Hunt Me! I Crave the Chase (Spooky Boys #3)

By the time I’d finished my joint and snuffed out its withered remains I was floating. Sometimes it took a while to kick in fully, but I’d taken my sweet time with every puff, and so I was fully sunk in foggy bliss as I lay back on the mattress and let my mind—and hands—wander.

Like my thoughts always did lately, they found their way back to Mutt.

To his stupid sunny smile.

To his stupid floppy hair.

To his hands.

A man’s hands.

Veiny, big, scratchy. And those claws—holy fuck. There was nothing human about those fucking claws. Even though I had limited hunting knowledge when it came to werewolves, I’d met enough of them working at Avery’s shop that I knew Mutt’s partially shifted appearance was abnormal.

More comfortable as a wolf than he was as a man—to the point that he almost never fully shifted into human form. Always some sort of hybrid mix. Hairy. Claw-y. Fang-y.

It shouldn’t have turned me on the way it did.

Especially since, by all accounts, I’d never been attracted to a man before I’d met him. Not the way I was with him. This weird fucking itch beneath my skin every time I saw him and he wasn’t touching me.

I pushed away thoughts of the future, too stressed and high to think about anything other than fuzzy happy trails and Mutt’s knot.

I groaned, threading my fingers in my short hair as my free hand slid down my torso. As high as I was, my wandering thoughts were more tantalizing than frustrating. They slipped away as quickly as they’d come as I focused on the brush of my palm, the tickle of my fingertips as I pushed beneath the waistband of my boxers and reached for my dick.

The skin was soft and dry after my shower, almost velvety to the touch as I curled my fingers around the base of my dick and held it snug, lashes fluttering. Sometimes I liked to do that. Just hold it. Feel my dick grow hard in my grasp. Feel the veins twitch, my cock flex.

I bit my lip to hold in any sound, a habit I’d learned young.

“Fuck,” I hissed quietly through my teeth as I pictured what might happen if Mutt came home now. If he saw me. Saw my hand between my legs, my head tossed back, my eyes flooded with heat. Would he like what he saw? I hoped so.

God.

I really, really did.

I spread my legs wider, my imagination running wild. Mutt would growl. I knew he would. That sexy little rumble he did when he got turned on. Low and sweet. His eyes would be black with lust. His thick chest would heave. And if I looked between his legs I’d see the shape of his cock, hard and needy, listing to the left like it was doing its best to point at me despite its fabric prison.

My cock jerked and I gave it a tight squeeze, nipples tingling.

Mutt would say something stupid. Something sweet. Something about how pretty I looked with my legs spread—about how much he liked my dick when it was hard—even though he couldn’t see it.

He’d crawl across the bed.

He’d beg to touch.

Beg to taste.

Beg to feel me.

Call me his bitch and try to mount me.

And when I pinched his knot he’d sob the way he always did, knot-drunk and horny, tucked tight inside my body.

I came with a stuttered gasp, hot and wet across my fingers. My lashes fluttered and I sighed blissfully, letting the rest of my fantasy play behind my lids. Mutt would lick me clean. He’d suck the sweat from my skin, lap up the cum like it was a treat. My cock jerked pitifully in response.

And then he’d spoon me.

Hold me close.

Nuzzle the back of my neck and whisper pretty words in my ear.