Page 22 of The Hunt of Night

“Can you watch your tone?” she bites, pulling me back to the present, and I roll my eyes.

“No.”

“Then maybe I can’t take a damn seat,” she spits, folding her arms over her chest as her gaze darkens.

I move before she can even acknowledge a single beat, cupping her pussy through her pants. Her gasp echoes in my ears and I relish in the sound. It has a way of igniting the wolf in me in a way nothing else ever has.

“Sit down, Alpha.” I peer at her through my lashes, catching sight of her hands balling at her sides as she pouts her sweet fucking lips.

“Doesn’t the alpha make the rules?”

“It’s not a rule, it’s an order.”

Her pupils dilate, despite the contained rage glistening in her emerald eyes.

“I don’t do too well with them,” she warns, and I tighten my hold on her core.

“I recommend getting used to them,” I breathe, my gaze flickering to her lips for a beat before locking back on her alluring eyes. She offers the promise of desire in those pools, yet whenever I get too close, one of us hesitates to jump.

“Or what, you’ll keep grinding your palm against my clit? Oh, no.” She lifts her hand to her lips, fake gasping as her eyes twinkle with mischief.

“It’s a pity your mouth isn’t as sweet as your pussy. Instead, you’re full of sass. A little bitter if you ask me. Now, are you going to sit your ass down or not?” We’re so close now that the tips of our noses ghost over one another.

She tilts her head, her lips grazing over mine as she talks.

“I’m bitter to the core, Cassian. Don’t forget it.”

I shiver at her words, my cock twitching to life, desperate to feel her. I lift my hand to her cheek, ready to take control, butshe’s out of my grasp instantly, lowering herself to the log with a smug grin touching her lips.

That beautiful, wicked?—

Fuck.

I hate games, but hers…hers I live for.

I’m gone before I give in to my desires, instead focusing on completing the mission I set out for myself before I’m back in front of her, sandwiches in hand.

Two perfect turkey and Swiss sandwiches, warmed and wrapped in foil. One in each hand. I stare in amusement as she glances between them both.

“Lunch.”

“Lunch,” I repeat, offering one out to her as I take the spot to her right. She continues to look between the sandwich and me, but I’m too hungry for this cute stare-off. I unwrap my sandwich and take a bite, groaning at the deliciousness that always comes from Janie’s.

Wordlessly, she follows suit. We sit in a comfortable silence that sparks a calmness through my body that I’m not all that familiar with. It’s her, I know it is, but I don’t know how or why, just that I only ever feel it in her presence.

Even then, it’s fleeting. We spend most of our time angry or spent.

Mainly angryandspent.

In the best possible way there is.

“Why?” Her word is little more than a whisper on the breeze, one I’m not sure I would have heard without my enhanced hearing, but it’s a question I don’t have the answer to.

“I don’t know,” I admit, scrunching the foil remnants in my hand as I chance a glance at her out of the corner of my eye.

“You don’t know.” Her eyebrows are raised.

“Nope.”

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