Free Winter’s Wolf by Tara Lain Page B

Matt stared across the clearing. No Winter. Gone. How long had he been asleep? His watch said fifteen after midnight. A while. Where would Winter go? Back to the SUV? Hell, the guy said he lived outdoors for weeks on end. Sleeping in the open couldn’t bother him. Maybe he had gone back to the Quonset hut to look around—or leave more so-called evidence.
    Matt stood and wiped some leaves off his jeans. Do I really think Winter’s involved in the disappearance of the agent or the drug ring? Winter hadn’t had to tell Matt he thought the evidence in the hut was planted. Why would he do that if he was involved? Maybe he’d lied and this place had been a large drug operation. Matt shook his head. Not likely. Still, the guy’s smart. Can’t rule him out.
    Matt stared back toward where they’d left the car. Maybe Winter got turned on by Ollie and went to get it on with him. A red-hot flash of jealousy ripped up Matt’s spine. Winter’d said Matt was gorgeous, which clearly meant he had no taste in men, so maybe Ollie was right up his alley.
    Shit. No way. Not gonna happen.
    Still, the image of that huge cock shoved deep into Ollie’s ass kept sneaking onto his mental screen. Should he walk back to the vehicle? Hellfire. If they were having sex, what the fuck business was it of his? He purposefully turned away from the path to the car and started trudging toward the water. That sounded good. Splash some on his face. Maybe soak his feet and get the fire out of his head. Getting a little too close to the full moon. Not thinking completely straight.
    He rounded some dense undergrowth and heard the sound of the stream ahead. Winter had said there could be animals, so he felt for the gun holstered at his waist under his sweater and walked more softly. Hell, maybe he should make noise and let them know he was here.
    The roar of water got louder until ahead rushed a wide, fast-moving stream with trees clinging to its banks. Pretty. A little nearer, the reflection of the moon in the water glistened.
    He stepped closer to the edge of the stream—and stopped, body and heart. Quickly, he ducked behind a bush, then peeked around. A few yards downstream, the water stilled in a little inlet pool near the bank. In the water stood Winter, face raised to the shining sky, wide shoulders and chest bare and glistening. He scooped water in his hands and tossed it on his head and face, then went back for more, like a child playing in a swimming pool. A very tall, very beautiful child with a chest carved from marble and moonlight.
    Can’t breathe. Matt’s eyes glued to the glistening line where the sparkling water met the shining, pale silver of Winter’s body. If he’d just walk forward a step or two. Instead, Winter plunged in headfirst like a dolphin, giving Matt a glimpse of a bewitching sliver of ass. Round, hard. For a second he disappeared, then leaped up, spewing water from his mouth and—hah!—his long, hard, very erect cock peeked above the water, then vanished. Damn.
    Matt’s own dick pressed so hard against his jeans he should have fabric burns. Slowly, he lowered his fly, reached in, and freed the prisoner from its cell. Oh yeah. He gripped it and held on like he was controlling a bucking bronco.
    Winter took one step forward toward the shore. Another. Oh yes. Two inches of cock posed above the waterline. Another step. Good Lord, Matt had forgotten how perfect that thing was. Then, with his head thrown back and wet hair hanging on his shoulders, Winter took hold of his balls and raised the heavy package, pulled the skin with his other hand until it stretched out taut, then let them fall. The shaft must have whined for attention, because he took hold of the thing and began to stroke, hand over hand—hard.
    Oh shit. Matt grabbed his own cock harder and matched Winter’s rhythm. Yes. Every pull sent shocks of pleasure from his balls straight up his back and into his brain. This wasn’t like masturbation. Far more intimate.