STORY EXCERPT

Spencer

I glanced into the gerbil pen and counted six of them running on a wheel like their lives depended on it. Which, given the state of my employment history, made us kindred spirits.

Day one at The Cat Nap and I was already sweating through my polo. The shirt was a medium because they didn’t stock smalls, and the extra fabric billowed around my torso like a sad green parachute. SPENCER was stamped on the name tag in crooked block letters, courtesy of the label maker I’d wrestled with for ten minutes before my manager, Deb, had taken pity on me and done it herself.

Deb was somewhere in the back, doing inventory. She’d left me alone on the floor with a cash wrap, forty fish tanks, an entire wall of squeaky toys, and a parrot named General Patton who had called me an asshole twice since nine a.m.

“Right back at you,” I muttered, passing the bird on my way to restock the cat litter display.

General Patton ruffled his feathers and fixed me with one beady orange eye.

The bags of litter weighed twenty-five pounds each. I weighed 105 soaking wet. Doing the math on that ratio was not encouraging.

“You can do this. Just drag the bags from the pallet to the shelf. Engage your core muscles, not your back.”

Gripping the first bag by its handle, I dragged it off the pallet, my sneakers squeaking against the linoleum as the stubborn bag slid across the floor with all the grace of a body bag being disposed of.

My little pep talk wasn’t working.

A family browsing the hamster aisle glanced over. Their kid pointed at me. I smiled like this was a totally normal way to transport cat litter and not at all a cry for help.

By the fourth bag, my arms were trembling and a line of sweat had carved a path from my hairline to my jaw. A goldfish in the nearest tank pressed its face to the glass and stared at me with what I could only describe as pity.

“Don’t judge me,” I told it. “You live in a box.”

The store smelled like cedar shavings, kibble, and the faint musk of animals who hadn’t consented to being displayed under fluorescent lighting. Somewhere near the reptile section, a heat lamp buzzed. A lovebird whistled three notes of something that sounded suspiciously like a car alarm. Two kittens in the adoption window by the front door were engaged in a wrestling match that had drawn a cluster of teenagers with their phones out.

This was my life now. I’d applied to fourteen places in two weeks, and The Cat Nap had been the only one desperate enough to call back. During the interview, Deb had asked if I had experience with animals. I’d said yes with the confidence of a man who had once fed a neighbor’s cat and only gotten scratched four times. She’d hired me on the spot, which said more about her staffing crisis than my qualifications.

Stacking the last bag onto the shelf, I stepped back and admired my work. The display leaned dangerously to the left. I nudged the bottom bag with my foot, which made the top bag slide sideways and land on the floor with a thud that echoed through the store.

General Patton laughed. An actual laugh. Like a person.

“Noted,” I said, hoisting the bag back into place. “You and I are going to have problems.”

A bell chimed over the front door. I straightened, wiped my palms on my khakis, and plastered on the customer-service smile I’d been practicing in the bathroom mirror. The smile that said I am competent and love animals and definitely know the difference between a cockatiel and a cockatoo.

The man who entered did not belong in a pet store.

Everything about him screamed wrong building. A leather cut hung open over a black T-shirt that strained across shoulders wide enough to block the doorway. Dark hair fell across his forehead, pushed back from a face half-hidden by a full beard. Tattoos crawled from his wrists and disappeared under his sleeves, and another line of ink peeked above his neckline, disappearing into the shadow of his jaw. A small hoop earring caught the fluorescent light. Between his lips, a toothpick rested like it had been born there.

But the eyes.

God, the eyes.

Storm-cloud blue, dark-lashed in a way that had no business existing on a man built like that. His gaze moved across the store in a single sweep—exits first, then occupants—like the habit was older than he was.

When they landed on me, I forgot every word I had ever learned. Two full seconds of open-mouthed silence, a bag of cat litter propped against my hip like an infant.

His expression said don’t start with me before coffee, which was both terrifying and deeply relatable. Lines bracketed his mouth, the kind carved by years of squinting or frowning or hopefully smiling. He moved silently through the store. It should have been impossible for someone built like a refrigerator. His boots barely made a sound on the linoleum.

“Hi!” My voice cracked on the single syllable. Clearing my throat, I tried again. “Welcome to The Cat Nap. Can I help you find something?”

ADULT EXCERPT

“Bossy.” But he was already standing, moving toward the kitchen. He grabbed the bottle from the counter, shook two pills into his palm, and swallowed them dry.

“Water,” I said.

He filled a glass and drank half of it, maintaining eye contact the entire time like he was proving a point. When he set the glass down, there was a smear of orange sauce at the corner of his mouth.

