Page 6 of A Little Red
Wrap her legs around him. Fuck him until the only word he remembered was her name.
Scarlet moaned. Liam Grayson was so far out of her league that she’d never even considered what to do in this situation. Why should she? Liam Grayson had never looked twice at her. Only Liam Grayson was not the same as her wild wolf. Wolf not only looked, but tasted, claimed, owned. She had never experienced anything close to the pleasure of Wolf’s touch. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do, but she was certain she wanted that pleasure again.
She looked at herself in the mirror.
“You are a very bad girl, Little Red,” she said. Her mirror self simply looked smugly wicked.
“Right,” she agreed. “I guess we are definitely stepping off the path.”
Scarlet finished cleaning up, then went back out to the bedroom and crawled into bed with her boss.
Liam
Liam drifted into wakefulness. He was face down in the pillows, one arm stretched over Scarlet. She looked angelic in her sleep with her blonde hair still rippled from her braids spread across the pillow. He’d unwound them while she’d been going down on him, wanting to run his fingers through the heavy golden strands. Her mouth had been like velvet and her hair like silk as it brushed up against his thighs.
Liam sat up, stretched, and padded into the kitchen. He pulled open the fridge and glanced over his shoulder. Scarlet was still sound asleep, so he reached into the Tupperware and pulled out a handful of raw venison. Chewing, he grabbed the glass bottle of milk and put it on the counter. His phone chirped as he reached for a glass.
Hey! You’re coming home for Thanksgiving right? Mom’s tweaking.
Liam sighed at his younger brother’s text. When was their mothernottweaking? Aisling Grayson hated that he was living in the city. It had been beneficial to the pack, but she still hated it. Ever since his father’s death she had been reluctant to let any of the pack go more than fifty miles away. He kept thinking she would lighten up, but it wasn’t getting better. And the last few months had been one last minute deadline after another—he hadn’t made it home nearly as often as he intended. But now that he had Scarlet—he grinned at his own double entendre—work was finally lightening up. Going home for the holiday would be the easiest way to smooth things over with Aisling, but her piss poor mood made it hard to want to.
Yeah. Tell Mom I’m coming for the entire week. And I might be able to sneak out for an extra weekend before then too.
That would be awesome!
Paxton’s text sounded genuinely excited and Liam felt actually guilty. He was avoiding his mother, not everyone else. He really did need to go home, but he got tired of arguing with Aisling.
There was a rustle of movement from the bed and he snuck a peek through the bedroom door. Scarlet had turned over onto her side, leaving a ribbon of gold hair across the pillow. He grabbed another hunk of meat and considered his next move. Ordinarily, he tried to usher his human distractions out the door shortly after he woke up. He didn’t need the smell of them all over his things. But he liked how Scarlet smelled.
He had barely finished his snack when he heard Scarlet yawn and then the rustle of sheets and fabric. He quickly gulped down the rest of his venison and washed his hands. He was properly drinking his milk from a glass like a civilized human being when Scarlet came out of the bedroom.
She was clutching her dress in one hand and seemed to be looking for her socks. He’d flung them somewhere. He really couldn’t remember where.
“I’m going to have to get a cab,” she said, finding the sock on the floor outside of the bedroom door. She added an awkward laugh, her cheeks flushing a light pink. He raised an eyebrow and made an inquiring noise.
“I really can’t do the walk of shame for an entire subway ride home to Brooklyn. The costume makes it so obvious.”
He grunted. He was not pleased with the idea of her leaving.
“No,” he said, finishing his swallow of milk. “I will drive you. At some point. Tomorrow.”
That seemed far enough away. He could spend the weekend fucking her and figure out where to go with things on Monday. She was holding the dress in front of her and her nipples were cresting the foam of netting. They looked delectable, but she shifted uncomfortably.
“Liam…”
The noise he made in response to the use of his proper name wasn’t entirely human.
“No,” she said, straightening up. “No, it has to be said.”
He stared at her, waiting for her important words, embarrassed that he hadn’t been able to use his own.
“We are not supposed to be doing this.”
“According to who?” he asked.
“According to our employer,” she said impatiently. “So, I think this had better be…” she seemed to flounder for words, “just a weekend fling.”
He restrained himself from growling his disagreement. Although he’d just placed his own similar limit on their time together, hearing her say that there would be a time in which she would not be in his bed angered him. She belonged to him.
