15. One Night
15
One Night
I step out of the shower to find one of Jack's green flannels and a pair of his boxers laid out for me on the bed. I crack open his door. "Can I wear these?"
"Yeah," he calls from the kitchen. "Sorry, it's all I have."
"It'll work. Thanks." I shut the door and let my towel fall to the floor before pulling on Jack's clothes. I'm enveloped in his musky smell, and I can't stop myself from bringing the collar of his shirt to my nose and breathing him in.
It takes a second for me to realize what I'm doing. No, I can't be sniffing his clothes and reveling in how they feel on my skin. If I have any chance of surviving this night without digging Jack and I's confusing relationship into an even bigger hole, I must keep my hormones in check.
His flannel swallows me, the bottom landing at the top of my thighs. Thank God he brought me some of his boxers, or he would definitely see everything if I bent over. I can't help thinking about his naked body wearing these clothes as I pull the boxers over my ass. God, I need to get it together.
When I've finally dressed, combed my fingers through my wet hair, and taken a few deep breaths, I step out of Jack's bedroom.
He's in the kitchen, cooking something on the stovetop.
"What are you making?" I ask as I slide into one of the bar stools facing the kitchen.
"Spaghetti." He turns away from the stove to catch my eyes. He freezes, his eyes wide and his Adam's apple bobbing. You'd think I'd stepped out wearing a ballgown instead of his hand-me-downs. His eyes soak me in as if they're dying of thirst.
My cheeks heat, and I look down at my hands, unable to take the attention for much longer before sitting on his couch.
He clears his throat. "Do those work?" he asks, walking over to me with a plate full of spaghetti and placing it on the coffee table in front of me .
I turn my attention back to him. "Yep. Thanks." His hair is wet, making his red hair look brown, and he's wearing a white T-shirt and grey sweatpants. God, grey sweatpants? It's like he's trying to seduce me.
"You were able to shower?"
"Yeah, I have another shower at the back of the shop. It's for when I get too dirty for my own shower. I changed in the bedroom while you were showering."
My mind races with images of him naked in his bedroom with me just on the other side of the door, sopping wet. If only I took a shorter shower and stumbled in on him. I shake my head slightly, trying to rid my mind of my dirty thoughts. God, I hope this storm stops. I don't think I'll be able to take much more of this.
But the storm doesn't stop. In fact, it gets worse. The winds howl, shaking the glasses in the cabinets, and the rain sounds like a constant pour of water from above. I've never been scared about a little thunderstorm, but this seems more than that. I can't help but wonder if the dead werewolf just a few hundred feet away from Jack's cabin could have something to do with it. It's illogical, but so are werewolves in general.
"Are you sure we're safe here?" I ask, pulling my knees closer to my chest on his grey couch.
Jack leans over in front of me to pick up my empty plate of spaghetti. Not only is he hot, he's a damned good cook. Who knew something as simple as spaghetti could taste so good? I probably looked like an animal, scarfing down everything on my plate.
"We're safe. I promise. It's just a rough storm. These windows are hurricane-proof."
Even in my fright, I can't help but notice the buzz of electricity that bounces off him when he's so near. My heartbeat increases, and I have to close my eyes to focus on anything else than how damned good he looks in his fucking stupid grey sweatpants.
"Are you getting sleepy?" he asks from the kitchen sink as he washes our dishes.
My eyes pop open, and I turn to him. "What time is it?"
He turns to look at a clock on the wall behind him. "It's eight."
Figures. I'm not even a little tired, especially with the adrenaline pumping through my veins after everything that's happened today, but maybe going to bed is the best idea. We need space between us, and maybe his bedroom door would be enough.
I give a fake yawn, throwing my hands over my head. "Yeah, I think today just wore me out." I stand. "Are you sure you're okay with me taking your bedroom?"
He abandons the dishes, wipes his hands on his pants, and walks toward me. "Of course. Is there anything you need? Are you warm enough?" It's like he's a mother hen clucking over me. It's so odd that just hours ago, I watched him kill a wild beast—a werewolf—with his bare hands and felt terror deep in my veins when he locked me in his torture chamber, and now he's making me spaghetti and ready to tuck me into a warm bed.
I shake my head. I don't have the strength to perform a psychoanalysis on Jack. "I'm fine. I'm just going to call it a night." I turn toward his bedroom, moving a little faster than normal, shutting the door and resting against it before closing my eyes.
It's just one night. I need to keep it in my pants, and then I can figure everything out tomorrow.
***
The rain pelts against the window, and I curl deeper into Jack's thick comforter. His bed smells like him, and I bring a corner of the blanket up to my nose, finding that the smell washes me with a sense of comfort: comfort and so much more.
Why did I think sleeping in his bed before I was tired would be a good idea? Sure, I don't have to be near him anymore, but now my mind can't stop racing with images of him sleeping here—wishing he was here with me .
I toss to my other side for the twelfth time, trying to count sheep or think about some boring email I need to send to my boss in the morning, but it doesn't help. My body vibrates with adrenaline, and sleep seems so far down shore that I'll never be able to reach it.
I sit up, looking around his dark room, trying to find something to distract me from the feelings swirling through my veins. My eyes adjust to the darkness, and lightning reveals more of the room every few minutes.
His dresser sits bare, and he doesn't even have a sock lying in the corner. His room is meticulous, so there's nothing to distract me.
I lean over and grab my phone off the nightstand. Of course, it's dead. I sigh and grab the covers, noticing a top sheet neatly tucked into the mattress. I stick my legs into the opening, but once I'm underneath, I realize it's entirely too snug, and I'm like a trapped bug.
