Alpha’s Obsession: An MC Werewolf Romance (Bad Boy Alphas Book 5)

Layne

I sing in the shower. When I’m working, I talk to myself. Sometimes, I forget to bathe. That makes me weird.

The guy sitting next to me, racing my car through a security gate and a hail of gunfire, is fucking crazy with a capital Fuck.

“You okay?” he asks again.

“They shot at us.” I still can’t believe it. I thought the guard would help me. He didn’t even flinch as he pointed the gun at my face. I guess he thought I was colluding with Crazy Man.

My captor looks grim. “Yeah.”

I wrap my arms around myself. “Why would they do that? I work there.”

The man’s jaw clenches as he accelerates down the road. He takes a few turns at breakneck speed, and curses when the car wobbles. “Damn.”

“What?”

“They got the tires.”

I whimper. My poor Prius.

“The car is the least of our problems. I’ll replace it,” he says.

I don’t argue. Crazy Man might know how to file an insurance claim. Who knows?

“Stay calm. I’ll get you out of this,” he says, as if he wasn’t the one who got me into it in the first place. “The important thing right now is to not get killed.”

Understatement of the year.

But the way I see it, he’s the reason we’re being shot at, so staying with him would be lunacy. I need to get away and call Dr. Smyth and explain I’m not part of this data grab.

But first I need to get my data back from the maniac.

Swerving wildly, he pulls into a fast food lot and parks behind a dumpster.

By the time I get my bearings, he’s opening my door, unclicking my seatbelt and pulling me out. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” I ask automatically, stumbling as he pushes me towards an unmarked van. The kind with no windows in the back.

“Somewhere safe.”

Shit. I should’ve fought him more back at the lab. Now I’m going to end up a prisoner in his rape van. Maybe he’s a mad scientist conducting his own kind of experiments. Hopefully not on me.

The research. My life’s work. The cure. That’s all that matters.

Still, I can’t help asking, “Can’t you just leave me?”

“No.” He holds my elbow firmly and guides me to the door of the van. “You saw those gunmen. They’re after both of us.”

Right. Or he wants me to believe that so I won’t run away.

“You want to stay alive? Buckle up. I’ll get us out of here.”

Gnawing on my lip, I do as he says. Until I see my chance to get the hell away from him.

He drives like a maniac, making sudden turns and keeping off main roads. I grip the seat edge.

He could be taking me somewhere to kill me. Or, he could be telling the truth.

I have no reason to trust him. But after hosting Smyth and Santiago with all their bodyguards today, after all the gunfire I just saw, I have to admit not all is as it seems at Data-X. What reason would they have for treating our research facility like a military compound in a war zone?

“What did you mean by all they’ve done?” I ask finally.

“You know those cells you told me about?”

“Yes…”

“Did they ever tell you the source?”

My gut tightens as I brace myself for his revelation. He’s going to say something crazy, like aliens. Or superhumans.

He flips his right forearm over to show me his tattoos. No—I look closer. The tattoos are there to cover scars. Track after track, like a junkie’s—and burns, too.

I suck in a breath. What is he showing me? I brush my fingers over the marks and he jerks away like I scalded him. “Are you telling me you were the source of the cells? And it was unwilling?”

His jaw flexes, mouth forms a grim line. “I’m saying you have no clue what’s going on back there.”

Irritation spikes. “Well, why don’t you explain it to me, then?” I snap.

His gaze slides from the road to me, assessing and cool.

When he doesn’t answer, I make my move, snatching the gun he set down in the console between us and pointing it at him. I put every bit of steel I have into my voice. “Pull over.”

Annoyance flickers across his expression and his hand flashes out.

I don’t mean to—but I don’t have time to think. I just pull the trigger. I scream at my own mistake, drowning out the sound of the shot.

No, wait. There wasn’t a deafening bang.

It’s a tranquilizer gun. The dart strikes my captor in the place where arm meets chest.

