Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 188: Grace: Why Did You Stop?

When Caine pulls away, my first thought is I did something wrong.

But when I look at him, at how hard he still is and how his breathing’s heavy and charged, I realize... I didn’t.

Though I’m still not sure why he stopped.

"Why did you stop?"

Way to sound desperate, Grace.

"You needed me to...?"

The arrogant Lycan in front of me sounds strangely unsure of himself, and I shake my head. "I didn’t."

He draws in a deep breath and rubs his hands over his face, then through his hair. "You should."

"But I don’t."

The place between my legs is wet and aching, water dripping down my thighs, and it’s awkward to still stand here without him... touching me.

I’m not entirely certain what to do, actually.

Caine groans.

"We’re going too far," he warns.

My eyebrows pull together. "I told you, the energy transfer isn’t... much."

It’s there, but it’s nothing like it is when our skin touches.

It’s impossible to completely avoid us touching even then, but they were more like sparks and rushes of energy lasting a second or two, not a constant drain of arcana. And, if I’m being brutally honest—which horny Grace apparently is—it felt really, really fucking good every time his skin would brush against mine.

So right now I’m feeling more than a little lost and kind of abandoned in the middle of what was promising to be an amazingly intimate, stolen moment in the middle of the night, and Caine looks... tortured.

his hands, and his eyes are all dark and

"Are you sure?"

nod. I think

ground, then grabs another out of the cabinet and walks to the sink again, only

Or still stand here with them awkwardly spread out? Do I turn around? How

really great at being sexy, so I’m not entirely certain how to pull this man

sink," Caine

mind. I guess my

shakily make my way to the sink and hold onto the edge of it. He nudges my feet further apart with his own, the gentle pressure of his

transfer is a little greater now than it was before. Maybe it’s the ambience. But this time, I vow silently to actually pay attention to what’s happening and maybe try to control

until my forehead touches the mirror over the sink. The cold countertop is like ice against my heated skin, and he runs the cloth over my

Gently.

crazy, knowing I’m already way beyond a couple brushes against

cloth down my back, over my ass, and down my right thigh. Then he pushes against

pressure. The cool countertop meets my knee as

Hot? Yes.

Awkward? Also yes.

core of me clenches hard, though, greedily accepting anything he does to me and

exposed and vulnerable. The position is precarious and I

definitely worse than just standing

washcloth slides from my thigh upward in a torturously

after

Way better.

the cloth travels higher sends ripples of anticipation through my body, slowly

The question slips out breathless, my lip caught between my teeth

you have your leg hiked up on

are still on, though... I’m not sure if it’s a good thing

"Worshipping," Caine says quietly.

hits me