Title: Give an inch
Rating: T
Characters: Quil Ateara x Leah Clearwater
Posted on: n/a - unpublished
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The nightclub is dark and dank, but the swirling lights and deep bass of the beat line makes it irresistible.
They all wanted to unwind, and given they'd been run literally into the ground over the past months with more and more vampires in the area, they figure they deserve it.
The Reservation is being patrolled by the younger generation of wolves, alternating turns until the more senior pack members returned. Seth had agreed to run with the boys in exchange for the following weekend off to travel to Seattle to see his girlfriend who was juggling finishing her Masters in teaching over the next six weeks while he continued to care for their two year old son with the help of his mother.
"How you doing, cuz?" Jake asks as they stand around the bar table.
Embry has run off to the bar and Brady is already scoping for his newest unsuspecting victim.
"As good as can be, considering," Quil replies.
He's made himself clear. Leah could do what she liked. He wasn't going to stop her. She was free as far he was concerned.
The problem with Leah, give her an inch, and instead of a mile, she fucking circled the whole world twice over.
But he had no say.
He would...
"Oh shit," Jake sighs as he rubs his forehead, eyes trained on the door to the club.
Quil's eyes wander over, taking in the woman walking into the club as if she owned all their asses. He wants to pummel the bouncers at the doors of the club, not only did they let a technical minor inside, they were both checking out her ass as she passed them.
Heat licked at the collar of his shirt.
"Drinks, drinks, drinks," Embry chuckles, pushing beers on to the table, having just come from the bar. "What are you guys-?"
Turning his chin over his shoulder, Embry sniggers in humour.
"Uh, oh."
"Alpha," Leah announces as she swipes the beer straight from Jake's hand, kisses his cheek and takes a sip.
"Boys," she wiggles her brows suggestively, before sauntering off into the dance floor.
Quil stands ramrod straight, telling himself not to look.
Don't look. Just don't. You know that you shouldn't.
But nothing his brain says can stop him from turning and leaning back against the table.
His head cocks to the side as he watches that body, watches the way the leather material clings to her calves, thighs and ass. The way those fucking heels accentuate everything, the way her skin shimmers in the backless lace top made of less material than a fucking napkin.
Quil opens his mouth to say something but he's just as dumb struck as Jake seems to be.
Brady whistles as he appears at the table, laying the tray of shots down.
"Someone better get on that before Mr. Blonde hair, blue eyes, gets there first."
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