Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 57

Chapter 57: Grace: I’ll Ruin You For Anyone Else

No way.

Even if he tells me to, I really can’t do it.

I keep my face turned away, staring at the faded flower pattern of the comforter. My pulse has spiked to the stratosphere, but I’m determined not to look at his face. If I do, I’ll be lost, dropping so far into the sinful depths of hell, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to return.

I’m not ready.

“Grace.” His voice drops to a silken murmur near my ear.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Don’t.”

But he doesn’t listen. Instead, warm lips press against my cheek, the contact feather-light and devastatingly sweet. My breath catches as he traces a lazy path across my skin, unhurried, as if he has all the time in the world to map every contour of my face.

“Look at me,” he repeats, his breath hot against my temple.

I shake my head, the movement barely perceptible. His answering chuckle vibrates through my bones.

“Stubborn,” he whispers, the word not an accusation but something like praise. My hips undulate without permission, and he rocks forward in response.

I’m putty.

His mouth travels down to my ear, teeth grazing the sensitive shell before his tongue traces the delicate curve. A traitorous shiver wracks through me, and my fingers curl into the hard planes of his chest.

“I can hear your heartbeat, Grace.” His lips brush against my ear with each syllable. “It beats for me.”

“It’s supposed to beat,” I choke out, ruining my attempt at seeming flippant and unaffected.

The wet heat of his tongue dips into the hollow beneath my earlobe, and a soft gasp escapes me before I can trap it behind my teeth. His satisfied hum tells me he caught the sound.

“Your body knows, Grace.”

The camper suddenly feels too small, too hot. My chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, each inhale laced with his scent.

“Stop talking,” I manage to say, my voice strained. The sound of his voice is unraveling every last millimeter of my control.

“No? I’d rather make you stop breathing.”

My heart lurches, and I suck in a swift breath.

He chuckles. “Yeah. Just like that.”

Asshole.

His lips trace down the column of my throat, pausing at the frantic pulse point beneath my jaw. He inhales deeply, and the sound is so animal, so wolf, that another shudder ripples through me.

I should be terrified. This man kills without hesitation. He tore through a pack like they were nothing. He told me I was his prisoner.

Yet here I am, melting beneath his touch as if the Goddess herself had handed me to him, wrapped in a pretty red bow.

Caine shifts his weight onto one arm, the movement pressing his hips more firmly against mine. The hard ridge of him strains against denim, and heat pools low in my belly. His free hand slides up my bare side, palm rough against my skin, fingertips charting a path of goosebumps in their wake.

“Your skin is softer than I imagined.” His thumb slips under the tight band of my bra and traces the underside of my breast, a preview of his ill intentions. “And I’ve imagined it every night. Since I first caught your scent.”

My breath whooshes out in shock. He could have fooled me, with all of his throat-grabbing and threats.

But he wins, because the admission drags my gaze to his face at last. His eyes burn into mine, pupils blown wide with desire, all pretense of control stripped away. The raw hunger I find there steals what little breath remains in my lungs.

I remain frozen beneath him, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. My indecision lasts only seconds before his tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entry. When I yield—God help me, I yield

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