Page 131 of Never Submit

There’s a moment’s silence, and fuck me, but I smell her arousal, too. Something not quite satiated yet.

It winds around me, down into me, and stirs things I don’t want stirred.

I’m not a slave to the wolf. I prefer the finer things, not the rutting and the baser ways of what I am. I’m more than that. And she?—

She’s a pain in my goddamn ass.

She pokes me, she taunts, and she has no idea of what I’m capable of. No fucking idea at all.

Today is not the day for this.

“Ms. Wexler?” she asks. “You’re still pretending your cock wasn’t in my mouth a few days ago?”

The tease in her voice is like nails down my back, sliding along my flesh, digging in just enough to makesaid cock start to harden.

If it was a matter of screwing her and being done with it, I would.

Catarina might not even care if I take on a mistress, but it’s not that simple with Ren, not anymore. There’s more now. She’s been claimed as part of both the Steel Claws and the Grey Valley wolves. If I go down this path and?—

No. Let the others worry about her.

For me, the only reason she’s still here is because of the Moonstone…and Noble.

I straighten fully, shaking myself. I have my own things to accomplish that have nothing to do with old ways or silly things like mate bonds. I seem to be the only one with a clear vision of how to take on Andras. And that means combining forces with the Briar pack and marrying Catarina.

I grit my teeth to get myself back under control. Finally, I turn to face Ren.

The woman will be my demise, I’m sure of it.

Wearing her signature red hoodie over a loose fitting knee-length dress, the getup shows a lot more of her slender legs. She looks…exposed.

The sight makes my mouth dry and my cock swell more.

“Not the most appropriate attire for winter, don’t you think?” I say.

She shrugs. “Yeah, well, Mathis suggested a dress would be easier when I shift into my wolf. Less clothes to remove. He’s right.”

Yeah, for shifting. I’msurethat’s why Mathis suggested it.

I growl. “Why are you bothering me?”

She growls right back at me before catching herself. Her eyes go wide and she says, “I…I want to talk to you.”

“About?”

“The wedding.”

I pause. Then straighten until my spine threatens to snap. “What about it, Ms. Wexler?”

She narrows her eyes at my formality, like when we first met at Rudy’s Bar. It’s just another thing I use to push her away. We both know it.

The air in the office becomes hot and thick. “You aren’t really going to go through with it, are you?” she blurts out.

She takes a step toward me, catches herself again, then finds her resolve. Her shoulders thrust back and she stares in a pretty damn good imitation of, well, me.

“Get out,” I snap. “Do as you’re told, Ms. Wexler, and leave me alone. I’m busy.”

“Busy ignoring your feelings,” she says. “Torin.”

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