Page 2 of Inked Adonis

Rufus must be into voyeurism, because he humps the man even harder.

I chance a quick glance at the human Great Dane to see if he’s as unimpressed with my faltering control as I am.

Spoiler: He is not, in fact, impressed.

His face might as well be carved from marble—eyebrows arched, jaw clenched tight. Cold, beautiful, and utterly unimpressed. I study the hard corners—for science, of course—trying to decide if he’s finding this amusing or if he’s just mentally drafting the lawsuit that will put Hope’s Helpers out of business.

Then the man snaps his fingers.

“Rufus,” he growls, his voice a dark promise that makes my thighs clench. “Sit.”

Rufus freezes mid-hump. His adorably soulful eyes turn up towards his human counterpart. With a little apologetic whine, he detaches himself from the man’s leg and parks his sizable ass on the ground.

I stare at the dog in disbelief.

He listened.

He actually listened.

I don’t actually know why I’m shocked. If that man gave me an order, I’d be obeying, too.Sit. Stay. Speak. Undress.

I’d park it wherever he told me to.

Rufus whines, probably resentful that the man’s attention is fixed on me.

Those firebrand silver eyes are truly something. They make it hard to focus. What am I doing here again?

Oh, right.

Emphatic groveling.

“I’m so, so, so sorry. This is mortifying. This is my first day walking him, and I—” I make the mistake of looking him in the eye.

Christ on a cracker.The man is literally two heads taller than me. I’d have to get a stepladder just to reach those lips of his. Although, why I would need to reach his lips is beyond me.

That’s a lie.

It’s not beyond me.

There’s only one reason I’d want to reach those lips. And that reason is about as innocent as Rufus’s overtures a moment ago.

“—I underestimated just how strong he is.” I glance down at the right leg of his suit pants. The once immaculate fabric is now crumpled and dusted with slobber and dog hair. “Oh, God. He really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

All I can think is that if this had happened to Chicago PD Sergeant Tom Pierce, the man would be screaming in my face as he “took care” of Rufus. My father is not what you would call “understanding.” Or “lenient.” Or “nice.” He has no tolerance for animals.

For that matter, he doesn’t have much tolerance for people, either. Hell, if he could kick humans across the rainbow bridge and call it a “mercy killing,” he would do it in a heartbeat.

Just the kind of person you want the CPD to strap with a service weapon and send out into the community, right?

I bury that childhood trauma down deep and try to focus on the Greek god in front of me. But between the horror of the situation, his criminally good looks, and the way he’s stayingeerily silent as he regards me, I’m breaking out in stress hives. I can feel itchy heat spreading across my chest and up my neck.

“I’m more than happy to have those pants dry cleaned for you. In fact, I insist.” I hold out a hand, finally taking charge.

He gazes down at my outstretched hand and lofts one thick eyebrow. “You want me to take my pants off?”

Maybe a mercy killing isn’t such a bad idea, after all.

“No! I’d never— Of course not. That is not at all what I?—”