Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 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.

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."

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.

the kids are out there. And Fenris. And yeah, I get wolves live inside their masters’ heads, but oh my Goddess, Fenris

sexual audiobook for

Not cool.

a fist into the mattress beside me. The entire bed jumps, and fabric tears under his fist. Seriously? How do you

life

touched you," he growls, his voice

dial up

not—" I start

processed any of it. The sex. The magic. The fact that I’m

Semen

.

should be gross and

is blaming himself when I am one hundred percent the person who asked

I’m

die in my throat as I watch. He adjusts himself, and I wonder vaguely where it’s always hiding. I don’t generally make

faintly flushed, and a light sheen of sweat makes his tattoos gleam. They’re calm now, no longer moving, and I wonder if he can feel it

unable to find words. What do you say after accidentally choking someone’s dick with magic, especially when the dick-owner is the one

hardens as he moves away from the

"Oh. Um. Okay, but—"

doesn’t even pause

"Wait. Caine—"

Then it closes.

and now I can’t

dazed and frustrated and confused all at once. The golden energy between us is long gone, and it’s left a strange emptiness in me, where even

my arm over my eyes. The ceiling spins above me, so I squeeze my eyes

the edge of hysteria. I was mad at him before this.

Mad.

It’s nice,