me… is that I want him to look at me like that again.
Chapter Nine
Johnny
The shower does not help.
I stay under the hot water longer than I should, letting it scald my skin until it feels numb and raw. But it does not even touch the fire burning in my chest, the ache I am trying to shove so far down. I know what it is. I know exactly what it is. I just refuse to admit it. Refuse to believe it is happening.
Towel wrapped tight around my waist, I step out; the steam coming off my body in waves. I am halfway to the bar, determined to rip into the drink Cassidy stole from me earlier when I catch movement on the couch.
Hector sits smugly, smoking a cigar.
“Here to piss me off some more, I see,” I say, voice rough and loaded with irritation. “You really are a fucking demon.”
He smirks and blows lazy smoke rings into the air. “Maybe I am. But you’re the one who’s out of control. You know it, and I know it.”
I pour a shot, swallow it down hard enough to burn my throat raw, then refill the glass. I’ve been lost for a long time and at the end of the day, no one really gives a shit. Not for the right reasons. Hector cares because I make him money. I have no one else.
