Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I try to tamp down that flutter of excitement taking wing in my belly. This isn’t romance. We’re not on a date.
He’s my student.
Student.
This is illegal.
For some reason, that thought only makes it more exciting. I’ve been the quiet artist my entire life. With a wolf that is small in stature, I bowed to the alpha nature of all my classmates but differentiated myself by following my passion. My mom’s high status in the pack ensured I was never picked on and still included with the royal clique.
Now it seems, I’m going to be the bad girl.
I throw a leg over Asher’s motorcycle and settle onto the seat behind him. I’m in a skirt and flip flops–not the best motorcycling attire.
Asher immediately puts the bike in gear and takes off, making my hands fly to his middle to hold myself on.
And, oh wow. The ridges of his muscles stand out below my fingers. I can’t stop myself from sliding my hands beneath his shirt to feel them skin-to-skin. His belly shudders when I do, showing me he’s as affected by the intimate contact as I am. I stroke my hands up and down the contours of his six-pack.
My panties get wet. As Asher steers the motorcycle in the direction of National Forest land, I let my hands drop to his hips, then grip the tops of his thighs. I slide my palms up and down his thighs, dragging them up the inside until I find the bulge of his cock. His bike swerves when I stroke the length where it lies against his left thigh, making it grow and stretch. His belly shudders again.
He picks up speed, turning onto a dirt road that has clearly not been maintained. Only a four-wheel Jeep or motorcycle could drive on this road. I have to cling onto Asher’s middle again as the ride gets rough. My muscles are taut, the muscles of my neck and abdomen tense, bracing against the bumps and swerves. I peer around Asher’s shoulder to see what’s coming next.
And then there comes a point when I surrender. I stop bracing for every climb and fall of the bike over the deep grooves in the road. Stop trying to control or manage my ride. Instead, I meld my torso to Asher’s, lean my cheek against his back, and loosen my grip.
Pleasure rushes in. The thrill of the ride surrounds me. I close my eyes and take in the delicious smell of Ponderosa pine and sunbaked boulders. I drink in the scent of my mate–the warm cedar and soap. A faint whiff of fresh-baked bread. That masculine scent distinct to only him.
We ride for half an hour down the rugged road. I have no idea where he’s bringing me. What he’s planning.
Suddenly, the forest road opens into a gorgeous meadow–a valley tucked into the mountains. Asher eases off the accelerator, gradually slowing to a stop. He leans the bike to the rest on its kickstand, twisting to catch me around the waist to ease my descent. I dismount and drink in the beauty of our surroundings, turning in a full 360.
Only then do I turn my gaze on Asher to try to discern what we’re doing here.
“Run, Lotta,” he says softly.
I blink, not understanding. His words didn’t match his tone, so it takes a moment to assimilate the meaning. “What?”
His lips twitch. “You heard me, sweetheart. Run.”
Asher
Lotta kicks off her flip flops at the same time she whips her cute-as-fuck crop top off.
I slowly unbuckle my belt, my gaze glued to her tight little body.
Her exhilaration shows in the spark in her bright blue eyes, the speed at which she undresses. She heard the taunt in my voice, but she knows this is a game.
She drops her skirt and panties then unhooks her bra. Her nipples are taut, extended out in firm points. But I don’t get to ogle them because in a flash, she drops to all fours, a blur of white fur as she takes off away from me.
I give her a head start. My wolf is bigger.
Much faster.
Plus, I relish the hunt. Crave the chase.
If it was too easy to catch her, the payoff wouldn’t be as delicious. I take my time undressing, now deliberately not following her movements. I pick up her clothes and mine and drape them over the seat of my bike, then take out the cushy comforter I stuffed into one saddle bag and spread it out on a choice spot in the meadow. From the other saddlebag, I retrieve the bag I packed with picnic food–meat, cheese, fruit, nuts, and wine. It’s not that hard to convince the grocery clerk to sell you wine when you’re both shifters. He knows I metabolize way too fast to ever be impaired by a bottle of wine.