Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 189: Grace: Oh My Goddess

The sound of my harsh breathing is all I can hear after I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to think about how I desperately need to change my underwear.

And how the washcloth will actually need to be used for its proper purpose.

And how I’m really, really hoping Andrew’s dead fucking asleep, because if he isn’t, he fucking knows what happened in here and I. Am. Mortified.

Horny Grace has already gotten what she wanted—well, to an extent—and has fled in the face of rational, calm, normal, oh-my-Goddess-what-did-we-do Grace.

Caine’s warmth disappears from my back, and the wicked washcloth suddenly starts wiping down my thighs with a more clinical touch.

My body doesn’t care what his intentions are, because it gets all sparky and ready for round two, but I shove down all those embarrassing thought processes before they get started, realizing I’m a little... dizzy.

Cloth barrier or not, there was still some energy transferring. And it definitely got more intense toward the end. And... I’d told myself I was going to focus on it and didn’t.

Not even a little bit.

I was rather... preoccupied.

Caine taps against my knee, and each one sends a flush of arcana his way, not that he seems aware of it at all.

Obediently lowering my leg and straightening so I’m a little less wanton, I crack my eyes open and peer over my shoulder.

He’s kneeling behind me, looking focused and calm as he wipes what I’m pretending is water, okay, water, off my legs.

Then the floor.

And then he stands, and my eyes are now wide, wide open as they stare directly at his crotch.

Horny Grace got what she wanted. She did. And she definitely shouldn’t throw a fit over it, because Caine’s little friend—scratch that, his very large, very obvious friend—did not get the same treatment.

my neck so fast I might

actually

go

voice a low, sexy, inviting rumble of sin and

Nope.

Nuh-uh.

Not taking this invitation.

to my clit and I squeeze my thighs together, pretending we’re in public surrounded by like, a hundred

a

I think.

Maybe.

to react this way. This bathroom is approximately seventy square feet (give or take fifty since math and geometry are not my

personal quotas tonight. From zombie dreams to pseudo-fucking

moon? It kind of feels like

quiet way too long, staring fixedly at the sink drain and not the giant batch of temptation pinning me against the

against my ear, warm and knowing. "Did you get

Wanted to, but my brain kind of went off onto a whole

my head, unable

a little hum of acknowledgement, not sounding particularly surprised or

this tiny space to avoid contact, and my bare skin slides against the counter’s edge, which feels really warm after leaning against it for so long. I let my gaze land somewhere in the region of his chin and throat, not quite brave enough

little...

Brilliant line choices, Grace. You should write a fucking

little lower—an involuntary glance, I swear—at the hard length of him still

"Does it... hurt?"

to adjust himself. I watch intently, unable to tear my

you do something for me if it

His voice.