Fuck, she’s perfect.
“Okay then,” Mike murmurs and tosses the rag in Brad-or-Chad’s face one more time.
“Get up, Romeo,” he mutters.“You're bleeding on my floor.”
The idiot groans.
Good.
That means he’s still alive.
I can fix that later,my Wolf snarls.And the idea has merit.
Daria—because I caught her name during the world's worst date—looks down at the man on the floor.
Then back up at me.she doesn’t seem upset but I brace myself as one perfect eyebrow rises while she takes me in.
I know what I look like.I’m big, wearing denim and leather.I’ve got dozens of tattoos and long black hair.
Hell, I’m everything every girl’s mother ever warned her about.
But she doesn’t look intimidated.She looks interested.
And that right there?That makes me want to puff my chest out and howl into the night.
“So, do you usually solve problems with your fists?”
“Nope.”
Her eyebrow rises higher.
I shrug.
“Okay, sometimes.”
That earns me a laugh.
A real one.
Not polite.
Not forced.
It’s loud and real, and fuck, it makes my cock even harder.
And my Wolf?That simple bastard practically rolls over and shows his belly.
Mate laughs.
Mate happy.
Good.
I want to roll my eyes at my idiotic beast, but then Daria licks her lower lip.
And that's it.
My control snaps.
