Page 36 of The Wolf Professor

Here he was, the erudite and sophisticated professor, reduced to jerking off in the shower like a hormonal teenager. But hell, at least he felt less like a ball of frustrated angst. Less likely to do something inappropriate, like pin Charlie to the desk when he saw her this morning. That, at least, was a blessing.

Carefully, Max washed down his still fluffed-up cock, then rinsed the tiled walls down. Getting out of the shower, he wrapped the towel tightly around his middle.

As he walked back to the house, his skin tingling in the icy the cold air, his knot still swollen and heavy between his thighs, he glanced up at the house.

Fuck. His bedroom window was visible from here.

He breathed a little easier when he saw the curtains were pulled closed. Charlie must still be asleep, and oblivious to him jacking off to a fantasy of her spread out before him like a feast.

But holy hell, just supposing she’d spied him doing it.

Max shuddered.

Ye gods, it didn’t bear thinking about.

Charlie woke to the delicious smell of… Max.

She turned her head and reached out, but it was, she realized, just his pillow, with the faint aroma of his aftershave. She squirmed, remembering how she’d come to be in his bed, and the events of last night.

The way he’d rescued her in his wolf form.

The way he’d carried her on his back, so strong and powerful. How she’d clung to his thick pelt, her fingers woven into his fur, her knees dug deep into his hard flanks.

The comfort they’d shared, that felt so intimate, so precious, as she bathed his wound and he checked over hers with such gentle hands.

The way he’d left her when she’d practically been offering herself on a plate to him, her breast falling heavy from her dress and her pussy clenching with need—then clenching on emptiness as she watched him stride to the door.

He’d felt it, just as much as she had. She knew that. And he’d chosen to walk away.

With a sigh, Charlie sat up and winced at her throbbing head. Glancing down at her body, she could already see several bruises forming. Gods, those ferals didn’t care if they messed up a woman. She shuddered, wondering what would have happened if Max hadn’t arrived.

Yawning, she got out of bed and padded to the window. The light crept between the curtains, but she guessed it was still early. She tweaked them open and looked down into the yard, the pool cover adorned with dead leaves, and the covers on the loungers proclaiming winter was very much here.

The sun hadn’t risen yet; the sky was a cold gray stained with blood-red edges. It was going to be a clear day.

And then she saw a figure. And froze.

Max, circumnavigating the pool. Naked except for a towel around his waist.

Charlie’s breath snagged. His skin was pale, luminescent almost, the muscles of his pecs and abs rock hard, with just a swirl of dark hair visible in the center of his chest. Poetry in motion. She watched, mesmerized, as he dropped the towel, her gaze drinking in his muscled thighs. When he turned, she craned her neck and caught sight of his cock, more than at half-mast and bobbing in the dark thatch of hair between his legs.

Charlie let out a little moan.

When he started to move his hands down his body under the stream of water, her body goosebumped with anticipation.

Was he?

Oh goddess, was he really…?

Yes, he was…

Somehow, she knew this had to be about last night. The desire that had ignited between them. Oh gods, Maxneededthis. Because ofher.

And she needed it just as much…

Unblinking, she watched the play of muscles in his arm as he moved it languorously lower. She strained to see more, to catch sight of his hand binding his cock, but his back was turned and the steam, damn it, also obscured her view. But there was no mistaking the action he was undertaking, the rhythmic bunching of his bicep as his arm pistoned back and forth, the way his buttocks tensed in thrall to a primal dance.

Never taking her eyes off Max, Charlie’s hand sank between her legs, and she squeezed against her fingers to relieve the growing ache.

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