Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Happy?” I ask Wilde.
He takes the phone from me and pulls me on top of him. “I wouldn't say happy,” he grumbles. His hands stroke up and down the sides of my body. “Actually, I take that back. I am happy.”
It’s true. He looks happy. There’s a lazy smile on his face, and the thought that it might be because of me makes my heart pound.
“What are the other two conditions?”
“Two: After the dance I get to spank his scent off you.”
“I’m not sure that’s how smells work.”
Wilde arches a stern brow.
I flush. This guy really likes to spank me. It’s kinda daunting, kinda hot. “Okay. And the third?
“Third condition is I fuck you before and after you go.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “You’re crazy.”
“I’m dead serious. Do we have a deal?”
I nod and smile. “Deal.”
He kisses the bridge of my nose. It’s a surprisingly tender move, and it sends flutters through me.
“We should get back. I have to make dinner.”
Wilde groans. “I don’t want to wash your scent off.”
I realize, with a flip of my belly, that I don’t want that, either. His scent soothes me. Grounds me. I feel changed.
I’m not sure I ever bought the idea that a female was changed by losing her virginity. I mean, that’s just some patriarchal bullshit put in place to ensure the transfer of property to heirs. But I do feel different.
Stronger. Invigorated. Enlivened.
Maybe that has nothing to do with virginity and everything to do with the orgasm?
No, wait. I’ve orgasmed before–by myself and with Wilde. It’s just that this was my first P in V sex.
Could it be…his cum?
“Come on, jellybean.” Wilde scoops me up, lifting me into the air at the same time he crawls off the bed. He carries me to the bathroom where he sets me down and turns on the shower.
“I’d better keep my hair dry.” I pull my hair off my nape and hold it off my shoulders as I step in. ”It will be hard to explain why it’s wet.”
Wilde soaps me down, then sends me out of the shower while he quickly rinses off. “Let’s pick up some rotisserie chickens,” he suggests as we both quickly get dressed. “Also, I hate that you’re in charge of making dinner. What in the hell is that about? Like you’re some kind of fucking Cinderella or something?”
I work hard not to smile, absurdly pleased by his assessment. “I’m trying to contribute to the household.”
Wilde’s face contorts into a look of scorn. “Fuck that, Rayne. Take up space.”
I give his huge, immovable body a shove. “It’s hard when there’s literally this huge wolf always crowding me. In my bedroom, in my bed…”
“My bed.” He picks me up by the waist and smacks my ass. “But I don’t mind sharing.” He drops me back to my feet. “Let’s go, jellybean.”
Outside, the nearly full moon is rising from behind the peak. We both stop to honor her with our awe.
“Hunter’s moon,” Wilde murmurs in appreciation. Even ballers have reverence for the power and beauty of the pale goddess in the sky.
I swear I feel the energy of it enter me. A charge of electricity runs through my spine, making every nerve-ending tingle. It feels like…recognition. That I’m a part of something much, much bigger than I ever imagined. Of fate, nature, and the tapestry of our species as a whole.
For one sliver of a moment, I’m able to access some kind of deeper wisdom.
And with it, I know something significant just happened to me in there. Something that goes far beyond getting my V-card punched.
Chapter Nineteen
Wilde
I wake up cranky after spending the night on the couch. Now that I’ve had Rayne, I don’t think I can lie in the same bed as her at night and not fuck her senseless, and our parents would certainly catch the scent or hear the pounding.
I told Rayne last night why I was staying away, but she seems cranky with me, too.
Maybe my sweet stepsister needed me.
That thought makes me harder than stone.
“Can we stop at the post office on the way to school?” Rayne has a brown paper-wrapped shoebox with a printed address taped to the front tucked under her arm as she climbs into the Jeep.
“What is that?”
“None of your business.”
There’s a prickle at the back of my neck. My wolf senses are telling me something. An irrational rage simmers beneath the surface.
“Try again.” I refuse to start the vehicle.
She huffs and rolls her eyes skyward. “Fine. They’re shoes. Used shoes. I’m getting a thousand bucks for them.”
“Uh. Wow. That’s a lot of money.”
“You see? This is a lucrative business.”
The prickle of warning returns. “I still don’t like it. Is your name and address on the box?”
“Wilde. I’m not an idiot. I used a fake PO box.”
“But he’ll know what state you live in. What town, even.”