Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
The screen is ripped from where my paw went through on the last full moon. I’m surprised her rich daddy hasn’t fixed it yet.
But, then again, he’s grieving.
It’s harder to scorn these rich humans now that I know they’re all suffering. They’re not closed off because they think they’re too good for the rest of us–they’re shut down from grief.
Or maybe it’s both.
Probably both. She definitely still has a chip on her shoulder, no matter how you slice the cake.
I catch her scent around the window, and my wolf whines.
I’m not sure what I’m going to do. Leave the letter on her windowsill? Put it in her mailbox? All I know is that my conscience wouldn’t rest until I brought the letter here.
I look in the window. My vantage point is different than when I’m in wolf form. On two legs I can see her bed below the window. The sprawl of her thick copper hair across the pillows.
I gently detach the screen and lean it against the house. Then I try the window.
It’s unlocked.
Lauren’s eyes fly open at the soft sound. I’m about to throw the window wide and hurl myself through to clap a hand over her mouth, but I realize she hasn’t moved.
Hasn’t parted those full lips to scream.
She’s just watching me.
I slide the window open as quietly as possible and boost myself up through it.
Lauren looks gorgeous, her pale legs all tangled up in the sheets and duvet. She’s in a pair of minuscule pajama shorts and a camisole with straps made of the tiniest strings I’ve ever seen. One swipe of my teeth, and I could slice right through them. Make that fabric fall away from her ripe breasts.
My dick gets rock hard.
She still hasn’t moved, even though I’m in her bedroom, stalking her in her own bed.
“What are you doing here?” It’s a whisper.
So fucking sweet. Like I have a right to be here. Like I’m not just the bully who has been harassing her since the first day of school.
Only because she doesn’t seem scared, because I don’t feel unwelcome, I climb up over her on the bed.
Even now, she doesn’t scream. Doesn’t hit me. Doesn’t push me away.
The scent of her arousal nearly makes me groan out loud.
Sweet, sweet human. I want to lick those juices from the source. Part her nether lips with the tip of my tongue and take my time learning how she likes it.
I straddle her hips and frame her head with my fists. “Promise me you won’t tell.”
Now she’s mad–same as she was in my vehicle. It’s like she’s offended by my lack of trust. Like I should believe in her fidelity to me and my secret.
She bucks her hips underneath me, which has the unfortunate effect of jostling my already swelling junk.
I bite back a groan.
I cage her throat with my hand to hold her down, careful not to squeeze. “Careful, Pearls. You’re turning me on.”
She goes still, her chest rising and falling. For once, my defect works in my favor because my wolf eyes can see her perfectly in the dark–even the color rising to her cheeks.
She remains frozen for several breaths like she’s waiting to see if I’ll do something.
Then she whispers, “I promise.”
“Not even Lincoln.”
I don’t know how close twins are, but it seems like if there was anyone she might tell, it would be him.
“I won’t tell him.”
I shift, so my grip on her neck becomes a caress, my thumb finding the puncture wounds from the leech.
They’re better already than they were a few hours ago, but they still make me want to howl and shift to tear that vampire apart.
I lower my head–slowly, so she can push me away if she wants–to the broken skin and drag my tongue over the wounds once again.
My dick surges against the zipper of my jeans. Having her scent up in my nostrils sends my wolf into a frenzy, desperate to mark her with my scent. It also feels like a hit of a powerful drug. One that makes me feel like I’ve somehow arrived. Like all the striving to cover up my defect, to maintain my dominant position, is over.
It’s no longer necessary.
But that would only be true if I wasn’t a wolf.
When I lift my head to look into Lauren’s face, she looks drugged, too. “How does it look?” Her husky murmur makes me crazy.
Crazy enough to want to rip the covers out from between us and put my head between her thighs.
“Better.” My voice sounds deep and rough to my ears.
“I’ll wear a collar tomorrow.”
Oh Fate. Now I’m picturing her in a dog collar. Or a slave collar. The kind made of soft leather with a ring at her throat, so I could attach a leash and pull her around. Order her to her knees to suck my–