“Fuck, Layne,” he bites out and swerves the van sharply to the side of the road and throws it in park. At first I think it’s because he’s going to get out and kill me, but then he slumps over the wheel, knocked out cold.

I thank God he had the foresight to pull over so we both didn’t die. As I reach over and turn off the ignition, it strikes me that he’s smart. And capable. And so damn sexy. And why in the hell am I admiring a crazy man who just kidnapped me and stole my data?

I shove my hand in his jeans pocket and jockey the data drive out. In the glove compartment I find a cell phone. I grab it and the data drive and jump out of the vehicle. I have no clue where we are, other than the Middle of Nowhere, California. Data-X’s lab is near Alpine, California, in the Cuyamaca Mountains of San Diego County. The van traveled higher into the mountains on a single-lane highway.

I walk a half-mile in the dark and stop, winded. I really need to get more exercise.

This is stupid. I’m taking the van. He can walk.

I head back to the van and open the driver’s side door. I guess I hoped my captor would just sort of fall out of the van so I could climb in, but no such luck. I pry his arms up off the steering wheel and pull, hard.

He hardly budges, and his arms weigh about a half-ton each. I stop to gather my strength, and find my eyes drawn to his scars again.

Was he telling me the truth? That he got those scars as a test subject for Data-X? I find it hard to believe, but after seeing the machine guns today, things aren’t adding up. I’ll have to ask Smyth about it when I call.

But first I need to get away from Crazy Man.

I put my foot on the running board and pull with all my might. He tumbles out of the van on top of me, knocking me down with his dead weight.

I giggle hysterically. This is the second time today I’ve found myself underneath his mass of solid, wiry muscle and it’s doing funny things to my libido. I wriggle out from under him and climb up into the van.

After an agonizingly slow three point turn, I race the van down the mountainside, calling information for Data-X’s main number, because I don’t have it memorized.

~.~

Sam

Fuuuuuuuck.

I wake to the headache of the century. I’m lying face down in the dirt and—

Layne!

I scramble to my feet. How long was I out? Probably a minimum of forty-five minutes, based on the dosage I had packed in those tranq darts. They’re intended to take down a shifter for up to an hour, a human for six.

There’s no sign of the van, but based on the tire tracks, she headed back the way we came.

My hands fly to my pockets. Yep, she took the data drive.

I whip my shirt off over my head and yank down my jeans and boxer briefs, rolling them into a bundle I can carry in my mouth once I’ve shifted. My wolf surges to the surface and I experience a flash of panic as he takes over.

It was out here in these mountains where I almost lost my humanity forever. If it hadn’t been for Jackson, I’d be nothing more than an extremely dangerous animal right now.

But my wolf isn’t thinking about running wild over the mountains. He’s tracking Layne. And he doesn’t give a shit about the data drive, either.

I surrender to my animal, loping down the hills, staying in the brush, but keeping the road in sight. I honestly don’t know how I track Layne. I don’t have her scent but something compels me forward, the image of her in my mind, the memory of her intelligent green eyes, such a surprising pairing with her shiny black hair.

I find the van down in Alpine, tucked in the back of a diner parking lot. I leave the bundle of clothing by the van and crawl forward in the brush, my instincts going haywire. I can’t figure out why until I see a car screech up to the front of the diner. Black, unmarked—the sort Data-X security would drive. Layne flies out of the restaurant door like the human assholes getting out are her fucking salvation.

Sure enough, one of the thugs grabs her, pressing a gun to her temple. “Where’s the data?”

Her choked gasp scrapes my every nerve.

I might have had more caution in human form, but my wolf goes berserk. I charge, snarling, and launch right onto the top of the car. Surprise works in my favor, and Asshole #1 drops the gun from Layne’s head. I seize my chance and hurl myself at him, knocking him to the ground. The gun falls to the ground with a clatter.

My teeth sink into flesh. Not his throat, sadly, just his upper arm.

A gunshot rings out and something stings my shoulder blade. Layne scrambles for the gun on the asphalt. I flip a turn and lunge for Asshole #2, who just put a bullet in me, before he can shoot her.

