Chapter 8
GRAY
She hasn’t looked at me in three fucking days.
Three. Goddamn. Days.
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I’ve had rogues gutted for less disrespect. It’s been three days since I made Jessica Wilkinson cry–and I haven’t slept right since. I don’t lie awake regretting shit I meant to do. That’s not who I am. But the tears? Those shook me.
I’ve snapped. Growled. Manhandled her just fine and she always bounced back like a damn rubber band–spitting fire, chin high, that smart little mouth of hers begging to be shut.
So why the fuck did she cry?
When I told her I was going to train her, I meant it. Physically. Brutally. Like I train my warriors. She wanted to be stronger. She said she could handle it. Said she wanted to be taken seriously…
So I didn’t hold back.
But that doesn’t explain why I’m here now, ten feet from her window, in the freezing goddamn woods like a rabid fucking animal.
I don’t even remember walking here. My wolf took over hours ago, and all I’ve been doing is pacing. Watching. Breathing her in from a distance like the scent of her is enough to keep me from losing it entirely.
It’s not.
Through the glass, I see her. She’s in bed. Hair loose. Skin flushed from the heat of her room. And she’s not alone.
Logan.
That soft little prick is sitting on the edge of her mattress, grinning like he has a shot.
I step closer to the glass. Just one step. But it’s enough.
My whole body is vibrating–rage, lust, the kind of raw, violent hunger that can only be satisfied with bruises and cries and spit and submission.
I want to kick that window in. Grab her by the throat. Drag her down to the fucking floor and bury myself so deep in her she forgets her own name. I want her gagging on my cock while Logan watches. I want her moaning through tears, trying to breathe while I fuck every thought of him out of her mouth.
I want her wrecked. Smeared. Spit–slick and cum–drunk and sobbing my name like it’s the only word she remembers.
She is fucking mine.
And then I hear it her voice. Sharp. Breathless. Annoyed.
“It’s late!” she shrieks, scrambling upright, shoving Logan’s chest with both hands. “You need to go home, Logan. We have
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Chapter 8
training tomorrow!”
Yeah. Go the fuck home.
Run while you still can.
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Logan blinks, startled, like he forgot where he was. Forgot whose territory he’s sitting in. He stands slowly, dragging his eyes across her legs like a dead man trying to get in one last look.
My teeth grind.
He moves toward the door, stumbling over his boots like an idiot, and that’s when she does it–she walks to the window.
I freeze.
She’s only ten feet away now.
Bare feet. Tank top. No bra.
Fucking flawless, even angry.
My body goes hot. Every instinct howls to move. To rip through the glass and take what’s mine. Her hand reaches for the curtain. She pauses–just for a second. And I wonder… Does she feel me?
Her eyes scan the woods. She’s looking right at me. I can feel my own fucking heartbeat in the back of my throat. She knows. She fucking knows I’m here.
However, Jessica she pulls the curtain shut. Hell, like that’s going to stop me. I bare my teeth. The second I hear Logan’s engine roar to life outside, my body moves before I think. I circle the back of her cabin, boots silent, breath sharp. Her backdoor is locked but it doesn’t fucking matter.
I slip inside and her room smells like her. Vanilla. Skin, shampoo, heat, memory. It wraps around me, clogs my throat, makes my cock twitch so hard I nearly growl.
My teeth grit.
I shouldn’t be here. The shower’s running. Fuck. I’m hard enough to split my zipper. I should leave. This was never my plan but the second the water shuts off, I know I’m not leaving.
I sit on the edge of her bed, elbows on my knees, waiting for her to step out.
She opens the bedroom door, humming lightly, skin still damp, hair dripping down her back, wearing nothing but a fucking towel and a look that says she thinks the world is still safe.
Her eyes meet mine.
She freezes. Mid–step. Towel tight in her grip.
“Grayson?” she breathes, voice already cracking. “What the fuck-”
I stand.
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Chapter 8
She backs into the wall, clutching that towel like it’s going to save her. It won’t. I take my time. Step by step, stalking across her floor like a loaded weapon. Her pupils blow wide. Her pulse stutters. I press my hand to the wall beside her head and lean in. “You are avoiding me, Jess.”
Goddess, she’s beautiful like this–cornered, guilty, and still too proud to admit she missed me.
