Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I look over at Armand. There’s a muscle twitching in his cheek, as if he’s either very angry and holding himself from going off on me, or trying not to laugh. I don’t think it is the latter. I think he is furious. I think I have shocked him, appalled him, and angered him. That is what I do when people realize I am not what they thought I was. My true self frightens and disgusts most.
Why not him too?
Just because he is an alpha, just because he is my mate, that does not mean I cannot antagonize him. Doesn’t mean he can’t regret having met me. I am sure he regrets all that money he spent. There will not be any refunds, not for me.
We get back to the carriage, the bedroom and bathroom that are still so fine, all so nice. Too nice for us wild, muddy creatures.
“Don’t do that again,” he says. “Don’t ever make me watch you hurt yourself.”
I try not to mention that my legs are killing me. They bit me when I was running, nipping roughly enough to draw blood. I have not carried those wounds overtly into my human form, but I still feel those hot, predatory bites.
I can feel his annoyance with me. There is something new between us, not just displeasure. I know what it feels like when someone who thinks they’re in charge realizes that they can’t control me. There’s something else too, a strange and undefinable distance. That’s what I feel now.
“I’m not hurt.”
He gives me a sidelong glance, his blanket shifting over his shoulders. I find myself distracted by his chest, the muscularity and hairy roughness of it. He is very much male, more intensely than anyone I have ever encountered.
“I think you have been hurt many times before,” he says. “And I think you are hurt now.”
I go quiet. I don’t want him to know that anything hurts. I especially don’t want him to know that I can feel his annoyance with me.
“I will bathe you, and you will accept it because you cannot be trusted out of my sight. Come here. Now.”
We both step into the bath and Armand uses the showerhead to rinse most of the mud off the both of us. Standing naked before the man who has declared himself my mate, I try not to give into the shame that is creeping through my veins.
Being this close to a naked, virile man in the prime of his power—or perhaps not the prime. It is possible there is even more to come for him and that is an incredible thought because he is all muscle. When he is clothed he doesn’t look overly bulky, because he’s not. He’s built for power, for speed, for hunting me down with his pack and capturing me in the middle of a muddy field.
I am devastatingly aroused, not just physically, but mentally. I never met anybody who was capable of catching me before. When I ran in the past, they would sometimes drag me back, but that took whole teams of men, and though Armand brought his pack with him, he really didn’t need to. I felt his strength. I saw it. He could take me down dozens of times over. And he’s mine? How could that be?
He avoids any overtly lewd touches, but he does not allow any crevice to stay caked in mud. He turns me around and rinses between my cheeks, the warm flow of water running down what used to be a private place as he holds one of my cheeks apart to allow himself access.
“You mucky little pup,” he lectures, his voice rough but soft. “A dirty girl who should know better than to track all this filth inside, who will learn not to run from me ever again. I will teach you many things, Beatrix, things you clearly need to learn.”
I know I am not permitted to move without him saying it as he turns me back around and lets the water flow down my front, purposefully directing the water low and intensely between my thighs.
“Stay still,” he murmurs when I move slightly in response to the feeling of that warm water drumming against my clit.
“I can’t,” I whine.
He grips me by the back of the neck, his naked body pressed close to mine, his cock hanging thick between his thighs and rising against his belly as this particularly twisted little moment unfolds between us.
“You can,” he purrs. “And you will, because I do not intend to give you any choice. You are mine, and this is what I intend to take from you.”
He’s not taking, though. He’s giving. He’s giving me pleasure, indirect pleasure not from his body, not even from his fingers, but from the drumming water that plays around my clit until my hips swing with unrequited need.