It gives her the time she needs to get around the corner. I hear her feet pound toward the van.

I take another hit, this time in my shoulder before I disarm Asshole #2. Gawkers from the diner come to the door and Asshole #1 is staggering up, so I streak around the other side of the building to catch up with Layne.

She’s just opened the van door when I shove up behind her, trying to scramble in. She shrieks and slams the door shut on my body. It bounces back open and she kicks at me. I shift, already scooping her the rest of the way into the van as I come onto two legs.

Her scream dies on her lips, probably because she stopped breathing. I toss her on the passenger seat, grab my clothes and climb in. Like a repeat of the scene a few hours ago at the lab, I throw the van into gear and reverse, screaming out of the parking lot like a firetruck going to a five alarm flame.

I shove the ball of my clothing over my cock, which unfortunately is flying at full mast thanks to Layne’s presence.

“Seatbelt, Layne.”

She finally sucks in a breath, hands moving mechanically for the seatbelt. “Y-you’re bleeding.”

I glance down at my shoulder. “It’s fine.” I’m actually surprised at the amount of blood still coming out of it. My shifter healing abilities should already be working the bullet out by now.

“Who are you?” she asks.

“Sam. Sam Smith.” I have a constant watch on the rearview mirror, but I don’t see any sign of the Data-X assholes following us. Maybe they decided fighting a wolf was more than they signed up for.

“I mean what are you?” her voice wobbles, face is pale under her freckles.

“I’m a shifter. You didn’t think those regenerating cells came from humans, did you?”

The sound that comes from her lips is one part whimper, one part moan. It does nothing to alleviate my aching boner.

My hands tighten on the wheel as I tear back up the mountainside toward the safe house I secured before I went into Data-X’s lab. “How did they find us? You called them?” I’m still half-insulted, half-impressed that she used the tranq gun on me earlier. Which reminds me—I grab it now and hurl it in the back of the van, out of her reach.

She pulls out my burner phone, which she must have taken when she stole the van, and stares at the blank screen. Her hand shakes so badly the phone slips out of it and drops to the floor. She doesn’t move to pick it up.

She’s in shock.

“Layne?”

“They didn’t come to save me.” Her voice sounds far away. “They just wanted the data.”

I’m annoyed by her continued faith in Data-X. “No shit, sweetheart. Haven’t we already had this conversation? They think you’re with me. You’re expendable. The research is not.”

She turns her shocked gaze on me, eyes dropping down to the gunshot wound, then bouncing back to my face. Blood still runs down my side. Too much blood. They must have done something to those bullets to affect my regeneration abilities.

“A shifter.” Awe cloaks the words. “A werewolf.”

“Yes,” I admit. I hadn’t planned on the show and tell, but what’s done is done. I’ll figure out what to do with her and her forbidden knowledge of our kind when this is all over.

“That’s why the light spectrum activated the cells.”

“What do you mean?” I ask sharply.

“I used a spectrum similar to moonlight and the cells changed.”

I make a non-committal sound. She thinks I’m the beast from the movies who can’t help but change during the full moon. Whatever. I don’t need to illuminate her, especially if I’m going to have to get her memories wiped by a leech, anyway.

I cut down a nearly non-existent dirt road that winds around and ends up in front of a mobile home.

I get out and pull on my clothes, angling my back to Layne so she won’t see how hard I am for her. I open the door to the back of the van, pulling out a med kit and duct tape. If Layne’s going to keep running, I’ll have to secure her like a real hostage.

When she climbs out of the van, I pull her wrists behind her back and tape them together with the duct tape. “I’m sorry, doctor, but I can’t have you shooting me or running off again.”

She fights the bonds as I lead her up to the door.

“Wait here,” I order, and precede her into the safe house. The simple mobile home is bare but for my equipment. I walk through the place, checking to be sure it’s empty before inviting her in.

Paranoid, yes. Anyone with nightmares like mine would be.

“What is this place?” She glances around the empty rooms.

“Safe.” She turns in a circle in the middle of the tiny living room.

