Page 163 of Watch Me Burn
“Ricky!” I call out again, louder this time. “If you don’t come here right now, no banana peanut butter pop for you tomorrow.”
Nothing. Just silence and the distant hoot of an owl.
My frustration builds as I turn and walk back through the door. I move through the building, checking all of his usual hiding places one final time. Most of the animals have settled for the night—the soft sounds of sleeping creatures, the rustle of bedding, and the occasional contented sigh from one of our permanent residents.
Ricky couldn’t have gotten out unless one of the interns made a mistake when I was in the barn feeding Cotton and Patches. He has to be around here somewhere. Trouble is his middle name, though if you asked Maren, she’d say it was “boob-obsessed furry sexual harasser.”
Shit.
I can’t even manage not to lose one of our animals when Maren isn’t here. Some veterinarian I am.
When I reach his enclosure, Zorro sits alone on his favorite perch near the viewing window, washing his face with black paws. The indoor portion of their habitat sits empty except for him. My heart sinks.
“Rick! Come on, buddy, where are you?”
I unlock the enclosure door and step inside, searching every nook and cranny. The outdoor section, accessible through a large pet door, is equally vacant. My pulse picks up as I check the door mechanism, still functioning, which means he didn’t break out through there.
“Ricky!” My voice echoes through the building, higher now with the first threads of real panic.
I pull out my phone and dial Damien’s number, pacing toward the front of the building. He should be heading over from the estate, where he still works remotely most days.
Six months of living with him has settled into a rhythm I never could have imagined with my wolf. His presence in my bed every night and morning, coffee brewing before I wake, the way he watches me tend to the animals with that soft expression he reserves only for me. The one that morphs into heat and desire in an instant.
“Hello, beautiful.”
His warm voice carries that dark edge that makes me wet from just a few syllables. Even more so now that my hormones are insane. Heat pools between my legs, and I press my thighs together.
“I’m just pulling up.”
I look out the front window and see the golf cart he uses to travel between our properties. The Bureau of Land Management gave him permission for a driveway easement through the federal preserve that sits between our property lines. How he talked the federal government into letting him pave a path through protected land is beyond me. Advantages of being a billionaire, I guess.
“Have you seen Ricky anywhere? He’s not in his enclosure with Zorro.”
The main door opens with its familiar squeak, and Damien walks through, phone pressed to his ear. He ends the call and slips the device into his pocket, hiseyes assessing my expression. My breath catches at the sight of him—windblown hair from his golf cart ride, and the silver strands at his temples askew.
“The little troublemaker’s missing?”
He approaches, and my body reacts to his proximity like it always does—pulse quickening, skin warming, and that pull low in my belly that makes me want to press against him. I give in to the urge to touch him, reaching up and pulling his head down to mine for a kiss.
His arms wrap around me as he deepens it, groaning into my mouth. My breath hitches as he hardens against my stomach, and every nerve ending in my body lights up. The taste of him, the scent of him, the way his hands span my waist—it’s overwhelming.
Jesus. My libido is in overdrive. I pull away before I drag him to the lobby floor and let him violate me seven different ways.
“Fuck, Luna.” Damien shakes his head as if clearing it, a sexy smirk curving his lips. “I missed you too, little doe.”
The endearment sends heat straight to my core. He doesn’t call me that often anymore, except when we’re intimate. His eyes have gone midnight black, the gray-blue of his irises swallowed up, leaving only the kind of dark that means restraints and surrender and losing myself to his control.
My breath hitches as my mind conjures the image of zip ties cutting into my wrists, the cold bite of concrete against my knees, and his voice commanding me to take whatever he gives. The fantasy draws a whisper of sound from my chest, small and needy, barely more than air.
His eyes sharpen. He heard it.
No. We have to find Ricky.
I step back, giving myself space from the heat emanating from his body, and focus on finding my troublemaker. The worry crashes back over me, sharper now.
“I can’t find Ricky. I just finished the evening check, and he wasn’t there.” I cross my arms, trying to look calmer than I feel, but my voice betrays me.
His mouth quirks up in that half-smile I love. “Luna, he’s probably somewhere causing maximum chaos while looking completely innocent.”
