Page 47 of Awakening the Beast
As I pour a glass, I can feel her curious eyes trailing every movement I make. I shoot the first glass down, hissing as the burn slides its way down my throat, settling like fire in my gut. Before I can pour another, I hear her shift behind me, the soft sound of her feet hitting the floor. She moves toward me until she presses her warm, curvy body against my back. Her tits are firm but juicy, nipples hard through the thin material, and I feel a growl rumble deep in my chest.
“Wren,” I warn, but the girl’s always been reckless. Teasing my fucking dick to the highest level.
She wraps her arms around my waist, fingers brushing over my abs, making my skin tingle with the contact.
“What’s the matter, baby?” Her voice is sweet, but there’s always a hint of danger in it. “How did your day go?”
“It’s done,” I grit out sharply.
I shoot the next shot of whiskey and slam the empty glass onto the counter. I can sense her relief, but she keeps quiet, waiting for what’s next. She knows—she always knows—that I’m going to press her about today. There’s no hiding it from me.
“So, how were Phil and Hazel?” I ask and the second I do; I feel her body tense against me.
Caught.
“Yeah, all good,” she replies honestly, which is a good start.
I turn in her arms, whiskey in hand, staring down at her and she meets my gaze, her eyes peering up at me, those thick, dark lashes fanning out and for a second, I almost roll mine because she’s always so fucking pretty, it’s infuriating. Her looks alone could make my fall to my fucking knees in front of her.
I take a sip, watching her, waiting.
“So did you...” I trail off, testing her and her brows knit together. She clears her throat, now nervous, shifting under my stare. She’s trying to act innocent, to keep control, but I’m not letting her off that easily.
“Did I what?” she asks, but she knows exactly what I'm getting at, she can feel my dark, unpredictable aura.
She tries to pull away, to make some space between us, but I’m faster. My hand snaps out, grabbing her wrist, and I yank her back into me, hard. I twist her wrist behind her, flushing her against my chest. Her body tenses, but I’m in control, and I relish the power in this moment.
“You know the fuck what,” I whisper, my tone calm but deadly, my lips inches from hers. I can feel her breath hitch, her pulse quickens in her wrist under my fingers as my words sink in. There's no running now.
Her expanded eyes search mine, and I can see the flicker of uncertainty dancing in them. She knows she’s done for, but she’s trying to figure out where I’m at. Am I pissed? Am I calm? I’m giving her nothing, letting her swim in the confusion just like I want her to.
Holding her this close, I realize something—she’s not wearing panties. There’s only one reason for that. My teeth grind, but I keep it together, watching her closely as she finally asks, her voice soft, almost unsure.
“Are you angry with me?”
Her rosy lips move, drawing my attention, and the temptation to taste her builds, but instead, I let her go with a flick of my head.
“Hands on the wall,” I order.
Her brows knit together, and confusion paints across her face.
“What?”
I tilt my head, closing the distance between us, forcing her to step back and the intensity in my gaze doesn’t waver. I’m not here to play.
“Get your hands on the fucking wall,” I repeat, my tone hardening.
She swallows, clearly caught off guard by the shift in my demeanor, but then her chin tilts up in defiance. “Why?”
I lean in, my lips almost brushing hers. “Because I fucking said so.” I bite out, exposing my teeth.
For a second, she holds my stare, but then, like she always does, she submits. She knows better than to push me right now. I watch as she turns away, each step slow, until she reaches the wall. She takes a deep breath, and then her palms meet the surface, spreading out against it.
My eyes trace the curve of her back, her obedience satisfying something dark inside me. I throw back the rest of my whiskey before I set the glass down with a clink. I stride toward her, the air now thick with sexual tension.
When I reach her, I press myself against her, my crotch snug against the curve of her asscheeks. The sensation makes me growl low in my throat. I gather the fabric of her t-shirt, slowly hiking it up over her hips, revealing the perfection underneath. The sight makes my blood pulse faster, but I stay controlled, focused.
I bring my lips to the side of her neck, grazing her skin, and feel her breath catch. She’s already losing restraint, and I haven't even started.
