Longing for Wolves (Shifter Country Wolves Book 5) by Roxie Noir

eyes.
    “You look different,” Calder said. He put his glass down, too, and just stood there, a strand of unruly hair draping across his forehead. “Your hair’s longer.”
    He scanned Sam’s body for a moment.
    “You got more tattoos,” he went on, his voice changing somehow.
    Sam looked down at his arms. He’d gotten a lot more tattoos, and most of them weren’t even visible when he had a shirt on.
    “I own a tattoo parlor,” Sam said.
    “You used to have the ones on your forearms,” Calder said. “You were going to get the forest scene on one sleeve.”
    “I did,” said Sam, pulling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, showing it off. “I got a river down the other arm.”
    Calder ran a hand through his hair and swallowed.
    “Why a river?” he finally asked.
    “Face your demons and all that,” Sam said. “I wanted to remember on my own terms, and that’s how I did it.”
    A pause.
    “I’ve got a couple of gray hairs, too,” Sam said. “Sometimes my back hurts if I sit in a car for too long. It’s been a while. I got older, Calder.”
    “I did too,” said Calder.
    “You look the same,” said Sam. “I feel like I could have seen you yesterday, and here I am, unrecognizable.”
    Calder looked at Sam with a look so raw that Sam didn’t know what to do. He felt like he didn’t have a script for this.
    “I’d recognize you anywhere,” Calder said, his voice so sincere it made Sam’s breath catch in his throat.
    “Why are you here, Calder?” Sam asked.
    “Because I wanted to see you and I’m too drunk to make good decisions,” he said. “Because when I saw you two days ago you looked at me like I was a stranger, and I almost got back on my bike right then.”
    “You ruined my date,” Sam said.
    Calder paled.
    “You had a date?” he said.
    “A bad one,” Sam said. “We shook hands, for fuck’s sake.”
    Calder’s jaw flexed, just a little.
    He’s jealous , Sam realized.
    “Like this?” Calder asked. “Like acquaintances?”
    He held out one hand, like he was offering Sam a handshake.
    Sam shook his head, wondering what the hell Calder was trying to repair.
    “No,” he said.
    Calder put his hands back in his pockets, and Sam caught an odd glint in his eye, a rakish gleam that made something inside him growl .
    “No handshake?” Calder asked.
    “We’re not acquaintances,” said Sam.
    Calder took a step forward. Their faces were six inches apart, and Sam knew exactly what was going to happen, like he was reading it from a book.
    He is going to break your heart again, Sam told himself. He’s here because he’s drunk, and he’s going to leave, and you’ll still be here, pining away like an idiot.
    “You didn’t come here late at night, drunk, to shake my hand,” Sam said.
    “You didn’t let me in so we could have a polite chat,” Calder said, the gleam still in his eye.
    “No,” said Sam.
    Then he grabbed Calder by the back of the head and brought their lips together, hard enough that he tasted blood, but he didn’t care. He opened his mouth against Calder’s, the other man drunk and moving just a little slow, and pushed his tongue in.
    He wrapped their tongues together, one hand in Calder’s hair, as Calder grabbed Sam’s hips and pushed them against his own. Calder was already hard, and Sam could feel the iron of his erection against him as they rubbed together through two layers of fabric, the friction hard and electric.
    There was nothing else in the world. The house could have caught on fire, and Sam wouldn’t have cared.
    Calder pulled back, biting Sam’s lip, and Sam growled at him. He closed his fist around Calder’s hair, pulling just hard enough, and Calder let go, his eyes flashing, and then he shoved Sam up against the wall, pinning the other man’s hips with his own, cock against cock, and kissed Sam again. He was sloppy and he tasted like whiskey but Sam didn’t care. He wanted everything, every inch of Calder, and he wanted it now .
    When