“Here.” I open a bottle of water and bring it to her lips.

She swallows and chokes, dribbling liquid down her chin.

I’m consumed by the desire to lick it off her, to suck that pouty lower lip into my mouth and taste her.

She pulls away from me, scowling, and turns her back.

I ignore my wolf’s distress at offending her and check my burner phone. Several messages. Got to be all from Kylie. She’s the only one good enough to track me.

“Stay away from the windows,” I bark when Layne drifts that way. Which is stupid. My wolf senses would hear anyone’s approach and everything is quiet. Still, I have this itchy need to protect her and the memory of that asshole holding a gun on her is all too fresh.

She glares at me and plops down on the hard sofa. I leave her to power up my computer and insert the data drive. Instantly, it starts downloading, making several copies saved to my private servers. I debate sending a copy to Kylie. She’d help sift through the data, but bringing her in means putting her and Jackson in danger. I can’t risk that. Especially with Jaylin, their newborn pup. Or kitten. We won’t know until puberty.

Although maybe the good doctor Zhao here has some way of deciphering shifter genes now.

My arm’s going numb, and I rub it absently.

“I-I think you need to get to a hospital or something.” She’s staring at my back.

I crane my neck around and realize the back of my shirt is also soaked with blood.

Fuck. Two bullets.

With a grunt, I head to the bathroom, stripping off my shirt to examine the wounds in the mirror. One bullet lodged itself deep in my shoulder. The other seems to be embedded in my scapula. Neither are too serious—my shifter blood would typically work it out, but knowing Data-X, the bullets are silver or some shit cooked up in a lab to prevent my normal healing. Smyth’s men are used to subduing shifters.

A whimper makes me turn. Layne stands in the bathroom door, looking stricken.

“I’m all right,” I tell her, even though now that I’m aware of the bullets, the wounds sting. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” she says with the same passion that she defended her research. “You’ve been shot. Twice. You need medical attention.”

I almost laugh. “No hospitals, sweetheart.”

She presses her lips together, and I recognize the look. Her stubbornness is about to rear its head.

“Med kit,” I say before she can start to rant. I whirl her around and bust apart the duct tape with shifter force. “On the coffee table in the living room. Bring the duct tape, too.”

“Why, so you can tie me up again?” she huffs, but she’s bee-lined it for the living room.

“Technically, it’s not tying,” I call after her. Fates, am I flirting? I think this might be my lame-ass way of conversing with the lovely scientist.

I had no idea I had so little game. My sex life up to this point has consisted of hookups from Eclipse, the nightclub where I bartend. I don’t have to win the girls over there, they have this natural enchantment with my position. Yeah, standing behind the bar and slinging drinks automatically makes me special. In the tiny microcosm of popular nightclubs, the guy who controls the liquor has the power. As much power as the guy who controls the door. The girls bat their eyes and show their cleavage and I fuck them up against a wall. Or back at their place. I don’t spend the night. I don’t call the next day. End of story.

I never contemplated a relationship because I know the cold, hard truth: I’m damaged. Un-mateable.

Most days I barely keep the darkness away. My upbringing, if you can even call it that, coupled with the multiple traumas of my post-puberty lab testing and moon madness make me emotionally distant at best. Fucknuts crazy at worst.

Layne returns holding the med kit and, unbelievably, the duct tape.

Obedient thing. Maybe she thought I needed it for something other than her wrists.

She rolls her eyes. “Tape me up, then. That doesn’t sound as good. You know, I really don’t think this med kit is going to cut—”

“I’m not going to a hospital. Smyth’s men might be looking for me there. If they find us, they’ll want to finish the job.”

Her mouth snaps shut. The fear is back in her, but she flips open the med kit and snaps on a pair of gloves. “Let me.”

“Are you a medical doctor?”

“No,” she huffs. “But I was pre-med. And I can figure it out.”

I study her face as she concentrates on cleaning the blood away from the wound in my shoulder. Frowning with focus, she’s still lovely, her features stunning and dainty at the same time. Her porcelain skin is smooth and perfect, cheekbones high.