Pushing to my feet, I walked toward him. His eyes grew wide as I approached, back pressed against the counter. His breathing became shallow, the fingers on his good hand curling around the counter’s edge.

I swiped my thumb across the corner of his mouth, catching the sauce. His breath hitched. The sound was small, but I heard it. So had my wolf.

“Sauce,” I said.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“Welcome.” I was close enough that I could see those teasing freckles, see the way his pupils had blown wide, and see the pulse beating at the base of his throat.

“Crowbar.” My name in his mouth sounded surreal.

Slowly, I leaned in, giving him time to pull back, to laugh it off, or to turn it into another joke. His gaze dropped to my mouth then back up, a look of raw need reflecting in his eyes.

I cradled his jaw, my thumb tracing his smooth skin, careful of his arm as I took a step closer, possessing my lips to his in a slow-burning kiss. I nipped and sucked at his bottom lip, coaxing them apart, and swept my tongue inside.

My hand slid to the back of his skull, my fingers threading through his hair. He made another sound, softer, and melted against me. The kiss turned slower, deeper, tongues moving in a rhythm that had my cock pressing against my jeans.

Spencer fisted my shirt, pulling me to him, making needy little noises that were unraveling me.

I braced a hand on the counter beside his hip and angled my head, deepening the kiss. He was eager, kissing back, just as hungry as I was.

My lips kissed and nipped a path along his jaw, tongue flicking over his Adam’s apple.

“Your mouth is…” Spencer groaned. “Forgot what I was going to say.”

“Careful, babe,” I said against his throat. “Trying not to fuck you senseless right now.”

He gasped then groaned, his fingers curling tighter in my shirt.

My other hand found his waist. I yanked him to my chest. He moaned.

“Like that?”

“About to come in my khakis.” Snaking his hand around my nape, he licked greedily at my mouth, one leg hitching at hip. I felt his hard cock against my thigh, grinding into my leg.

“Rather you come in my mouth, sweetheart.” I nipped his ear. “But you gotta beg for it.”

Spencer shoved against my chest, and I immediately released him, wondering if I’d gone too far. Some males weren’t into filth, preferring to keep things vanilla.

Grabbing my hand, he dragged me from the kitchen, a huge grin on my face.

“Think you’re running this?”

“Just getting to the main course sooner.” He pulled me straight toward his bed, and I let him. There was something hot about a pint-sized guy manhandling me. It was a fucking turn-on and had my dick hard and aching.

As soon as we reached the platform, I wrapped an arm around his waist, hauled him off his feet, and dropped him onto the bed. But I slipped my hand under his sling, preventing his arm from hitting the mattress.

“You tell me the minute that arms starts hurting. Understood?” I rested my hands on my hips, waiting.

“And if I don’t?” he teased.

Lowering to a crouch, I looked him in the eye. “I ain’t fuckin’ around with your recovery, Indoors. As fired up as I am, your recovery is more important to me. Got that?”

“Yes.”

There was a catch in his voice. He wasn’t used to being taken care of. He was about to get used to it.

I worked the button of his khakis open then the zipper. He lifted his hips without me asking, and I pulled the fabric down to his knees, taking his boxers with the pants.

His cock was flushed and leaking, curving up toward his stomach. I wrapped one hand around the base, and his whole body jerked.

“Beg me.”

“Crowbar.” My name was a plea.

“My name sounds good on your lips, but not what I’m looking for.” I leaned in and licked a stripe up the underside, base to tip. The taste of him flooded my mouth, salt and skin and want. His thighs trembled on either side of my shoulders. “Beg me to suck you off.”

Spencer’s eyes had gone wild, desperate. “Put your goddamn mouth on my cock and don’t stop until I’m coming down your throat, pookie…please,” he demanded but softened the ending.

“Call me that again.”

“Pookie.”

My thumb traced the jut of his hipbone. He was all angles and compact lines, built narrow but strong. I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to his stomach. Spencer’s breath stuttered, and his hand tightened on my shoulder.

I kissed lower, following the trail of hair. Spencer’s hips jerked forward, and I steadied him, holding him in place while I licked around the head. He made a sound that was half gasp, half moan, and his fingers found my hair, tangling in it.

I took his cock into my mouth slowly, letting him feel every inch of the slide. I wasn’t going to rush a fucking minute with my mate.

Spencer’s legs jerked again. “Oh god. ’S good. So good.”

His hips bucked, and I pressed one hand flat against his stomach, holding him down.

He tasted clean, like salt and skin, and amazing. I took him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, and Spencer made a sound like he’d been punched. His hand fisted in my hair, not pulling, just holding on.

“Oh god.” The words came out broken. “Oh god, that’s—you’re—”