Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 32284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
"Excuse me?"
"I said I'll do no such thing, Draven. From now on, she'll take her orders from you, or she won't get them at all," Ma sniffs.
Ah, dammit all to hell; now I know I messed up. Because Ma's feathers are ruffled, and she's talking crazy. I can't give Dahlia orders. She'll run screaming into the night as soon as she sees me. I mean, as far as monsters go, I'm not hideous. My home gym gets plenty of use, and it shows. But there is no hiding that I'm more beast than man.
Please scrub the floors; they look a little dull. I promise not to eat you unless you want me to, sweet thing. It doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, now does it?
Fuck me. Eat her? Who said anything about eating her?
Your cock, a little voice whispers. You know you've been thinking about it.
The little voice isn't wrong, dammit. Isn't that why I've been skulking around, trying to catch a glimpse of her? Listening to her? Trying to get another whiff of her intoxicating scent? Because she makes my fucking cock ache? I don't even know what she looks like, but I'm…attracted to her. Captivated by her. Fascinated with her.
She's an enchanting, no-nonsense woman who mutters and grumbles as much as she laughs to herself and sings off-key while she works. I desperately want to know what she's saying. But I want to keep her around, not send her running for safety.
"I'm not giving her orders, Ma," I growl. Not unless I'm ordering her to ride my cock until she's screaming my name. I don't say that part out loud. Obviously. Ma and I may be close, but we aren't that close.
"Fine, then she'll just wander the house, lost, opening random doors, stumbling into random rooms," Ma singsongs, her voice fading. "You know this house is a maze. Who knows what she'll get into? If you don't want her touching any of your precious things, you'll just have to give her instructions yourself. God knows, you never let me go near any of it."
"Dammit." I scowl in the general direction of the doorway, more confident than ever that Ma is up to no good. Well, I'm not playing into her hands. Nope. Whatever she thinks she's going to accomplish here isn't going to happen. I don't care what Dahlia finds. There's nothing here worth riski–
My mind flashes to the cubbyhole hidden behind two dusty tomes in the library. The little metal box tucked away behind those books contains my most prized possessions, things that I'll never be able to replace. What if Dahlia finds them? Throws them out?
I jump to my feet, my tail slashing through the air like a whip cracking. The chair rolls backward, bumping into a table. I ignore the sound of rattling knickknacks, pacing in agitated circles.
Surely, she wouldn't just throw my things away. They have value.
"To you," I growl to myself. "They have value to you." To anyone else, they're little more than garbage, childish things no thirty-year-old of my standing would hang onto. So that's settled, then. I'll just sneak into the library while Dahlia's occupied, grab my stuff, and sneak out.
She'll never even see me.
Jesus Christ. Why do I feel like a SEAL sneaking into a goddamn terrorist stronghold? Oh, right. Because all the blood in my overly large body is in my cock, and I haven't talked to a woman in…well, ever, actually. If I get caught, this is going to be a disaster.
Suck it up, buttercup. It's not like she bites.
Chapter Two
Dahlia
It's quiet in the Woodburn mansion. So quiet you can hear a pin drop. At night, each tiny sound is magnified. My shoes squeak with every step, like balloon animals mating. I'll use a different brand of floor cleaner next time I mop, but for now, I don't want anyone catching me creeping around like a spy. And by anyone, I mean Gretchen's son.
I haven't met her son yet, and she didn't tell me much about him. He works nights and keeps to himself, which makes him sound mysterious. But if he works out in the gym downstairs, he seems more like an ironman than a bookworm. Not that it's any of my business, of course. I don't know the first thing about gyms because I'm allergic to them, but I'm not allergic to gawping at hot guys with muscles.
Technically, I'm not doing anything wrong. Not that I know of. But the library is the only room in the three-story mansion my boss, Gretchen, doesn't want me to clean. She didn't specifically say don't use the library, but I didn't ask for permission either.
It's a gray area, so I take off my shoes to be on the safe side. There's a bottle of Pledge and a cleaning cloth in my pocket in case I need a cover story.