Page 41 of Bewitching the Wolf

Just stop, will you?

“It’s close to lunchtime, so we should head back,’ I say, miffed that he’s done so well, which of course is petty. But then he coughs, and I can hear there’s still some cleansing to be done.

He pulls a face. “Have you got more ghastly potions lined up for me?”

“You’re in luck, the next one is a powder, disguised in a green smoothie.”

“Eghh, vegetables.” He pulls a face. “And you think that’s any better than that fucking wheatgrass shot?”

“You might surprise yourself with how good it tastes,” I respond. “How are the urges?”

“Which ones?” His eyebrows waggle over those emerald eyes.

“To vape, doofus,” I retort, blushing madly. I take off to hide my red cheeks, my feet flying over the cobbled streets.

I sense him behind me, so close that I can hear the deep rasp of his breath. I also sense his gaze on my butt cheeks.

And then I have this thought: What would it be like to be chased by wolf Jax?

Caught. Pinned to the ground. Claimed. Would I even resist? Worse, would I pretend to resist, just to prolong the pleasure? Would I whine and struggle and gnash my little teeth at him until his mouth covered mine and I acquiesced, arching my back and pressing my pussy into him? Would I wrap my legs around his hips, cling to him like my life depended on his cock penetrating my sacred place?

Even as my mind tries to slap away the vivid images, my body is coiling like a spring, as if ready to… ready to… rut.

Shit!

Where did that word even come from?

I run faster, and beat Jax to the den by a whisker.

When we get back inside, both of us panting and slick with sweat, Jax says, “You want to shower first?” I huff and glance outside at the shower.

There it is. In full view of the door, no curtain, nothing.

Just outrageous.

Is this some kind of joke on Traggar’s part, or is this what wolves do? Do they just shower in front of everyone as if it’s the most normal thing in the world?

Vixen shifters are modest about our washing arrangements. Even though we are all females together, we always have a curtain around the shower.

“Erm, you go first,” I mutter. “I’ll get your smoothie prepped.” Already my head is in the fridge, trying to cool down my crazy hormones.

“Sure.” He saunters into his room, comes back with just a towel wrapped around him, loosely tucked in at his waist.

I’d started to cool down, but now I’m heating up with a vengeance. I grab the vegetables, slam them onto a chopping board and start dicing.

But even so, I can’t help glancing through the back door.

As Jax reaches the shower, he nonchalantly unwraps the towel, hangs it on a hook and steps in naked.

His butt is so tight. His thighs are sleek, lean muscle. His back is turned, but as he twists to grab the soap, I catch a tantalizing glimpse of his cock side-on. It bobs, heavy and magnificent, in a dark patch of hair. I crane my neck to try and see more, squeezing my thighs together to stem the throb between my legs. As he washes himself, I watch his biceps bunch and the muscles glide on his back. I imagine smoothing my hands all over him, digging in my claws just a little. Feeling the flesh, warm and taut, ripple beneath my touch.

A little moan escapes my lips.

The sound snaps me out of my voyeurism, and I return to chopping up a piece of celery, almost viciously. I throw it into the blender, along with a bunch of spinach and an apple.

I stare as it whizzes into a bright green liquid, grinding my molars.

I’ve got to get this under control. It’s only day one and I’m literally panting for Jax to pleasure me. My breasts feel swollen, my nipples taut. My pussy thrums, and my clit is a swollen needy bud, as if waiting to be plucked. Or pollinated… or whatever happens in springtime.