Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 149

149 Grace: No. Nope. Never.

Caine hovers over me, all rippling muscles and heaving chest, his words hanging in the

air between us.

“…there’s no rule saying you can’t touch yourself, right?”

My brain dies. Just kaboom, explodes, done–for.

Did he just-? Is he suggesting-?

Wait. What now. Did he just-

He wants to WATCH me?

Heat explodes in my face as my eyes go wide. The suggestion alone sends a traitorous pulse of arousal through me, but it’s instantly swallowed by a tidal wave of utter mortification.

Nope. NO. Never. Not happening.

My thighs may be clenching with need, but my embarrassment screams louder.

“Absolutely not,” I splutter, my voice somewhere around ten octaves higher than normal. I’m not even sure if ten octaves exist, but if they do, I’m there, baby. High and

freaked out.

I lurch backward on the bed, scrambling like a freshly squashed insect. My legs are noodles, my dignity a corpse. I manage two feet of retreat before vertigo hits like a sucker punch.

“Shit,” I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut and willing the spinning to stop. My stomach lurches dangerously, and for a horrifying second, I think I might actually throw up. Yeah. Way to complete this masterpiece of indignity.

2

Caine’s expression shifts instantly. The heat in his eyes cools, replaced by sharp concern as he takes in my pallor.

“Are you okay?” he demands.

I wave a hand. It might as well be my flag of surrender. “I’m fine… I think. Maybe.”

1/5

149 Grace: No None: Never

My body can’t decide if it wants to chase the lingering arousal or pass out from overexertion. I’m putting my bets on passing out, because no matter how much throbbing there is between my legs, my body can’t back it up.

Besides, the kids are out there. And Fenris. And yeah, I get wolves live inside their masters‘ heads, but oh my Goddess, Fenris was out there the entire time.

We were basically a sexual audiobook for a wolf. 2

Not cool.

Caine pulls back, jaw tight. Then he slams a fist into the mattress beside me. The entire bed jumps, and fabric tears under his fist. Seriously? How do you rip a sheet with just one punch?

Shifters are just cheating at life at this point, aren’t they?

“I shouldn’t have touched you,” he growls, his voice dripping with self–loathing.

Oops. Way to dial up the drama, Grace.

“No! It’s not- I start to protest.

Except it is. It absolutely is. This–whatever we just did–was too much, too fast. I haven’t processed any of it. The sex. The magic. The fact that I’m still dripping with his

semen.

Semen.

Which should be gross and totally isn’t.

And now my boyfriend (?) is blaming himself when I am one hundred percent the person who asked for more. 2

Way to go, me. I’m an amazing girlfriend. Obviously.

He runs a hand through his dark hair with another growl before standing, and my protests die in my throat as I watch. He adjusts himself, and I wonder vaguely where it’s always hiding. I don’t generally make a habit of staring at men’s crotches, but seriously, shouldn’t anacondas in pants be illegal or something? Especially when they

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