Page 43 of Pack Obsession

"Holy shit," Nash says. "That’s actually good."

Axel preens. "Told you I had skills. You doubters, you non-believers..."

"Can I see?" I start to stand, needing to move.

"Wait for it..." Axel grins. "Okay, come see mine first."

I approach his easel and stop dead. He’s drawn me in oils, but I’m not sitting primly in a chair. I’m lying on the grass, hair spread out like a halo, wearing a thin white dress that leaves little to the imagination as it’s slightly transparent. My nipples are clearly visible through the fabric, and the way the dress clings... it’s sensual without being crude, beautiful in a way that makes me blush.

"Jesus, Axel."

He laughs. "What? I got your essence."

"My essence needs a bra, apparently."

"Essence doesn’t wear bras. It’s a known fact."

Nash’s painting is next. I’m sitting as posed but decidedly not wearing clothes at all. And certain assets, aka my breasts, are enhanced.

"Those are not anatomically correct," I point out.

"They’re aspirational," he says with a straight face. "Art is about potential, not reality."

I shake my head, grinning at him.

Logan’s art makes me pause. I’m standing against a tree—and of course, I’m naked here, too—but it’s the expression he’s captured that catches me. Challenging. Wanting. Dangerous. I remember him pressing me against a tree this morning. He’s caught that moment perfectly—the desire, the defiance, the hint of vulnerability.

"So," Nash calls from where he’s demolishing the cheese plate now. "Which is the winner?"

I go join him and pop a grape into my mouth, buying time.

"I can’t pick. They’re all so... creative. Though not exactly true to life."

"Art is interpretation," Axel says loftily. "Keep them. I insist."

"Definitely keeping mine," Nash adds. "Might add some details later, and it’s going on my bedroom wall."

I laugh. "So much for twisting your arm to be here." My gaze finds Logan. "What did you think? Something different?"

That slow grin spreads across his face. "I’ll give you credit. I enjoyed doing something different more than I thought I would."

We hang out a while longer, snacking and talking. The wine flows freely, though I notice Logan barely touches his. The way they move around each other, bantering and joking. They’re a real pack, these damaged men who found family in each other. Is it wrong that I feel jealous?

I’m temporary. Just passing through. The thought shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

"I should get some rest," I finally say, standing. "Thank you for agreeing to this. It was fun." My intention had been to break Logan out of his routine of always being in control or letting him see he can find joy in other things.

Logan follows me out. Because, of course, he does.

"Thank you," he says as we walk. "For pushing me to try something new."

"Careful. People might think you’re going soft."

He crowds me against my door, one hand braced beside my head. "Nothing soft about me, sugar."

He leans in quickly, his lips on mine, no hesitation as if it’s a normal thing between us now. This time, when he kisses me, there’s nothing gentle about it. His mouth claims mine like he’s been thinking about it all day, and maybe he has. I certainly have. My fingers tangle in his shirt as his tongue sweeps into my mouth, tasting, taking. I suck down on it, loving the sweetness of his taste and the growling sounds he makes.

When I release him, he breaks our kiss, and his lips trail to my neck. A breathy laugh escapes me.

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