Page 553 of Hell Hath No Fury
I lay on my bed, the later afternoon sun reflecting off my phone screen as I watched Wolf Brookes’s tattooed fingers stroke his dick. I could just make out his face in the background of the video. Brown eyes closed, full lips pressed tight on a groan. Dark hair, messy like he’d recently dragged his hands through it. And Muscles. So many muscles.
I’d always found him insanely hot.Which was why I had ended up fucking him a few years back. Once. Once because he was a major manwhore and I wasn’t trying to have my heart broken.
“Whenever I do get in that pussy…” His voice came over the video as he sucked in a breath. His hand gripped his dick. “I’m going to murder it.”
His abs tensed. He groaned before a stream of come hit them. “Good enough for you, princess?”
I squirmed on my bed, pressing my thighs together. God, I wanted to hear that rough voice groaning my name, promising all kinds of dirty things in my ear.
I played the video again and again.
Me: What were you thinking about?
Manwhore: You
The man who fucked anything and everything was—for a moment—solely focused on me, and that was its own special high. One I needed not to get addicted to.
Manwhore: Hendrix and Zepp are having a party tomorrow…
Manwhore: You should come.
The party at the Hunt brother’s house where, as per usual, Wolf would be surrounded by girls whowouldactually fuck him. And I didn’t want him to think about any of them. What I wanted was for him to be so rabid for my pussy that no one else even registered. It was a fine line to tread, caught between denying him and teasing him. And I was really good at teasing him. Half the fun was coming on his tongue one minute and pretending I still hated him the next.
* * *
Wolf’s video was still on my mind later that night when I drove back from hanging out at Drew’s house. My car’s headlights shined over the deserted county road that led back toward Dayton. An unsettled feeling wound through me. I hated this stretch of highway. Back in the 80s, police had found ten bodies buried in the woods surrounding it. It was creepy as hell. Which was why when I was halfway down the stretch of road and the car sputtered then lurched, I freaked out.
I glared at the glowing dashboard like I could threaten the old Toyota into not dying. Of course, it didn’t work. A few more feet down the highway, another weird rumble came from the engine seconds before smoke billowed through the vents.
“Dammit.” I pulled over onto the uneven shoulder just as the engine completely died. I tried to turn the ignition. All it didwas click. Gripping the steering wheel, I stared straight ahead through the dark windshield.
I couldn’t afford to get the car repaired, let alone a tow, which was always crazy expensive. Wolf or Bellamy could probably fix it, though. Like hell I was calling Hendrix or his brother. It was that or leave it here and start walking down Serial Killer Highway.
On a sigh, I took my phone from my pocket and shot off a text to Wolf.
Me: Are you free?
Manwhore: I usually charge fifty an orgasm.
I rolled my eyes and stamped my fingers over the screen.
Me: My car broke down. I’ll pay you to come fix it.Preferably in blow jobs.
Manwhore: Where are you?
I shot off my location and waited. Not even ten minutes later, a lone headlight appeared in my rear-view. Bellamy’s demolished Honda Civic rolled onto the shoulder behind my car.
Had I known Wolf wasn’t alone, I would have chanced the walk. One hundred percent, they would give me crap—or at least Hendrix would—about my texting Wolf.
The back door opened, and Wolf got out of the car, T-shirt tight and jeans dangerously low on his hips underneath the moonlight.
I popped the front and got out into the muggy night. “Thanks for coming out here,” I said.
When he lifted the hood, I tried not to stare at his straining muscles.
“When’s the last time you had your oil changed?” He reached into his back pocket and retrieved a flashlight, shining the beam over the dusty engine.
“Two years ago…”
