He scowls. “That’s a terrible name. He’ll never get adopted with a wimpy name like that.”
I smile. “You got a better one?”
“Hell yeah. I think we should change his name to Bo Jackson.”
He leans over and scratches the dog’s ears.
“You just pull that name out of nowhere?”
Holding his hand up to his heart, Silas gives me a pained look. “You’re killing me, baby. Bo Jackson is only one of the greatest athletes of all time. Possibly the greatest. And he was crazy fast.” He scratches the dog’s ears again, curving his large hand around the puppy’s head. “Just like this dude.”
My heart might be beating a little faster. Maybe. And I didn’t really process anything he said after “baby.”
I just know Silas plus puppies is a dangerously sexy combination.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of sweet?”
He abandons the dog to focus his attention on me. Reaching out, he wraps my braid around his hand as he’s so fond of doing, and tugs just enough to tip my head back.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re f**king gorgeous?”
“You did. This morning.”
He closes his eyes and smiles. “That’s right. You were incredibly hot this morning. And greedy. And wet—”
I fumble with the dog until I’ve got one hand free and slap it over Silas’s mouth.
“You’re terrible. Someone might hear you.”
He nips one of my fingers with his teeth, and his eyes are dark as I pull back.
I better head this off before we get a little too personal in public, and I’m no longer allowed to volunteer at the animal shelter.
I step back. “I’m going to put Bo Jackson in his cage. You go ahead and get the next dog we’re supposed to walk.”
By the time I get the little rascal in his cage and wash my hands like we’re supposed to do between contact with different pets, there’s a group of three college girls surrounding Silas. He holds our next walking buddy, some kind of pit bull mix, and the girls are cooing and smiling at the dog in his arms. I’m 100 percent sure their attention has less to do with the dog, and more to do with who’s holding him.
I walk up just in time to hear Silas say, “You should take him home. He’d be a good guard dog. Good thing to have, especially if the three of you are living alone.”
One of the girls snags the dog’s tag to read his name, but Silas stops her. “Don’t pay any attention to the tag. You should call him Emmitt. That’s a good, tough name for a dog like him.”
“Emmitt,” one of the girls says, raising her eyebrows at a friend.
Fifteen minutes later Emmitt is on his way to a new home, and Silas looks smug as can be. By the time we go on the last walk of our four-hour volunteer shift, five dogs have found new homes (and new football-related names), and there’s no deflating Silas’s ego, so I don’t even bother.
“I’m pretty sure that’s more adoptions today than they’ve probably had the rest of the week combined. You might be the shelter’s new secret weapon against prospective pet owners with two X chromosomes.”
He switches the leash of our current dog to his other hand. I thought for sure when we got to the girl dogs, he’d let up on the football names, but apparently there was a famous running back named Gale, who’s the namesake for the cocker spaniel we’ve got now.
“So what lesson was I learning today?” he asks.
I smile. “Nothing really. I was just stressed and wanted to play with puppies.”
He shakes his head and drops an arm over my shoulder. “You tricked me.”
I wrap my arm around his waist and say, “If it makes you feel better, you can say you were working on being compassionate.”
We’re too busy looking at each other, so we don’t notice until it’s too late that little Gale has popped a squat right in front of Silas’s foot. He looks down and curses, pulling his shoe out of the puddle.
“Aw, shit. It’s soaking through my sneaker.”
“Maybe you should get a dog. It would probably teach you some anger management skills.”
He uses the arm around my shoulder to pull me closer to him.
“Let’s go back to my place. I think it’s definitely my turn to teach you something.”
I GASP AND then moan as Silas pushes me against the door to his bedroom. My br**sts are flattened against the wood, and I can feel the muscled curves of his body against my back.
His mouth falls to my neck, and he bends slightly, so that the jut of his erection pushes into the curve of my ass.
“And . . .” I break off for a few seconds as his teeth graze my shoulder and my thoughts scatter. Then I push on. “What are you planning to teach me?”
“I’m still deciding.”
Oh God. I’m terrified and eager, but both emotions are irrelevant as soon as he spins me around to face him. He towers over me, and his hands make quick work of my braid so that he can sink his fingers into my hair. He tilts my head back as far as it will go, and presses close against me so that I feel him now against my stomach.
He trails a thumb over my mouth, and on instinct I wrap my lips around it and suck.
His grip tightens, and his h*ps push harder against me. His thigh is fitted between my legs and presses tight against my center.
“I’ve mentioned that I love your mouth, right?”
I pull back and smile. “Maybe a few . . . hundred times.”
He bends, licking and sucking and biting until my lips feel deliciously swollen, all while I rock myself against his thigh.
I reach between us to stroke the bulge in his jeans, and he breaks away.
“Fuck, baby. I had a plan. I was going to make you beg, make you tell me what you want.”
“But?” I add for him.
“But you drive me crazy, and I can’t wait to be inside you.”
It’s my new favorite game, making Silas lose control.
“So don’t wait,” I tell him.
He growls and kisses me again. I’m almost dizzy with want when he pulls away. He points a finger at me and says, “Clothes. Off. Now.” Then he darts to the nightstand, where he has condoms stashed in a drawer.
I’m bent over, trying to do away with the underwear currently stubbornly clinging to my ankle, when he returns.