Perth? That’s an unusual name, one that doesn’t stoke the tiniest ember of recognition.
“That didn’t stop you from holding her for hours,” Perth points out, clutching me closer.
Fuck. How drunk did I get last night?
The weight of another warm and hard body presses against me from the front, and soft chest hair grazes my rapidly hardening nipples. I realize then that I’m not wearing anything. I’m naked.
The man behind me shifts a little and the cotton of his pajamas—which I mistook as my own clothing—slides against my ass. Along with something else. Something large and thick and quite hard.
A small mewl of appreciation slips from my lips, and a deep growl suddenly responds. That sound slashes through my nerve endings. It’s as jarring as a set of cymbals crashing together. Something about it sends alarm blaring through me, and just like that, I’m fully awake.
My eyes fly open, but the sight of the most delicious, intimidatingly hot guy I’ve ever seen fries my immediate need to bolt.
Bright green eyes stare down at me from a very masculine face. He has a jaw boasting a five o’clock shadow and messy, unbrushed brown hair that adds to his appeal. His handsome face alone is worship-worthy, but his body? This man’s body was sculpted by a master. I swear that someone must have revived Michaelangelo from the dead and told him to do one better than his sculpture of Hercules. The bicep propping up this guy’s head as he leans on the pillow has to be the size of my thigh. His arms are huge, and every delicious inch of them is covered in black tattoos.
I suck in a breath as his hand touches my bare hip, fingers wrapping back around me until they’re most definitely on my ass.
“Oh shit, you’re awake! How do you feel?” he asks, surprise ringing in his voice, and worry glinting in his green eyes. He offers me a warm smile and it makes him look so soft and sweet that my heart instantly turns to butter. The grin is a complete contrast to his badass appearance. This man looks like he was meant to be a soldier, a general—no, a gladiator. But he’s staring down at me with this sort of tender pride that makes my lungs forget how to function.
I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me quite like that.
“Good, I think,” I answer, wincing at the dry rasp in my voice.
Damn, they must have had me screaming last night.
I return the gladiator’s smile and try to kickstart my brain. I tug at the threads of memory, trying to recall what happened. I only find frayed strings that I can’t seem to tie together to help me make any sense of things.
I’m no stranger to an occasional one-night stand, but when I do need to scratch that itch, I don’t usually stumble across men who rightfully belong on firefighter calendars. I also don’t usually drink a lot.
If the look this guy is giving me is anything to go by, we had a very, very good time. In my experience, a guy doesn’t give a girl soft doe-eyes and argue about cuddle time unless he’s looking for a repeat performance.
But this can’t be real, right? That level of adoration doesn’t happen after one night. Especially not a wild, no-holds-barred drunken threesome.
I must have been good. Like, really good.
Drunk off my ass but serving Os and showing these two what my throat can do. That has to be it. I’d high-five myself but my arms feel heavy and I’m too comfy to worry about moving.
Although, what the hell did I do with my hands that has my arms feeling like I went too hard at the gym?
Shit, I hope I didn’t try to prove how flexible I am. I can rock complex yoga moves with the best of ’em, but letting someone fuck you in crow pose is never a good idea.
Come on, brain, don’t fail me now. These are the kind of memories that will sustain us in our old age.
I try to push past the fog in my head and remember what happened, but it’s all annoyingly blank. Did I fuck them both at the same time? My ass doesn’t feel sore… Damn, what did we do?
I mean, it’s not hard for me to imagine falling for a bad boy’s smile and some tender touches. But the thing is, I can’t pull up a memory of any of that, or drinking, or even going to a bar.
Nothing.
At all.
It’s as if last night has been erased from my mind completely.
Worry starts to invade my afterglow. Why is there nothing in my head about either of these guys?
Warm pillowy lips press against my bare shoulder, and my attention is immediately drawn to the trois of this menage who is still snuggled against my back. I shudder, not because it feels wrong or scary or intimidating, but because it feels so utterly right. And yet, my mind is completely devoid of any knowledge of how any of us got here.
What the hell?
“How’s your wolf feeling?” Perth asks, nuzzling the juncture where my neck and shoulder meet.
I look back at him, and my eyes practically bug out when I take him in. If the other man is biker-level intimidating contrasted by soft smiles, then Perth is the naughty boy-next-door with the panty-melting grin.
Although boy is a massive misrepresentation of the man behind me.
I’d pin him at thirty maybe, just a few years older than me. He’s got reddish brown hair, a trimmed mustache and beard of the same color, and a face full of freckles that somehow add to his allure. I’ve heard of freckles being called angel kisses, but that title never made sense to me until now. Perth and his gorgeous face have most definitely been blessed by the heavens.
His eyes are a striking amber color, and the look banked in the warm hue tells me that this guy is deliciously dangerous. He stares at me as if he’s familiar with every bit of my body and currently planning to reacquaint himself with several prime inches of it.
I smile dreamily at him, and then what he asked me hits me like a Mack truck.
How’s your wolf feeling?
Your…wolf?
That one word trickles out of him so innocently, and yet it’s the key to unlocking the vault in my head. With a clang, the door swings open.
Memories of wolves, red cloaks, and pain inundate me. A terrified whimper tears out of my throat, and I scramble to get out from between these two psychos. I clamber to the foot of the bed before falling off in my rush to get away.
Both of them sit up in a snap, reaching for me like I need help. As graceful as a newborn foal, I manage to get my quivering legs under me. I pop up, holding out my hands as if I’m trying to ward off an attack that neither man is currently rallying.
Regardless, my senses are on high alert, my knees quaking, and my arms covered in goose bumps as though this is an actual life-or-death situation. The terror of the memories that just surged through me is so intense that bile creeps up my throat.
I risk looking away to take in my leg. I was bitten. A wolf attacked me last night and tore into my calf…but when I look down, my skin is smooth, and my leg is completely intact. There’s not even a mark there.