Chapter 11

Chapter 11

JESSICA

“Grayson-”

“Shut up,” he growls.

I shove at his chest–hard–but it’s like pushing against a wall of muscle wrapped in rage. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he catches both of my wrists in one hand–fast, rough–and yanks them up over my head, pinning them against the cold

metal shelf behind me.

The shelf rattles violently. Something tumbles off–a can? A box? I don’t know. It crashes to the floor like thunder, but I barely hear it.

I’m too busy trying to breathe.

His other hand grips my jaw–firm, possessive–and angles my face to the side like he’s done it a thousand times in his head.

“Stop talking,” he snarls.

Then he licks me.

God.

From the curve of my neck all the way up to just under my ear–slow, wet, claiming–and I swear I feel it in every nerve, every fucking inch of me.

I shiver.

My stomach flips.

Heat coils low–deep and fast and wrong.

“God, you taste…” he groans, voice wrecked. “Fuck.”

His mouth drags back down–kissing, sucking, biting–and I can’t even think straight. It’s too much.

“You don’t get it, do you,” he mutters into my skin. Another kiss. Another bite.

My fingers dig into the metal shelf behind me like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. “I’ve waited for this,” he groans. “Dreamed of this mouth. This neck.”

He angles me again, dragging his tongue over my pulse, and I swear I moan like he just touched between my legs. My breath stutters. My hips twitch.

I’m not even trying to hide it.

“Grayson-

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12:43 Wed, 30 Jul Gr

Chapter 11

“So soft,” he rasps. “So fuckin‘ sweet.”

His hand slides under my shirt. Rough fingers against bare skin. I gasp again, my body arching into him on instinct.

“I hate you,” I whisper.

His tongue slides up my throat again. “Lie better,” he growls.

blink. Hard. The memory rips away like it burned me–like my body still feels him pressed against mine, mouth hot and filthy against my skin.

Asshole.

edge of it like

Grayson fucking Westwood.

lap,” he

Sharp. In front

I freeze.

Trainees. Even that one she–wolf who keeps batting

snap, turning with fire in

Seven.

My lungs are begging. My shirt is soaked. And my pride? It’s

jogs up beside me,

you not to piss him off earlier,”

“I

groans above

and seriously considering throwing hands. I feel a

shifts–wet,

more, Wilkinson,”

in my ears. “I’ve done seven,” I bite out. “Everyone else

Then make it eight

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12:43 Wed, 30 Jul

Chapter 11

forward, ready to snap, ready to tell him to shove his order right up his smug Alpha ass–but he cuts me off before I

fucking example of what a weak omega

freeze where I stand. Logan mutters something under his

tightens. My chest burns. My

Not in front of all

me. He said I was his–acted like I was something he wanted, something worth chasing. And now he’s standing there like I’m just some pathetic trainee he gets to humiliate in front of the pack. Like that storage room.

won’t give

and

say a word, before the tears can fall, I

track. Thunder rolls across the field like a warning, and the first drop of rain slaps against my cheek like a second insult. Weak omega. His voice keeps echoing inside my skull, louder than the wind, heavier

“Fucking weak?”

edge of the field, lungs on fire, heart slamming like it’s trying to

“Fuck you, Grayson!”

don’t care who hears. I hope he hears. I hope the whole goddamn pack hears. Let them

it.

Weak?

his tongue down my throat like I was the only thing he ever fucking wanted. After gripping my wrists like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss me or strangle me. After looking at me like mine meant

now I’m

Bite me, Alpha.

Better yet–choke on it.

a puddle so hard water hits my thigh. I don’t

the sound of his voice. The heat still between

30

Chapter 11

I let him touch

I liked it.

parade me like some pathetic, mouthy little omega who can’t keep

I’ll show him

face under

his mouth after I make him

hard, once, twice, don’t let the tears

Not today.

thighs are still clenching like they miss his

I snarl

swear to the Moon, if he comes near me again–if he even looks at me–something growls

My breath snags.

mid–stride, mud sucking at my boot like the forest itself

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