“I think there’s a bullet in there.” She grimaces.

“I know.” I keep my voice normal as pain radiates up and down my arm.

“Sit down.” She lifts her chin toward the toilet.

I shrug and plop down on the lid. When she angles her body to stand between my knees, I stifle a groan. Her breasts are mouth-height, begging to be nipped. Her scent fills my nostrils and my wolf scrambles to the surface.

Down, boy.

A wolf shouldn’t want to mark a human, but mine seems to think Layne is my mate. Well, it’s not a surprise to discover I’m fucked up in a yet another way—unable to detect the difference between a human mate and a shifter. I was an idiot to allow my animal instincts to guide me when I grabbed her.

Now, she’s a distraction from my real purpose—eliminating Smyth.

She rips open a pack of sterilized tools and bows her head to her work. It feels like she’s digging around in my shoulder. Her ponytail falls down and tickles my cheek.

Sweet Jesus. I want to throw her down and fuck her until tomorrow.

“Oh, sorry.” She notices the ponytail and tosses it back. “Am I hurting you? I must be.”

A memory flashes. The darkness throbs around me, closes in. The lab is dark, or maybe my vision is just dim. I’m strapped to a chair for torture. Pain threshold tests, is what they called it. Smyth hitting me with every form of torture imaginable to measure my reactions, my regeneration.

A growl erupts from my throat.

Layne shrieks and stumbles back. I catch her, reaching for her waist, but palming her ass instead.

“It’s okay,” I assure her and pull her between my legs, hand still gripping the soft curve of her posterior. Touching her makes the darkness lighten. The weight on my chest eases.

“What was that? Did I hurt you?”

My brain tells my hand to let go, but of course I squeeze first, before I release her. “Sorry!” I say quickly, holding my palms up. “I wasn’t trying to grope you.”

I’m such a fucking liar.

“What was that sound you made?”

I shake my head, trying to clear the remnants of the memory. “Nothing.” She probably already knows I’m a cracked nut, but my foolish wolf pride keeps me from admitting just how shattered a human I am. “I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me.”

She presses her lips together but her hand trembles as she returns to digging in my shoulder.

I can’t help it—I wrap my fingers around her leg, lightly gripping her thigh. Her warmth seeps through my skin, seems to run into my bloodstream like a drug, calming the flicker of madness, the mindless beast within me, tearing to get free.

I rack my brain for something casual to say and end up blurting, “You’re hot for a geek.” For fuck’s sake. I’m a goddamn idiot.

“Gee, thanks,” she says, still focused on her work. “If that’s your best line, no wonder you have to kidnap girls to get them to talk to you.”

I flinch and not because the pinch in my arm. She’s right to think I’m a psycho. The cracks in my sanity can’t be repaired. Hell, I don’t even know why I’m alive, except that fate must’ve wanted me to make it this far so I can shut Smyth down.

In another world, another life, I could be the type of guy to take a girl on a date. Normal.

Dr. Zhao would be just my type—the sexy genius. Layne, my wolf nudges.

“So you don’t think I have any game?” Shut up, shut up. You put a gun on her, took her hostage and threatened to bomb her place of work. Now you’re hitting on her?

To my surprise, a smile flickers across her face before fading into a serious look of concentration.

“Hold still.” A twinge, and blood pours from my arm. “There.” She shows me the blood-stained bullet before she drops it in the sink. “Next time, bring me flowers.”

My laugh bursts out of me. Layne busies herself with cleaning and bandaging me up. I could tell her there’s no need, that my shifter healing will take over now that the silver’s out, but I like her fussing over me.

“Turn around,” she orders and I flip position on the toilet, straddling it to offer my back.

“This one isn’t so deep, but…” She sucks her breath in over her teeth.

“What?”

“I think it broke your scapula.”

“Don’t worry about that,” I dismiss. “As soon as the silver’s out, I’ll regenerate.”

