Page 62 of Justice for Puck Bunnies

I reach for the remote and try to change both the channel and the subject.

I frantically hit numbers until Jennifer Lopez and George Clooney banter on the screen.

“Oh, no, I’m gonna need more information about how much you love Cannon balls,” he says.

Despite myself, I giggle at the joke. Vin snatches the remote from my hand and throws it over the couch. I chase after it in midair and end up straddling him.

“Sucks for you,” I inform him. “I already switched to my movie of choice. It’s an enemies-to-lovers romance for you.”

Vin, with his hair braided off his face and that crooked smile mischievous, peers up at me like he’s somehow won.

My insides curl over the way he’s looking up at me. Hands skim up my back like they’re prepared to throw me down on the couch and fuck me senseless. Muscles tense, but I bury the wince.

He catches it, because of course he does.

“Tell me what’s really going on, Izzy,” he says. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing. You can’t keep pretending your discomforts don’t matter. Is it an omega thing again?”

Men are not allowed to be that empathic.

“I’m just a little . . . tense.”

“Tense.”

“Yes, tense.”

“Elaborate on what part of you is tense.”

“The part that wants to be squeezed around a dick.”

“Fuck, Izzy,” he groaned. “I thought you’re on the suppressants?”

“I am.”

“And you’re struggling to maintain calm even around a beta.”

You aren’t just some beta.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“Don’t tell me what I feel.”

“Then take care of yourself and I won’t have to.”

With a huff, I try to back off him, but he keeps an iron grip on my hips.

Vin gazes up at me, fathomless, dark umber eyes unflinching despite having my total focus.

Insecurities flare at his close examination. I haven’t fixed my hair since I got home, and my work pants and blouse are rumpled. It makes me want to leap from the couch and run from the room.

He used to seem shy. Reserved at best. Right now, though, his intense focus dares me to move. He challenges me to escape.

Vin’s gaze drops to my mouth, and he squeezes my hips.

“Do you need to come, Izzy?” he murmurs. It’s gentle and inviting, and I’m surprised my clothes haven’t melted off from the sudden explosion of my body heat.

Every mote in the air freezes as his scent hits me so hard, it may as well have been a fist. Wild things in leaves and dirt assault my good sense, and the overhead light becomes unbearable as my pupils dilate.

---