Page 36 of The Wolf in My Tavern

“Fuck!” I mutter gruffly, trying to step out.

My father shoves me back with surprising force. Goosebumps spring across the surface of my skin as the icy water pelts me anew, sending steam rising as it hits my burning flesh. “You can stay there until you’re in possession of your wits.”

I chuckle. It releases the spell I’m under. “I am fucking freezing.”

“Good,” my father says brusquely.

I hear his footsteps move away as I fumble for the tie on my simple combat pants. The fact that my fingers are going numb complicates the task but, finally, it comes undone, and I shove them down my thighs until they land with a wet plop on the stone floor.

As I glance down, a different kind of shock hits me—what the fuck is happening to my cock?! I snatch up the bar of hard soap and wash the sweat and blood off my body with shaking hands, all the while trying not to look at my cock.

It’s no use; I can’t avoid it, and as my eyes lower again, they present me with unavoidable facts.

It looks longer and thicker, and not in the way that happens when I harden. Also, the water is ice cold, and my cock ought to be trying to crawl back inside me. A man is intimately acquainted with his cock. I’m sure I’m not the only male who takes it in hand with frequent enthusiasm—I know my own fucking cock. I tentatively reach down and squeeze the two swellings close to the base hoping that might make them go down.

The pleasure is instantaneous. A shudder ripples through me and, despite the frigid water dousing me, I start to grow hard.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I am fucking broken. My rising panic makes it soften, at least, but now I feel sick. What is wrong with it? Is it going to keep swelling and drop off?

By the time I hear my father’s footsteps approach, my fingers and toes are turning blue, and I’m shivering uncontrollably.

“Here,” he pulls the lever to shut the shower off and passes me a cloth to dry myself with.

In the absence of cold water, the heat returns, bathing my body in an instant sheen of sweat. I rake my fingers through my wet hair, shove the cloth around my waist, and step out of the puddle to find my father’s eyes on me with concern.

“I’m alright, pa,” I say, feeling the weight of his study, though I’m still shaken. I don’t even need to dry myself when my burning skin evaporates the water.

He puts his hand on my shoulder in the way he has done many times, and which calms me. “We’ll have that talk later, lad.”

Well, fuck! I am ready for the talk, but also fucking nervous. Also, I probably ought to tell him about what is happening down there, but doing so will be fucking awkward, and I need to build up to that.

Hearing voices approach—with distinctly feminine tones—he rolls his eyes and turns.

I grin. Lasses have been known to sneak down here on occasion, although my father always sends them politely on their way. They do not always come seeking me, either, and my pa gets his share of attention despite not competing for many years. He doesn’t entertain any lasses here or anywhere else, which makes me sad now that I think about it. I have someone now, a lass, who is important to me, and I’m struck by how long he has been without companionship of that kind.

My father’s hand slips from my shoulder. “Sounds like some lasses up to mischief,” he says good-naturedly. “I’ll send them on their way.”

My smile is back.

“They’re expecting us,” a familiar voice says, wiping the smile off my face. Betsy?

My father curses and surges toward the door with me hot on his heels.

My fears are realized in the corridor as we find both Betsy and Ada.

Ada is looking shifty. Betsy is batting her lashes at the big alpha guard who ensures there is no trouble down here, her fingers playing absently with his collar. It is small consolation that Glen is blushing crimson even as he tries to coach her to turn back.

“We’ll handle them, Glen,” my pa says, taking Betsy by the arm and yanking her away. “The lass has not been disciplined enough in her short life.”

Betsy coos and sends a saucy grin my father’s way.

I cough to cover my chuckle even as I wade in to collect Ada before she can slink off. I didn’t like that she was watching the fight where any man might approach her—I definitely don’t want her down here where the other fighters might get the wrong fucking idea.

“What are you two doing down here?” my father says gruffly.

“Ada wanted to check as no hussies were here trying to get their hands on Callum,” Betsy says boldly.

Ada gasps.

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