Page 242 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Where Whiskey is sprawled like a Renaissance painting of a debauched god.

Red silk bathrobe. Wide open. Nothing underneath.

Red rose in his teeth.

"WHAT THE FUCK, WHISKEY!"

I barely register I'm yelling. I'm too busy saving the takeout bag from spilling over the floor when my hands go immediately numb and cold from the adrenaline flush blasting through my veins.

Ivy doubles over laughing. Hands on her knees, wheezing so hard she isn't even making noise.

"Hey, wildcat." Whiskey's grin stretches around the rose stem. He pulls it out of his teeth with a flourish and extends it toward her. "Miss me?"

She's already launching herself onto the bed and crashing into his chest. He catches her with a delighted grunt, silk robe fluttering, and she kisses him while I stand in the doorway with my coat still on, my blood pressure somewhere in the stratosphere.

"You—" I point at him, my hand visibly shaking even with the fucking driving gloves. "You scared the fucking shit out of me. I thought someone broke in."

Whiskey pulls back from Ivy's kiss long enough to look offended. "Broke in? Dude, I'm your mate. I have a right to be here."

"You have a right to be here at ten. It's…" I check my watch. "Seven-fucking-fifteen, Whiskey!"

"Yeah." He props himself up on one elbow, Ivy still draped across his chest. The robe has slipped off one massive shoulder entirely, revealing the full scope of his admittedly glorious physique. A Roman god who enjoys indulging himself, truly. "I got here early."

"Three hours early?"

He counts on his big hands. "Uh. Two hours and forty-five minutes, actually."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I growl, squeezing the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger as Ivy continues to laugh hysterically. "You didn't need to be that early, regardless."

"I got time blindness, man! Look it up in your medical journals. You know I've got ADHD."

I close my eyes.

I count to five.

I open them.

He's still grinning.

"How did you even get in?" I demand, flinging open the mini fridge door hard enough it bangs against the wall. I grab it to steady it and shove the takeout bag inside, flustered. There's fucking beer in here. "The room is under my name, not yours. That's a security risk if⁠—"

"Told the front desk I was your mate."

I freeze, my hand tightening on the container of hummus enough a little of it leaks out the top.

"You told them you're my mate?" I croak.

"Why? Would you prefer I call ya somethin' else?"

"Like what?" Ivy pipes up before I can stop her.

"Partner? Pardner, as in howdy? Boo bear? Sugar plum? My wittle⁠—"

"I will suffocate you, Whiskey."

"—honey bunny ice prince⁠—"

"Whiskey!"