Free Sleeves by Chanse Lowell, K. I. Lynn, Shenani Whatagans Page A

had stopped throbbing, signaling it had healed already, so he was clearer—focused.
    It all made sense in this moment.
    He’d drunk dialed her, begged her to come back to him and said idiotic things to get her to take him to her place.
    He ripped at his clothes, unsure of what else to do at this point—he only knew one thing. The drive to fuck— hard .
    Unrelenting, pounding fucking was all he knew in this moment.
    He prowled down the hall after her.
    Her house smelled amazing, like her. A light floral scent, so subtle its flavor was like a light wine that went down smooth and reminded him of what a home should feel like on all the senses.
    His hands reached out and his claws scraped along the wall. He wanted to mark her walls, mark her . Let everyone know he was here and he claimed her, if even only for a little while.
    “Fuck, I can feel you in here,” he said, roaming into her bedroom.
    She was lying on her bed, sprawled out naked like a fucking little morsel.
    “I won’t stop this time. I’ll be inside you, and I’ll have my dick wringing the air out of your lungs, that’s how high and tight I’ll be in that fuck-hot little body of yours.” He moved to her bed and crawled onto it, grabbing at her legs and widening them as he went.
    “Taste me. Tell me if you like what you sample,” she said, smiling.
    “Don’t fucking tell me what to do, bitch. This is my show. I do this my way.” Smiling, he stretched his neck from side to side, loosening his body up. He was so tense all over. Every muscle twitched and coiled at the thought of how much this was going to sting everywhere.
    “I know it’s up to you, but I set out some things I thought might help.” She turned her head over to her nightstand. On top of it was a bowl of ice, a wash rag, a bottle of water, some rubbing alcohol and a hand towel.
    “Fucking know-it-all, thinking you’ve got this down. You don’t know what I need.” He bent his head back, swallowed the lump in his throat, forming over talking to her this way. It wasn’t her fault he was so surly and fucking hard right now. He groaned as he stared up at the ceiling. How many women did this to him? Tried to fix him? Tried to figure him out?
    “It’s not for you, it’s for me,” she began.
    His head dropped and his eyes honed in on hers. “Come again?”
    “You heard me, sweetie.” She chuckled. “I want to touch you, and I want to see what these things will do.” She blinked and her eyes sparkled. “I need to touch you back.”
    “Okay, look . . .” He was unsure of how to proceed. “I know I said some crazy-ass shit tonight, and I’m not gonna apologize for that, but you can’t just—”
    Her hand reached out and she stroked his chest. “We don’t have to do anything at all.” She sighed, and it sounded content. Had a woman ever sounded like that around him— ever ? His chest tightened. “Lie next to me. You don’t have to touch me at all. I only want to be with you and keep you safe. That’s all.”
    “You have no fucking clue what that means— safe . No one does, at least not when they’re with me. I’m a hunted man, and no matter how hard I try to end it, nothing ever works. I’ll always have to hide, and even if I find somewhere relatively secure for a while, it’s inevitable that I’ll eventually have to pack up and leave again, run to save my worthless ass.”
    She studied him with a soft expression. It was hard to gauge what she was thinking. Her hands tucked behind her head. Was this her way of surrendering? Showing him he could trust her?
    “Besides, you have a kid—I can’t get you tangled up in this mess.” He sat back on the bed, still between her spread legs, but keeping a distance so he wouldn’t touch her.
    Her face contorted and became all shriveled up with wrinkles and shit. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a kid.”
    He barked a laugh. “Yeah, right. I saw you.” He pointed at her face. “I saw with my own eyes. I