Page 42 of Daddy's Mail Order Mate

“Wow, I'm cured. Thank you Thorn. Whatever would I have done without your guidance.”

He clicks his tongue and I see his legs move in my periphery. Suddenly I am very fascinated with making sure all the pouches are securely shut.

“Your wolf is a part of your psyche. If you don't believe you can change, you won't be able to.”

I sigh sharply.

“And how am I supposed to believe I can change when Ican't?”

“You’ve shifted before.”

“Barely,” I grumble, too caught up in my own frustrated thoughts to think twice about standing up.

He doesn't say anything, and I scoff a bit under my breath.

“Nothing to say to that?”

He just makes a deep, guttural noise that puts me on edge… And sets off a pang between my legs that I am far,fartoo aware of now that I'm naked. The startling nature of the sound makes me look up at him, and I couldn't say anything if I wanted to.

His eyes bore into me, the heavy set of his brows setting off the predatory angle they always had to a new degree. I somehow feel even more naked, made entirely vulnerable under the weight of his gaze. There's ahungerto his eyes that almost frightens me.Almost.

I force my lips shut to smother the sound that tries to bubble out of me.

For god's sake, am I really going to be running through the woods with wet thighs?

He's stood a bit in front of me now, and every inch of him is perfect. Not perfect as though it was unmarked, though—his skin has a broad mapping of scars, no part of his body left without at least some trace of old injury. Some are thick and raised, others silverskin lines. Burns, lacerations, gunshots, bites, and who knows what else besides are housed on him like a gallery collection. The fact that he has so many despite the supernatural healing of a werewolf means that he has seen so much violence that even his body couldn't keep up with the toll it's taken over the years.

And those scars decorate a physique so immaculate it'd make a sculptor weep. It is the body of a man born, bred, and raised for combat. All the sharp lines of him just make thecurved swells of his arms, his ass, his thighs all the more enticing to look at.

I realize I’m practically drooling from both ends by the time he speaks up, breaking me from my gawking spell.

“I'm going to run you down, Gwen,” Thorn declares in his deepest gravel, with a finality that leaves me shivering. “Understand that the only way you have any hope of getting away from me is if you shift. Youdo notwant me to catch you. Is that clear?”

My hands fearfully fidget in front of me before I grit them into fists to keep them still. What would happen if he caught me? The threat in his voice when he warned me just now feels so real.

“Y-yes.”

He walks towards me, and my eyes want to go everywhere but they are trapped by the magnitude of his stare. My heart leaps into my throat and I shift back a step by reflex. Panic sparks in my mind, wondering if it's already started, if I need to run now,right now—

“Gwen.”

“Yes?”

“Yell ‘red’ if you need me to stop. Otherwise, I am not going to. Even if you cry, even if you beg, even if you bleed, even if you scream,I will not stop. Not unless you say that word. Understood?”

“Yes.”

He paces around to my side, making to walk behind me, his eyes not breaking from mine for a moment.

“What do you say if you need me to stop?”

He's behind me now and I shudder. My mind is crowded with too many thoughts, too many feelings, to the point that I just feel choked and overwhelmed… Yet entirely in his thrall.

“R-red.”

“Good.”

All goes still and silent.

---