Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 56

Chapter 56: Grace: I Can’t Let You Go

We stay like this for what feels like forever.

Desire once boiled in my veins, but now simmers, left untended. Mundane issues shove away the fog of arousal and obsessive cataloguing of each breath he takes.

My back hurts.

He’s got me partially bent over his arm, and the unnatural position leaves me off-kilter, my balance thwarted and my core muscles begging for a gym membership.

I pat Caine’s back gently at first. A tentative tap-tap against rigid muscles, warm and soft beneath my hands. No response. His face remains buried in the crook of my neck, his breathing deep and ravenous, like he’s inhaling me into his soul. Sometimes, I almost feel like he really is—like something inside of me is being absorbed into him. But it’s just my addled imagination going haywire.

“Caine,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the aggressive drone of all three of the RV’s air conditioning units.

Another grunt. He nuzzles closer, his stubble scraping against the sensitive skin below my ear. A shiver runs through me, desire spiking sharp and hot before fading back to a dull throb.

My pats turn firmer. More insistent. The gentle rhythm becomes an urgent drumming against his broad back.

“Caine.” Louder this time, my voice steady even as my legs tremble beneath their demand. “Caine, please.”

But he’s lost somewhere I can’t follow. His grip tightens fractionally, and I feel the hard planes of his chest press against mine with each breath he takes. A tremor passes through him, and an answering shiver of want flares dangerously low in my abdomen.

And then it’s gone again, doused by the growing ache in my spine.

“You’re going to snap me in half,” I finally gasp, shoving against his shoulders. I’m desperate for relief. “Please, let me go. My back hurts!”

His entire body goes stiff.

For one blessed moment, I think he’s heard me. That he’ll release me and let blood flow back into my cramping limbs and ease my body’s muscle failure.

Instead, his arms constrict further, an iron vise crushing me against him. His grip becomes almost painful, bordering on desperate.

“No.” His denial is hot against my skin. “I can’t let you go.”

The anguish in his words is enough to stem my rising irritation. This isn’t the terrifying Lycan King speaking. This isn’t even the overbearing Caine who stormed into the camper moments ago.

This is another him entirely, something broken and vulnerable. My chest hurts hearing him.

Reluctantly, I wrap my arms around him again, patting his back gently as I sigh. “At least let me stand up straight.”

When he first ripped off my shirt, my mind had gone straight into the gutter, assuming a much more sordid situation to come. Unfortunately, he hasn’t done a thing except… breathe. A lot of hot, heavy breathing.

Wait—did I just say that’s unfortunate…?

Caine grunts, which is not an answer to my question at all. Then his hands drop lower, fingers curving around my ass and pressing dangerously close to the sensitive area between my thighs.

My breath hitches.

He suddenly lifts me off the ground. Instinct kicks in, and I tighten my embrace around his neck, my legs flying around his waist on their own accord. A small shriek escapes my lips, echoing through the cramped camper.

But my back finally has the relief it was begging for.

“What are you—”

The absurdity of his statement hits me. He tore off my shirt.

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