Page 46 of The Broken Wolf's Redemption

It was more astounding that he didn’t want to take back control. Yet. He wanted to see how far she would take this.

“You say you can’t touch me,” Seren repeated. “Then don’t. Get in the chair.” She slammed her legs shut and let her skirt drop back into place. “Put your hands behind your back. You can still tell me what to do without them.”

She was asking him to render himself defenseless. There would be no physical restraints, just his word and the honor he’d lost long ago. He shivered at the implications, but it wasn’t the kind that made his skin crawl. His dick nearly tore through his jeans. When Seren finally pulled it out, she’d probably find him bruised from drilling into his fly so hard.

She turned and walked past him, letting him be the one to have her unguarded back. He wasn’t going to sit behind that desk. He pulled the chair out, ignoring the array of toys he’d put there with the full intention of pushing Seren to her limits and enjoying how much she squirmed and detested it and needed it and hated herself and him for it.

He thrust the chair into the middle of the room and sat down so hard it nearly broke. If he hadn’t had his feet planted firmly on the floor, he would have shot backwards.

Seren closed the door. When she turned it was like seeing a different woman. She wasn’t the same shy, frightened, reluctant, scornful woman who stepped foot into his office every other Monday. She wasn’t the woman who had come to him, basically begging him to lend her that money, horrified over what she’d have to do for it. This was a woman radiant and golden from the inside, alight with the discovery of her own power.

She wasn’t looking to dominate him. She wasn’t going to take from him. This wasn’t retribution or payback for what he’d done to her. It wasn’t that kind of power. The power had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her. She looked almost at peace in a body she’d seemed to be so embarrassed over. For a wolf, she was squeamish when it came to nudity. Maybe it was just him. Would she act that way with another man? One who wasn’t forcing her to sell her body?

There would be no other male. He’d kill anyone who dared to look at Seren, clothed or unclothed. Certainly unclothed.

He wasn’t surprised or alarmed by the thought, but it was troublesome. She wasn’t his past this room. Whatever she was proposing, it probably wouldn’t be a repeat performance. She wanted a good, hard fuck. To fuck him out of herself the same way he’d wanted to do to her. This was a means to an end, not a safe, loving relationship. He had no business being protective of her past the expiration of their agreement. She was an investment, not a girlfriend. A toy, and definitely never a mate.

The instinct that formed into words was deeper than that and he knew it.

Luckily, Seren distracted him by slipping off her jacket. It was a work of art, with pink ribbons and black lace, studs and rips and tears. No doubt she’d done it herself. Her black tank was molded to the shape of her curves. His mouth went dry when she grabbed it by the hem and with zero preamble or teasing, pulled it over her head. She had a bra underneath, one that pushed her breasts up into perfect orbs.

He’d never seen this much of her skin. Black and gray ink decorated both arms. He wished he could focus on what it was. He blinked his eyes into focus before he reached new levels of pathetic. His blood hammered as hard as his heart. He could barely breathe without panting. His cock kept drilling into his jeans.

An angel. Bowed. Broken wings. The feathers so realistic they looked soft. A reaper, robes flowing. Reaching for each other.

How fucking… intuitive.

Except he was the one who was broken, and she was the one who was about to reach into his chest and steal a soul that wasn’t supposed to even exist any longer. Good. He’d rather feed it into her hands now than whatever was waiting to damn him when he died.

Seren left the bra on. “Hands behind your back.” She studied him, waiting for him to comply, face entirely neutral and composed. When the hell did she learn to have such mastery over herself? Had she simply been acting the whole time?

He noticed the slightest tremble in her hands when she touched the waistband of her skirt. She was acting now. Forcing herself to be brave, to dig down into herself and find a new power. She flattened her fingers just above her hipbones. She had an athletic build, with abs, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a lovely curve to her hips. She had no ink on her collarbones, neck, or breasts. A large lantern with a huge moth and soft roses, spider webs, and thistles curled around her hips and covered her stomach. She traced the edge of one flower when she followed the direction of his gaze and looked up at him.

“Your hands, Rome. Behind. Your. Back.”

She started to slip her skirt down, inching it lower on her hipbones, exposing more ink, more flowers, little sprays of baby’s breath. He knew she wasn’t wearing any panties, but it was still like he was seeing her for the first time. She was resplendent undressing. She didn’t tease him. Didn’t stand there or start to saunter over to him provocatively. She was doing this for herself as much as for him, and that’s what made her all the more desirable. He’d set the rules, but now that everything had changed, still not being able to touch her was a new form of torture he was unprepared and unequipped to manage.

She stood there, the skirt pooled at her ankles. She hadn’t taken off those silly pink boots yet. Combat, lace-up style things, but soft powder pink.

He obeyed her instruction, and it didn’t kill him. He didn’t liquify on the spot because he’d done what she’d asked. He tucked his hands behind his back, elbows out to the sides, resting on the chair’s arms, and he laced his fingers tightly together.

She smiled and nodded. “Good. Don’t remove them.”

“I won’t.”

“Not even if the world ends.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Say it.”

“Not even if the world ends.”

It felt like it was. His world. He was being reborn. The woman in front of him was already a different person. She wasn’t the Seren he’d known. This was the buried Seren, the one she’d never dared to set free. He’d brought it out of her, but he could take no credit for it.

He took up the entire chair, so when she came forward, the only place for her to go was on top of him. His breath hissed out of him as she knelt on his knees. First one leg, then the other. She arched her back, keeping her body away from him. The only parts that touched were their thighs.

She was intoxicating across the office, and she was utterly beguiling this close. He lost his mind. His brain scrambled into mush at the sweetness of her scent. He could smell more than perfume. Her skin. Her pussy. Her desire.

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