Page 46 of Corrupted Tyrant

“Most people have a hard shell they show others and you have to know them a long time to find their soft heart. You’re a paradox. You show the world how fragile you are, yet inside you’re made of steel, Candy. You’re brave and so strong I think you could change the world if you put your mind to it.”

I’m not a romantic, but I’d be lying if I said I never imagined a proposal by my Prince Charming. Although I never in a million years pictured it like this, it’s perfect. This male knows me, knows my heart. If he’s about to propose, I hope he gets there soon. I can’t wait to say yes.

Keep going, Wolven, I urge from the privacy of my mind.

“So…” He swallows hard and I’m loving the expression on his handsome face. Amidst the fangs and wolf-like ears and thick tail that’s sweeping back and forth across the tile floor, my male actually looks shy. It’s adorable.

“You’re everything I could ever hope for, Candy. I could spend the rest of my life getting to know you better, learning what makes you tick, exploring odd roadside attractions with you, and making beautiful music with you. Will you be my mate?”

Hmmm. My fantasies always ended with, “Will you marry me?” This is better.

“Yes! I’d love to be your mate.”

He climbs into the tub and straddles me, still in his jeans, places one firm palm behind my head, and kisses me like his life depends on it. His mouth is hot, his tongue lunges deep, full of passion.

“Yes? Did I hear you correctly?” he asks, as though his brain quit working.

“Yes! Yes!” I kiss him again, carefully dragging my tongue along the point of one of his fangs. That’s me, Candy Wood, always riding the edge of danger.

“I’ll take such good care of you.” His gaze is molten as his palms lodge on my shoulders, then slide from my slick collarbones to hold the weight of my breasts.

“I’ll keep you safe.” He’s plucking their tips, then tugs a bit harder.

“Make you so happy.” He leans to nip one tip, then sucks it into his mouth to suckle.

“Clean enough!” I announce as I try to force him back and off me so we can dry off and get to bed.

“I’m the one who’s been washing you, love, and I know for a fact I’ve ignored your pretty little pussy.” He slides his hand between my legs, lodging the heel of his hand on my clit, then presses it in circles until I’m mewling.

Finally, I have to break it to him. “Bubbles aren’t good for pretty little pussies. Take me to bed!”

All I get is a questioning eyebrow, but he doesn’t argue, just stands, lifts me to my feet, and a minute later the suds are down the drain and he’s toweling us dry. His expression is so full of love—adoration, really—that I can scarcely breathe.

Without warning, he lifts me in the bridal carry and sets me on the floor at the foot of the bed. He’s standing inches away, looking like a god among mortals—so majestic and proud. It makes my heart race.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers in the voice that makes me weak at the knees. I do as he tells me. I feel his warm breath on my eyelids before he gently kisses each one, sealing me off from the world outside this little bubble we’ve created together.

His kisses are so tender, his hands gentle as his palms glide over my still-damp skin, memorizing every hill and valley.

“Mae adme rosh. Dearest Goddess, I love you so much, Candy.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Courage

This is my mate. Every primitive, feral bone in my body wants to pounce on her, pound into her, make her mine in every way. My fangs are dripping with saliva as I try to curb my need to bite her, to give her my mate mark.

Slow, slow, tender, Courage. This is what human women want. You’re going to terrify her, scare her off within minutes of her accepting your proposal.

Skimming my hands over her body, I master the urge to extend my claws and claim every inch of her skin with pale red marks. I have no desire to make her bleed. I just want to scrape hard enough to leave a mark for an hour. My need is overwhelming to brand, to claim, to mate.

Instead, I control all of that and touch her even more tenderly, repeating how much I love her in Wolven and English.

“Make love with me, Courage.”

It takes every ounce of strength I possess to tamp down my baser urges and continue to arouse her with my tongue, my fingertips, my words. My head feels as though it’s stuffed with cotton. I can’t think anymore, functioning only on impulse as the back of my mind howls, my wolven nature demanding to take over.

I’m licking and nipping her nipple when she grips my cock. Her touch is rough, a gentle yank that grabs my attention. It’s only when I look into her eyes that she demands, “What have you done with my Courage?”

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