Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 212458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1062(@200wpm)___ 850(@250wpm)___ 708(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 212458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1062(@200wpm)___ 850(@250wpm)___ 708(@300wpm)
She eyes me from head to toe and then her eyes bounce back to my pelvis and then she spins and breaks into a run in the direction opposite the house.
Running from me? That won’t do. Running after a full-on appraisal of my cock? Really won’t do. My cock is about to be home for the first time.
She doesn’t run fast. Not only is the incline toward the main road steep, but she’s also wearing high-heeled boots and by the way she struggles, I suspect my Amelia isn’t someone who typically runs.
I follow at no more than a brisk pace, resisting the urge to chase, pin, and conquer. I still catch her before she’s halfway up the driveway, my arm wrapping around her waist, hauling her back against my front, then I put my mouth to her throat and feel my canine teeth elongate just slightly.
Not yet. Inside first.
Fuck, I’m hard.
They recede as I scoop her up into my arms. This is a new sensation, like I’m shifting but only inside my mouth. My wolf wants to taste her.
“Wrong way,” I inform and head back for the house. She pounds on my chest and writhes unsuccessfully, screaming, “Help! Stranger danger!” And then she headbutts me and winces in pain, hurting herself way more than me.
“Let me down!” she demands, holding her forehead with her palm.
I kiss her fingers while striding to my front door, then I fling the door wide.
“Should be carrying you over this threshold anyway.”
Her eyes widen as I step inside. And I feel pride swell at her expression as she takes in the front foyer. I follow her gaze up to directly above us to the glass lined peak with exposed gleaming beams running to the back of the house.
I close and lock the glass and wrought iron door without setting her down.
Fuck, she’s beautiful. And she’s mine. This is really happening.
She’s stopped struggling and is taking in the space with a strange look on her face. And her heart has picked up pace even more.
Stepping in, the lake and sky are visible because the rear wall of the house is mostly glass.
The open wood and iron staircase divides the space, winding up to two more floors while separating the living room on the left, the eat-in kitchen on the right. The stairs also lead down to the ground-level walk-out basement, which I’ve finished as an extra recreation, entertaining, and guest space. Patio doors downstairs open up to my large yard and private beach with the long dock where I park my speedboat and the cabin cruiser.
I look around at what she’s taking in, that the house is finished in wood, iron, glass, and stone, capitalizing on the view of the lake. Comfortable furniture. Colorful rugs. And I hope she likes it.
I now know I’ve been nesting, carving out this space for her, for us, and I’m glad I got a home ready for her. Furthermore, I’m suddenly pleased my mother hovered so much the past week because my house is spotless thanks to that, making an ideal first impression.
Well, the house made a great impression even if I didn’t. Though that’s my M.O. these days, evidently.
As I set Amelia on her feet, I say, “As much as it pains me to not take you to my bed this second to make you mine, I owe you an explanation. Sit. What can I get you to drink? Water, coffee, wine?”
She stares at me as if I have three heads.
“Beer?” I try.
“Make me yours? What are you smokin’?” Though she says this, she doesn’t look shocked at what I’ve declared, more like she’s painting on a tough chick attitude. Interesting. Especially interesting that her heart is racing despite the fact that she’s trying to exude nothing but anger.
I move to the fridge and as soon as my head is in it, I hear the rapid clicks of her scrambling feet on my floors before the door is unlocked and thrown wide. She’s not interested in my explanation; she’s trying to sprint again. Not three paces off the front steps and I’ve hooked an arm around her waist and scooped her up to bring her back inside. She struggles and grunts.
“Amelia,” I murmur against her earlobe, pulling a shudder from her. “Let me explain.”
“Fuck off!”
“Stop tryin’ to run, baby, or the predator in me will have no choice but to take you down.”
“What does that mean?” she asks, winded, body as tight as a bow string.
“You wanna find out?” I challenge, touching my tongue to her collarbone. Fuck, she tastes good.
She goes lax in my arms, melting into me and it feels fucking great. I bury my nose in her hair and feel that pinch in my gums again. The desire to bite. To claim. She’s now even more aroused. I smell it. Fuck, I can’t wait to taste it.