She goes still for a moment. “Silver bullets to kill a werewolf? That’s a real thing?”

I don’t answer, because she doesn’t need to know about my kind. To distract her, I ask, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.” She prods my wound and I hear the scrape of metal on bone.

“Pretty young for a doctor.”

“I started grad school when I was seventeen.”

“How’d you get into college so young?”

“Tutors.” She drops another bloody bullet on the counter. “It’s out.”

“Still…” I do the math in my head. “Four years for a bachelor’s degree—”

“Two actually. I tested out of a bunch of undergrad classes. Advanced track pre-med. Then I switched to genetics and a got a research internship.”

I whistle. “So you’re a genius.”

She swabs the area with more alcohol and rips open a bandage. “No. Just driven. And I don’t get out much.” She strips off her gloves and studies me as I’ve been studying her.

“Skip the bandage. I think I’ll take a shower.” Blood is still crusted down my side and around the waistband of my black jeans. “Thanks for getting the bullets out.”

“You’re welcome. I’d say anytime, but I’d rather this not be a regular thing.”

“Understood.”

I pick up the duct tape and pull off a piece.

~.~

Layne

I guess I’m the stupid one for bringing the duct tape into the bathroom. I really thought he needed it for taping his wounds shut or something.

Still, I’m miffed as hell that he even thinks he needs to tape my hands. I put my hands on my hips. “I just pulled two bullets out of you. Are you seriously going to—”

He grabs my hands and presses them down on the bathroom countertop. Before I can pull away, he presses a long piece of duct tape over the top of them, securing me to the fake marble surface.

“That won’t hold me.”

Or maybe it will. I tug uselessly at it as he slaps a second and third piece on top.

I splutter. Why in the hell couldn’t he have just taped my wrists together behind my back again? Did he have to tape me to the sink? “This position is utterly humiliating,” I complain. I’m bent over at the waist, facing the mirror like a child with her nose in the corner.

As if he just noticed how sexual the pose, he’s suddenly right up against me, the heat of his lean body pressing against my back. The bulge of his cock brushes my posterior and I’m reminded of his erection after he’d shifted.

Is that normal? Or was that just for me? A blush creeps up my neck as I realize how much I want to think he’s into me.

He leans forward and places his hands on the countertop outside of mine, caging me between his arms. His lips brush my ear. “I don’t know. I think it’s kinda hot.”

Oh God. He’s totally into me. Heat floods my core, tingles race along my skin.

One of his hands grips my hip as he backs off.

I lift my eyes to the mirror and my breath stalls when he lifts his other hand and brings it smartly down on my ass.

“Ow!” I protest.

“That was for shooting me.” His voice is deeper than usual. He smacks my other cheek, just as hard. “And that’s for running back to Data-X.”

A whimper bursts out of my mouth, but not because of the pain. More because both of my knees went weak and I’m not sure how I’m going to stand.

He rubs his palm over my stinging flesh and I find myself pushing back into his hand, rolling my hips up and back.

His breath grows quicker and his hand strokes lower, down the back of my thigh and under my skirt.

I never feel sexy—ever. But in this moment, listening to the rasp of Sam’s breath, seeing the lust glazing his eyes, I feel like a pinup girl. Or the star of a porn video.

Hot scientist punished and fucked hard by angry test subject.

Oh God, I should not have thought that.

“Layne.” He utters my name like a lament. Like an apology.

I wonder what he’s sorry for—what he’s going to do? Or what he’s holding back from doing? Because I can see the struggle in him. Guilt and repression rippling beneath the surface, as his hand strokes higher, higher. His fingers brush my nether lips, sending a shock of pleasure through my body.

“Tell me to stop, Layne,” he rasps.

What’s wrong with me? I don’t want to. I meet his eyes in the mirror and shake my head.

His lids widen in shock, fingers shove under the gusset of my panties.

I jerk at the firm contact, the rub of his digits along my slit. I’ve never been so wet.

“You don’t want this.” It’s like he’s pleading with me to stop him.