“You saw me at training. Walked the other way. You passed me in the hall–didn’t even flinch. Bold.” I tilt my head. “And then you let that pathetic little beta sit on my fucking bed. That’s the part that really got me.”
She shoves me hard, hands slamming into my chest. I stumble half a step, and I laugh–not because it’s funny, but because she’s giving me exactly what I fucking want. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you drunk?!”
I let out a low, humorless laugh, sharp enough to cut. “Drunk? Really, Jessica?” I tilt my head, eyes locked on hers. “You think I fucking drink?”
She swings. Sloppy. Emotional. I catch her wrist before it lands and slam her into the wall so hard the drywall cracks. The towel slips halfway off her chest. She scrambles for it, fumbling like a weak little thing. I don’t help. I don’t even blink. I just watch her squirm.
She glares, panting. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
It takes everything in me not to rip the towel off her body, bend her over the bed, and fuck her until she forgets her own name. Not because I want to make love to her. No. Because I want to ruin her. Ruin her for every other wolf that ever thinks they can breathe the same air she does.
So instead–I level our eyes. Lock her down. “You, Jessica,” I whisper. “You’re what’s wrong with me.”
She stiffens. “W–What?”
I step right into her–chest to chest. Force her back until her spine slams into the wall again. I hear the plaster groan. “You think! hate you?” I sneer, my voice a snarl in her face. “You don’t get it.”
I grab her chin–firm, possessive, fingers digging into her jaw until I feel bone.
“I don’t hate you.”
She blinks, stunned. Confused. I smell it–fear spiked with something filthier. I lean closer, bury my nose in the crook of her throat and breathe her in like a man deprived of air. I am a man deprived. Deprived of her.
“I fucking resent you,” I hiss into her skin.
She shudders.
“I resent that your scent won’t leave my fucking sheets. That I smell you in my fucking mouth when I haven’t even tasted you yet.”
Her throat works, trying to swallow. Her breath comes fast–short little gasps that make my cock twitch with rage.
I press my body into hers and fuck it if it’s not everything that I want. “You made me want something I was trained to destroy,” I snarl, dragging my lips along her neck without kissing her. “You made me fucking feel.”
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I laugh against her skin. It sounds wrong. Too sharp. “I ruin things, Jessica. I fuck, I fight, I break.” I press my knee between her legs and shove–just enough to make her thighs spread. “And now I’m stuck craving you.”
Her breath catches–shallow, high in her throat like a fucking warning bell.
Her hands twitch. She lifts them just an inch, like she’s going to push me away.
She doesn’t.
Smart girl.
So reward her with something cruel. I fist a handful of her hair–rough, no grace, no warning–and yank her head back until her throat’s exposed. Bare. Vulnerable.
I stare at it. At her.
I’ve imagined this exact position a thousand fucking times. Years. Years of fantasizing about having her like this–pressed beneath me, breathless, furious, trapped.
“Think you’re strong?” I whisper, voice like gravel scraping bone. My mouth is an inch from hers. My breath hits her lips. “You think I’m training you just so you can fold the second I press you too hard?”
Her jaw flexes. I see the fire in her eyes. She wants to speak. I don’t let her. I drag my nose up her throat, slow, inhaling her like filth I can’t get enough of.
She shudders.
I drag my nose up the column of her neck, slow, deep, like I’m savoring something sacred and filthy.
“You’ve got no idea what I’ve held back,” I breathe. “No idea how many nights I’ve stared at you and thought, One second is all it would take. Just one second to break you open and climb inside.”
Her breath is rapid–fire now. Her chest heaves against mine. Her thighs shift against the pressure of my knee.
“I need to make you strong, Jess,” I growl. “Not for the world. Not for the pack. For me.”
She opens her mouth–I shut it with a snarl.
“I need you indestructible,” I snarl, dragging my mouth near her ear. “Because when I finally take you, I want you to survive it.”
I slam my body into hers, harder this time. My cock throbs against her stomach and she jerks–like she didn’t expect me to be this fucking gone.
But 1 am. I’ve been
gone for
years.
“You’ve been mine since the moment I smelled you,” I snarl, lips at her jaw. “And you’re too fucking stupid to admit it.”
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