Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“It stopped being hard for you to be away from your true mate?”
“Yup. Now it doesn’t bother me at all. Maybe things will be better for you once you’ve moved on. But you can’t do that fully until you let go of Joaquin.”
Just then, Bree reappeared. “So what are we talking about?” Her gaze sharpened as it danced from Quinley to Elle. “It looks like it might be interesting.”
“Not really,” mumbled Elle. “I was just telling her about what happened between me and Joaquin. I didn’t want to talk about it, but she wouldn’t let it drop—she’s so nosy. I figured she might as well hear the full story from me.”
Bree exchanged an amused look with Quinley, obviously knowing her friend well enough to know that no such nagging had been necessary to make Elle spill.
“Where’s Blair?” asked Bree.
Picking up her bags, Quinley looked the bush dog’s way, realizing … “On her way over.” And she wasn’t alone.
Her mouth curved, Blair said, “I just wanted to introduce you three to an old pack mate of mine, Gabriel. We were friends as kids. Gabriel, this is Elle, Bree, and Quinley.”
He inclined his head in greeting, his gaze settling on Elle. “You look familiar.” It didn’t appear to be a genuine comment, more of a taunt. Like he was fucking with her.
“As do you,” said Elle. “Weird.” Apparently, she’d decided to fuck with him right back.
At that very moment, a familiar SUV pulled up at the curb.
Quinley felt her pulse jump. “Here’s Isaiah.” Thank the Lord above. She was freezing. She joined the others in walking straight over.
Leaving the engine running, he unfolded from the vehicle, as always looking far too gorgeous to exist. Her cat, pleased to see him, eagerly got to her feet.
“Isaiah, this is my old pack mate, Gabriel,” said Blair.
The male bush dog stared at him steadily. “Now I can put a name to the face of one of the cats who used to watch my building when they thought I might have been a danger to Blair.”
Quinley’s cat wrinkled her nose. There was something about his voice. It was just so toneless. So lacking in emotion. Now Quinley got what Elle meant by “flat.”
“I appreciate any part you played in finding out who her stalker was,” Gabriel added.
“No thanks necessary.” Isaiah turned to Quinley, took in the sight of all her bags, and then his mouth curved. “So you don’t like shopping, then,” he mocked.
“Idiot.”
He smiled. “Your nose is all red.”
“I’m cold.”
He pressed a kiss to her mouth, his lips delightfully warm, and then tipped his chin toward the SUV’s front passenger door. “Hop inside, I switched on the heated seats.”
Oh, he was a gem. As he swiped her bags from her, she pointed at him, “Do not peek in them.”
“Would I spoil my Christmas surprise that way?”
“Yes. Patient though you are, the fact is you don’t like to wait for anything.”
“I find it’s a dominant male thing,” remarked Bree.
They exchanged goodbyes with Gabriel, who gave Elle one last long look before striding off.
“You’re right,” Quinley whispered to the redhead, “he’s very detached. Like he’s dissociated from life.”
“He’s had it hard,” Elle murmured, “but I don’t think trauma made him that way. As I said earlier, Blair swore he was always different.”
Finally sliding into the SUV, Quinley sighed in pleasure as the warmth of the vehicle washed over her. The heat coming from the seat was an added bonus. By the time Isaiah had dropped her shopping buddies at their respective apartment buildings, she was feeling cozily warm.
Inside the house, she went straight upstairs to put away her purchases. She also stashed Isaiah’s gifts somewhere he’d never find them.
Returning downstairs, she went to the kitchen, intending to make a hot drink. She was about to call out to Isaiah and ask if he wanted one, but then his scent breezed into the room. A half-smile curved her mouth, and she parted her lips to speak. The words didn’t come out, replaced by a gasp as his hand fisted the back of her hair.
He roughly spun her to face the kitchen island and shoved her forward, pinning her front flat to its surface. Her hands shot out in surprise—one gripping the end of the island on her right, the other gripping the edge above her head.
Well.
His body heat pressed into her back as he curled over her and put his mouth to her ear. “Don’t move. Don’t speak. Don’t come until I say.”
Sheer dominance looped through every harshly spoken word, planting hooks in her mind, compelling her to obey, snaring her cat’s focus. It also triggered a chemical reaction that woke up Quinley’s nerve-endings, revved her sexual engines, and made her body relax for him.
She’d never be able to adequately describe how such expressions of dominance could seize her focus and have such a physical impact on her. It was just so instinctual, so automatic. Like a preprogrammed response encoded in her DNA. She suspected only other submissives would really understand.