I hold his gaze in the mirror and lift one knee up on the counter next to my hands.

The sound that comes from Sam is pure animal. He pulls his fingers out of my panties and slaps my pussy.

My mouth forms a round O of surprise. I didn’t even know that was a thing.

“What are you doing, Layne?” Sam continues in a rough voice, even as he hikes the skirt of my dress up and tears my panties down. “You don’t want this. Not with me.” He smacks my butt again, hard.

Before I can answer, he’s on his knees at my feet, shoving my leg back up onto the counter after freeing my panties from my ankles. He licks into me.

I gasp at the jolt of pure pleasure.

Okay, I didn’t even know this position existed. Cunnilingus from behind? He presses my hips firmly against the counter as he destroys me with firm licks of his tongue.

I don’t recognize the sounds coming from my mouth—guttural and needy.

Another slap. Somehow my leg on the counter ends up on his shoulder, my ballet flat kicking in the air.

Sam’s tongue twirls around and flicks my clit, over and over again.

I moan, jack my hips up and down, humping his face. “Please,” I plead.

Sam’s mouth comes away from my pussy with a smack and he stands up. He replaces his mouth with his fingers, pushing inside me, filling me.

I moan. “Please.”

He pumps his fingers in and out of me, knocking his knuckles against my entrance, penetrating deep.

He hits my G-spot and I lose control. My only standing leg scoots out from underneath me, but it doesn’t matter, Sam holds me in place with one hand on my ass for his continued finger-fucking. Smack-smack-smack, he gives it to me as my orgasm crests hard.

My muscles clench around his fingers, pussy gushes. “Sam!” I gasp. “Sam!”

“That’s right, sweetheart.” His voice is so deep and raspy I hardly recognize it. “Say my name when you come. I’ll be jacking off to that for the rest of my life.”

My brain power is seriously hindered by my orgasm, but I file his words away to examine later. There’s something off about them, but I can’t pinpoint it now.

When my climax passes, he removes his fingers and stands, still holding me up. His expression is pure agony. I want to offer to reciprocate, but he turns away from me, stripping off his jeans and stepping into the shower.

Still stuck to the counter with tape, all I can do is watch the shadow of his figure in the mirror as he faces the spray and lets the water cascade over his head.

His erection is huge. Through the shower curtain I see it standing stiff and straight in front of him as he rests one palm against the shower wall and sags into the water.

His hand comes to his cock, but he hesitates before he touches it, fingers twitching. As if he lost some battle, he grips it and a shudder runs through his body. I hear a stifled moan. The mirror’s fogging up from the steam and I don’t want to lose my show.

I lick my lips. “Is that for me?” Lordy, my voice sounds husky.

He drops his head further, a rueful laugh echoing against the walls. “Believe it, sweetheart.”

“Why don’t you open the curtain so I can watch?”

He freezes, hand in his cock, as if he can’t believe what I just suggested. Then the curtain flies open.

I’m misted by a light spray of water, but I don’t mind. I get to see Sam’s naked body in all its glory. Wet. Powerful. Rippling with lean muscle.

He bends his forearm up against the wall and rests his head there, pumping his cock. “This is all for you, Layne,” he rumbles. “You have me so out-of-fucking-control, I can’t think straight.”

Even though I just orgasmed, my hips grind over the countertop with excitement.

“Are you going to… give it to me?”

Wow. Did I really just say that? I’m definitely channeling porn-Layne now. But it’s what I want. Now that I know how skilled he is with his fingers and mouth, I’m dying to know how he gives it with his manhood.

Again he pauses in his masturbation and when he resumes it’s with a furious rhythm. “I can’t,” he grits between clenched teeth. “Wish I could, sweetheart.” There’s a tinge of bitterness in his voice I don’t understand. “Best I can do is keep you alive until Smyth is dead and this research is shut down.”

That was a mood-killer. Which I assume was his intention. Apparently, it hasn’t dampened his need, though, because his trapezius muscles are corded up, a vein popping over them as he abuses his manhood.

