Chapter 7 Lucas: Gala (III)

[WARNING: Mature content.]

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LUCAS

My wolf howls in triumph as I stalk after the little blonde, keeping to the shadows of the garden. She's oblivious to my presence, her attention focused on the phone in her hand. The glow of the screen illuminates her face, casting a soft light over her delicate features.

I can see the reflection of its screen in her glasses, and find myself disappointed that the colors obscure those striking eyes of hers.

As I draw closer, I catch a whiff of her scent on the breeze. Honey and vanilla, with a hint of something else. Something that calls to me on a primal level. My wolf is practically salivating, urging me to close the distance between us and claim what's mine. She must not be my mate—my wolf would know at first scent—but she's definitely something special.

I watch as she taps at her phone with a sense of urgency. A rideshare app, from the looks of it. Is she trying to leave?

The thought sends a surge of possessiveness through me. Like hell I'm going to let her slip away now that I've found her.

I move quickly, closing the distance between us in a few long strides. She doesn't even have time to react before I yank at her arm, spinning her around to pull her against my chest, wrapping one arm around her waist. My hand settles possessively there, gently stroking at the dip before her hips begin to flare. Her skin is warm and tantalizing, even through the soft fabric.

"Where do you think you're going, little wolf?" I murmur, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

stiffens in my arms, and my wolf does not like that. "Let me go," she demands, but there's

why would I do that? I've been watching you all night, waiting for the perfect moment to

grip, trying to get a look at my face.

Westwood, alpha of the Westwood pack." I dip my head, nuzzling against the crook of her neck. Her scent is even stronger here, and I inhale deeply,

Rut her here. Don't wait. Cover her

the left side of her neck, and I swear her scent is even stronger there. Giving in to temptation, I lick it in a long, slow swathe of

her shiver, triumph curves my lips. Her quick little intake of breath seems to shoot straight down to my cock. It has been standing at attention all night, but now it's harder than I think I've ever been in my

whispers, and I growl my displeasure at her words. But her hands, tiny delicate little things, with curious little fingers, slide up my chest. She's not pushing

her. Rut her. The Moon

that, or I'm delusional from every drag I take off this woman's skin. At some point, my hands had crawled of their own accord down her hips and around, gently massaging the

growl again, this time in approval, and

out a bruise on her shoulder that seems to be covered in that powder women

she's tiny, even in those fuck-me heels she's wearing. They have to

I should probably pull back. Be a gentleman. Introduce myself again with a lot less hands-on rubbing and squeezing. Maybe stop

core of her cuddles against my cock, hot and wet and welcoming behind the barrier of her panties. I can feel

the words that do come out of her mouth become my

she pants into my ear, rubbing against me in the most delicious little roll of her hips,

Fuck. Me.

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