Series: Star Moon Pack Series by J.L. Beck
Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 118781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
“Why?” Not that I expect an answer, not that he can give me one. When he shrugs, I know he’s just as confused as I am. Not that either of us is sorry to see them dead. But why would they run headfirst into what they had to know would be a losing battle?
“It looks like we didn’t lose anyone,” I report. “I think a few fled, but given their injuries I doubt they’ll be able to take word of the battle back home, so they know we’re not fucking around.”
“Then again, if nobody comes back, I think the message has already been sent.” We exchange a firm nod, and he returns to the pile, ordering it to be set aflame. I turn away—not that I am in any way sorry for the witches who were stupid enough to come here tonight, but I’ve never loved the smell of burning flesh.
Now that my job is done, there’s only one thing on my mind, and nothing is holding me back. Dad is fine, the pack is fine, and the witches are dead. There’s only one more matter of business to take care of tonight.
I shift to get there faster, breaking into a full run, and every slap of my paws against the ground brings me that much closer. My wolf rejoices, flying through the night, his attention focused squarely on his destination. She’ll be in her room, and whether she’s waiting to be claimed or not, it doesn’t matter. Either way, she will be. In any way possible.
Upon reaching the building, I shift again and head inside, following her scent. She took the elevator, and I do the same, breathing deep, soaking in every last fragment of her being. I’m almost sorry when the doors open, but then her scent is fresher in the hall. I follow it, breathing deeply until finally reaching what has to be her door. The scent is strongest here.
And before I have the chance to knock, her voice rings out from the other side. She hears and feels me. “I am not in the mood for this.”
Not in the mood. Not in the mood? And now I remember that scene she made back at the hall. Dancing with that piece of shit. Kissing his cheek. Defying me, flagrant, careless.
Covering my mark with makeup.
I can’t bring myself to care very much if she’s in the mood or not. I step back and place a solid kick beside the lock, and the door flies open when the wood splinters.
She scrambles backward, wrapped in a towel, her hair wet, beads of water running down her shoulders and heaving chest. “You fucking psycho!” she shrieks.
It’s all she has the chance to say before I’m on her, almost tackling her to the sofa, where we land with a thud. “Say another word,” I growl in her face, “and I’m gonna shove my dick down your throat until you gag on it.”
She looks me straight in the eye and speaks slowly and clearly. “Fuck you.”
“Don’t you wish?” I tear open her towel and stare down at her luscious body. I’m already hard, but having her like this is exquisite torture, making me drip with excitement. Anticipation.
“Stick that thing in my mouth, and I’ll bite it off,” she insists, trying to buck me off her. All it does is urge me on, every bit of contact, every bit of friction.
“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.” I laugh. “We both know the truth.”
Her skin is flushed, and her tits are heaving against my chest. “Really? And in that psychotic brain of yours, what is the truth?”
“You want me to fuck you.”
“That’s not true.”
“You sure about that?” I make a big deal of sniffing the air, and the dismay which washes over her face only makes me smile. “Try again, little wolf. I can smell your arousal, and you know I can. You can’t hide from me.”
I lower myself fully until I’m rubbing up against her mound. She bites her lip, nostrils flaring, and hazy lust lowers her eyelids. “You are dying to be fucked. You need me inside of you. Why not admit it? Why keep fighting?”
“Because I control myself. Nobody else.”
“You think so?” I brush my chest against hers, and she whimpers as her nipples tighten. “It seems like your body has other ideas.”
“Stop this. Get off me. Go back to your pack.”
“I will—but not yet.” I slide a hand down her body, and she wriggles, groaning, and growling as she fights to be free. What she doesn’t understand is she’ll never be free. Neither of us will.
“So fucking wet,” I groan, my fingers brushing against her swollen slit. Instantly, her back arches, her eyes close, and her mouth opens as she gasps at my touch. God, how I love this. Undoing her a little bit at a time, watching, listening, and feeling. She’s so close to breaking down.