I kick my arms and legs, but it's no use. I crawl out from the comforter and lean over the side of the bed, pulling at the sheets. Did he superglue his bed together? How is this so difficult? Thunder roars into the room, and something smacks against the window. I scream and fall out of bed.
His footsteps slam down the hallway, and the bedroom door bursts open. "Red, are you okay?"
I'm thankful it's dark because my cheeks burn as I pick myself off his floor and struggle to my feet. "Yes, sorry, I just fell out of bed." I rub at my sore elbow as my eyes catch his shirtless figure stepping closer to me. My throat clogs, and I take a step backward, clenching the damn top sheet behind me. "I, uh, it's these sheets. I tried to get under them, but they're so tight."
"Oh." He runs his hand through his messy hair, eyes searching my body. "Sorry, my dad always made sure my bed was military-grade, and I guess it's just a habit that stuck. Here, let me help you." He's so close to me, and he reaches down to pull the sheet out from the bottom of the mattress.
"No, it's okay. You should get back to bed." I can't take being so near to him. The words jumble out of my mouth as if they're a rushing faucet. I try to push him away, but when my hands touch his arms, I realize it's a mistake.
His skin is warm, and his earthy scent seems to wrap around me and pull me closer. I close my eyes, pressing my body against his as he turns toward me and wraps me in his arms.
His body is hard against mine, and before I can talk myself out of it, I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling his lips to mine.
It's like the flick of a switch: the energy in the room shifts, and my brain flashes blank—my want completely takes over, and the need to have him draped over every inch of me consumes me. His hands move quickly. He grabs my ass, pulling me against him as I wrap my legs around his waist.
He breaks away from our kiss, and his lips find my ear. "Red," he whispers. "Oh, God." He leans me back against his bed, his body never leaving mine. I taste the desperation on his tongue as it pushes deeper into me. The years of pent-up want taste so good, and it's like he's consuming me from the inside out.
I reach for the bottom of my shirt, wanting—needing, to feel his bare skin against mine. Before I even get it over my belly button, Jack's hands push mine away, and he's yanking it off me, nearly tearing it in half.
The moment we separate for the shirt to be pulled over my head is too much. It's like my cells are holding their breath and can barely take the lack of contact. Jack's nerves must feel the same way, too, because he swoops down, one hand gripping my breast and the other wrapped around the back of my throat. His touch isn't gentle; it's as if he's tortured, and my body is his only source of reprieve from his pain.
My feet work down his sweatpants, and I reach to feel him. "Oh, my god." I pull away to moan, and he shutters as my hand wraps around his length. Jack's a big guy. I never doubted that he'd be packing, but as I slowly stroke up and down, I can barely believe how large and thick he is .
"Red, slow down," he whispers into my ear with a rush of forced air.
I'm already moving as slowly as possible, but my simple touch seems too much for him. A fire drops to the pit of my stomach at the thought of how much he wants me. This moment is all of my horny teenage dreams come true. The power that zips through my veins that he wants me as much—maybe even more than I want him, is almost too much.
He pulls away from me, grabs the boxers I'm wearing, and pulls them down my legs. Once I'm completely bare, he holds himself up with his arms, his eyes moving up and down my body. He turns his head away from me and bites his lips. "Fuck, Red. I can't believe this is finally happening."
I'm thinking the same thing, but I don't want to think. If I think, I'll talk myself out of this. Even though every cell of my body has melted and the urge to have him inside me is one I don't think I could quelch on my own, there's a part of my brain that knows this is a bad idea.
I reach up and grab his neck, pulling him back into me. "Fuck me," I whisper into his ear, grabbing his cock and positioning it at my entrance.
He resists for a second as if he wants to take his time. I'm sure the man could ravish me in a hundred possible ways, but right now, I don't have time for it. This is years of pent-up sexual frustration, and I need him inside of me urgently. I wiggle my hips under him, grinding against him, and finally, he snaps. He jerks up, slamming open his bedside drawer and grabbing a condom. He rips it open with his teeth and hurriedly rolls it on. He crashes his lips into mine and pushes himself into me. It all happens so fast; I'm thankful he has a brain cell left to make the smart call. I cry out at his first thrust, the size of him causing pain to shoot up my body.
"Are you okay?" He pulls back, studying me.
I nod. "Keep going," I beg.
He kisses down my neck and slowly pulls out and back in. The pain lessens with each thrust, and within a matter of seconds, I'm swirling into an abyss of pleasure. His abs rub against my clit as he works himself deeper and deeper with each thrust.
"This is too good," he moans. "Fuck, Red. This is too good."
His encouraging words bring me close to that edge, my nails digging into his back as his speed increases until he pulses inside of me—filling me. He moans into my ear, and my whole body shutters as the wave of my orgasm rushes over me. It's overpowering, flattening me and tearing me in half. The rush lasts longer than I've experienced before, and I cling to Jack until I reach the shore, my body relaxing under his .
Jack peppers kisses down my neck and over my breast, and I shutter, my skin suddenly sensitive. He lies next to me, nuzzling into the crook of my neck, his breath slow and heavy.
I lie still, the damn top sheet tangled around my legs, but the rest of me bare. Now that my body is back to its neutral state, I realize what we've done.
Jack's chest rises and falls against me, and in a few short moments, I can tell he's drifted off to sleep. No thoughts of the future or what this means swirl around his mind.
As for me, I can't stop thinking. This wasn't just a simple fuck. This is Jack. My Jack. And now there's the whole supernatural that's come into play. Although my body feels better than it has in a long time, my brain feels the opposite. I'm fucked—in all ways possible.