Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
I cup the back of her head. Her tears are killing me. “Please don't cry.”
“Am I fired?”
My chest constricts. The very idea of her not being in this office with me makes my wolf want to tear the building down. I force lightness into my voice. “You're unfireable, remember?”
She gives a watery laugh.
“I'm sorry I yelled at you.”
“No, you don't owe me an apology. I deserved it.”
“No one deserves my temper, especially not you.” I kiss her temple and thumb away the moisture under her eye. Tipping my head toward my office, I offer a small smile. “Make it up to me?”
I sense her relief that I turned it back to sex–the only place where we’re fully honest and unguarded with each other. She pushes off her desk, and I take her hand to lead her inside. I lock the door, and when I turn, she reaches for my belt, unlooping it from the buckle.
I watch, fascinated, as always, when she takes charge. I like when she gives to me. There are very few people in my life I trust enough to show up for me, and she’s quickly becoming one of them.
She unbuttons my pants and lowers to her knees. I groan when she releases my shaft and takes it into her mouth.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmur as she works her mouth up and down, sucking hard on the outstrokes, using her fist to trail behind her mouth, so it feels like my entire dick is engulfed, not just half.
She lifts her gaze to mine, holding it. Showing me she’s paying attention, that she’ll deliver everything I need, as she always does.
I brush the backs of my fingers across her cheek, stroke her hair back from her face and hold it taut behind her head.
She’s so lovely. So perfect. What am I going to do about her?
I can’t cut her loose, and I can’t have her. Every day, it’s killing me a little more. I’m keeping moon madness at bay with the sex, but I’m rapidly reaching the point when that won’t be enough. I’ll have to mark her or die.
“Madison,” I murmur on a sigh.
She sucks harder, moves her head faster. As the pleasure starts to wash over me, I tighten my grip in her hair and hold her head still, arcing in and out of her mouth.
“That’s it, beautiful. Take me deep. Relax that throat.” I slow down, so she can follow my orders, and she does, allowing me to push deeper. Heat sweeps over me. My balls tighten and lift.
“Are you going to swallow for me, Madi?”
She gives a muffled assent around my cock, and I let her take over the action. She grips my ass with one hand, uses her fist with the other and bobs over my cock like she’s competing in the blow job Olympics.
I let out a growl that sounds more wolf than man, but I can’t stop myself. I bark and then come down her throat. She swallows and swallows and then sucks me clean.
“Good girl. So fucking good.” I caress her cheek and help her to her feet before I tuck my dick away.
“Are you okay?” She looks a little dazed, but I’m not asking about the post-sex state, I’m asking about our fight. I know I can be a real bastard when I'm bent out of shape, and the last time I took it out on her, I nearly lost her.
“I'm sorry I made you cry. Did I scare you?”
She shakes her head.
“No, you're not scared of me. You were torn over your decision.”
“Yes.” She looks sorry, and I want to punch my own face for being a dick to her. She cares about me–enough to try to fix the holes in my life.
I stroke her face. “You're a special person, Madison. One of a kind.”
She falls into me, and I wrap my arms around her. Hugging is not normally part of our repertoire–it’s usually some form of rough sex, often with a flavor of degradation or power exchange because that’s what turns her on.
This is more intimate than anything we’ve done up to now.
“My mom murdered my dad.”
I surprise myself with the words. I had no plan of telling her–ever. Yet now I’ve said them, and I can’t take them back.
She gasps, horrified, and pulls away to stare up at me.
It’s too intense. I look past her, out the wall-to-wall windows in my office.
“A-re you sure?”
I nod.
“Did she get arrested? Could they prove it? I never read anything about it in my–”
“We didn’t report it,” I cut in. Wolves don't involve human law enforcement in pack matters.
“Brick, you should have.”
I love when she uses my first name. My wolf finds it satisfying on some shallow level.
“She’s my mother, Madi. What was I going to do? Put her in prison?”
Madi claps a hand over her mouth, her expressive brown eyes welling with tears. “My God–I'm so sorry. I can’t imagine.”