Page 17 of Big Bad Wolf

Yeah… wrong thing to say, Char. Totally wrong thing to say.

Easing his claws out of my hair, he takes my chin gently in his palm, turning it so that he can look me dead-on. His gaze drops, skimming over my face and settling on my mouth.

Wolf seems fascinated by it. Even worse, my first stupid thought is about what it would be like to try his mouth on for size. Kissing, I mean… how exactly would that work with his fangs? Of course, my second thought is a little more stupider and a lot more dangerous as I realize that he had no problem using his fangs on me this morning when he⁠—

Nope. Not going there.

I clear my throat. “Okay. You can stop staring now, big guy.”

“Red is beautiful,” he says, as though that explains everything now.

The way my body shivers says that it might.

I shake my head. “You still haven’t moved. Come on. It’s time to get up.”

For another moment, Wolf watches me before he brushes his cheek against the top of my hair and pushes himself easily to his back paws. With the same unhurried confidence he’s displayed, so very sure that he has me and can’t lose me, he moves into the part of the room that I’ve mentally dubbed ‘kitchen’. Earlier, he rustled around in a small wooden box and produced an apple for me to eat.

Now? He reaches inside of it and grabs a small loaf of bread, tearing it open with his claws. He tucks both hunks of it under his arm, grabs a fistful of what looks like might be jerky, and a pear for each of us. Padding over to me again, he takes his time selecting the best strips of meat, the best piece of bread, and the most ripe piece of fruit before dropping it in my lap.

Yeah. Because, for all my posturing, when Wolf got up, I didn’t, and now I have a blanket full of food, courtesy of my beastly captor.

“Eat,” he tells me.

I eye the food. I look at him. My stomach chooses that moment to growl like it has no loyalty whatsoever, the traitor.

Damn it. I grab the bread and gnaw at it while Wolf’s whole body lights up, obviously pleased that he can provide for me.

That he can feed me.

Of course, after the apple earlier, plus so many hours passing between my dash through the woods and when I found myself trapped with Wolf, another, more-pressing concern makes itself known. It did earlier—another reason why I agreed to the nap because, if I pissed myself in my sleep, maybe he’d decide mating the soiled human would be off the table—but now?

I’m gonna pee myself if I don’t go right this very second.

Setting the rest of my food aside, I brush the crumbles off my hands, then swipe them off of my crumpled nightie before getting to my feet.

Wolf holds out his hands. “No. Red stay.”

I jut my chin at him. “Can’t. I have to go outside.”

His brow furrows. “Why?”

You have got to be kidding me.

I stare at him.

He stares back.

And it hits me, all at once, that I’m going to have to explain needing to pee to a possessive wolf-man who lives in a fairytale cottage and thinks I belong to him.

I point toward my pussy. And before he can get too excited, I tell him with urgency, “I have to go.”

Understanding dawns in his expression with surprising speed. Without a word, he stalks toward the empty bed, reaches beneath it, and pulls out a chamber pot.

Oh, fuck no.

I just stare at it. It’s probably made from some kind of ceramic, a light brown color all over except for the brass handle on the lid.

I look up at Wolf.