A growl comes out of his throat, echoing off the tile walls. He closes his eyes, jacks his hips and comes. Ribbons of his essence coat the tile in front of him, mingling with the water and running down the drain.

He flicks off the water and stands there dripping, head hanging.

“I’d hand you a towel, but—you know—I’m taped to a sink over here,” I say dryly.

When he finishes, he swivels his head to look at me, and I swear there’s an accusation there. Like he’s angry over his attraction to me.

A ghost of a smile curls his lips and he steps out, grabbing a plain white towel from the rack and drying off.

“Okay, doctor.”

Ah, so we’re back to doctor now.

He yanks on his black jeans and shoves his cock in, although he doesn’t zip and button them. I stare in the mirror at his glorious body, the curling golden hair dusting his chest, the happy trail leading down to the V of his zipper. A tattoo winds over one of his pectorals and I see it, too, hides scars. Burn marks.

He sidles up behind me, caging me once again between his arms. He rips the tape off my hands in a quick yank.

“Ow!” I yell, louder than necessary. I’m mad at him, but not sure why. Maybe for holding back from me.

He turns me around and grabs my hands. His forehead furrows with concentration as he rubs the irritated skin with his thumbs. “I’m sorry.” He clears his throat. “I never meant to hurt you, Layne. I just… I just don’t want you to become another casualty of Smyth.”

Before I can answer, he attacks my mouth with his, grasping the back of my head to hold me still for his onslaught. His tongue sweeps between my lips.

“We can’t do this,” he says when we break apart.

I blink up at him. Huh? He kissed me, not the other way around. Like he can’t help himself, he dips back in for another passionate kiss and this time I forget his words and surrender. His hand is in my hair, mouth commanding. My knees go weak again.

“This is a bad idea,” he murmurs. His irises glow yellow, like a wolf’s. He kisses along my jaw, down the column of my neck. He jerks away, like he’s wrestling with part of himself. “I can’t… be with you.”

“Fine.” I sound way more defensive than I’d like, but he’s acting like a crazy man. Of course, that is his modus operandi.

“It’s not possible for me to be in a relationship.” His hand is still in my hair, fingers opening and closing, pulling it out of the ponytail.

“Yeah, me neither. I don’t want anything like that.”

His eyes return to blue, and they hold a world of pain. Sorrow I can’t begin to comprehend, not that I understand much about this man.

“I think it’s okay for us to give each other a little pleasure, though, don’t you?” I’m still horny as hell after the shower show and round one with his mouth and fingers. Despite his mixed signals, I crave his touch. To feel alive and beautiful and sexy in the unique way he shows me.

“Yes.” He pulls my mouth to his again, kissing me hard as his other hand tugs up the hem of my dress.

In a flash, he has me sitting on the countertop, dress hiked to my armpits, bra cups peeled down and his lips suctioned over one of my nipples. I arch into him, moaning.

“No.” He shakes his head, eyes glowing yellow. His hands squeeze my breasts, weighing them. He rubs his thumbs across the stiffened peaks, treats the other nipple to his mouth. “I can’t. Layne—” He strokes his palms up and down my bare sides. “I’ll hurt you.” He pulls me off the counter and walks me backward toward the door, his body pressed right up against mine.

“You mean you can’t with a human?”

“Can’t with you,” he rasps, his voice deep and growly.

I blink up at him, unsure whether to be hurt or offended or both.

He reaches around behind me and opens the door. “I’ve had lots of humans, Layne. But none who made me lose control like you do. My wolf—I don’t have enough control of it. I could hurt you, Layne. Badly. Possibly fatally. It’s not safe.” He pushes me out the bathroom and shuts the door, locking it.

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of my throat.

Sam curses on the other side of the door. It sounds like he’s leaning against it. I put my hand on the wood, as if I could feel his body heat through it.

I swear I can.

“I’m going to take another shower,” he says. “A cold one. Please don’t leave or call anyone.”

“I won’t,” I promise. And I mean it. I don’t understand Sam yet, but I do trust him.