Page 25 of Spatially UnawareWolf

Something in my chest settled at that. “It just seems like I’m getting nowhere fast. And I need to fix this, or I’ll be out of a job.”

Mom’s expression turned thoughtful. “You say you’ve made progress. Tell me about that.”

“My one big success was walking up and down the ramp on the agility course in wolf form,” I said, “and that was only because I was distracted.”

“Oh?” Mom lit up with interest. “By what?”

I ducked my head and mumbled, “Waschasingaleaf.” I could feel my cheeks heating and waited for her to laugh.

And yeah, the corners of her mouth twitched up, but then she hummed before saying, “So all your focus was on your target, and your body fell into line.”

“That’s what Hunter said.”

“Then that’s your answer. Find something that will distract you so you’re not worrying about what your legs are doing.”

“That makes sense, I guess. But what?”

Mom gave me a warm smile. “That’s something you’ll need to figure out, honey. Maybe Hunter will have some ideas.”

“Maybe,” I said, taking another sip of coffee and snagging a croissant out of the bag.

After breakfast Mom put me to work, claiming it would help take my mind off things. I was pretty sure she just didn’t want to do the yardwork, but I didn’t mind. And it turned out she was onto something. By the time I’d mowed the backyard, weeded her garden beds, and shoveled a fresh layer of mulch onto them, I’d worked up a sweat and my muscles ached, but the anxious knot in my chest had eased, and I felt better about my chances of getting my body under control.

We spent the afternoon watching a movie and I ended up napping in an armchair, and when I woke up, Mom fed me her meatloaf. After dinner, I took a shower, changed into some clean clothes, and prepared to head to the park for another therapy session.

“Just remember,” Mom said as I left, “find the right distraction, and it’ll all come together.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She was right. I just needed to find something to focus on.

I jogged toward the park at a steady pace, partly as a warm-up and partly because I didn’t want to be late and disappoint Hunter.

Hunter.

Now there was a distraction.

Sex with him had been mind-blowing, far better than a quick and dirty hand job had any right to be. Even remembering it now, watching Hunter fall apart just from a hand on his dick—and another dick next to his—had heat pooling in my belly. I was desperate to do it all again, and more besides. I’d spent so long hooking up with shifters and letting them take charge that I’d forgotten what it was like to be the one in control—and I’d liked it, straddling Hunter and having him at my mercy.

Hunter had liked it too, judging by the way he’d melted into a desperate, panting mess. Just thinking about it had my cock stirring in my sweats, so yeah, it was fair to say we’d both had a good time. But so far, there hadn’t been a repeat. Apparently, Hunter had been serious about there not being a next time. He’d taken to walking me home after our sessions, carrying me up the stairs, and leaving me on my doorstep without so much as a kiss.

It was incredibly frustrating, especially when I knew he liked me. And I liked him too. When I’d first met him, I admit I’d half expected to find a stereotypical himbo. But we hadn’t just trained over the last week, we’d talked too, and I’d discovered that Hunter was smart and sincere with a kind, caring streak a mile wide, which just made him even more attractive.

And I’d seen how his eyes would light up when I made a joke and caught his gaze snagging on my ass and thighs more than once. I was pretty sure he wasn’t looking in any professional capacity—not when he was looking at me like he was a little kid at Christmas and I was the last candy cane on the tree.

I knew that his focus was on fixing me, not fucking me. I just wished there was a way we could do both.

Wait.

I thought back to how I’d climbed into his lap and the way my hips had moved in an instinctive rhythm as I’d chased my orgasm. How I hadn’t had to think twice about it. And then I thought about my mom’s suggestion that I find something to focus on.

Maybe I could ask Hunter to fuck me as therapy.

I snorted at the idea, because it was ridiculous, but I couldn’t deny the shiver that ran up my spine at the thought of getting down and dirty again.

I shook my head at my own rambling thoughts. My focus should be on getting better, not seducing my trainer—but Hunter was just so fucking pretty.

Side note—could you call someone with that many muscles pretty?