Page 21 of Savage Hope

“You're new,” he states as I gape at him. The only words I'm able to find feel embarrassingly sharp, but they tumble from my lips nonetheless.

“And you're naked.”

He scoffs, the sound turning into a snicker as he glances back to where the football players are, before his focus finds its way back to me. My eyes don’t even dare look away from his face, too captivated by his proximity to willingly acknowledge we’re not alone.

“Florentine’s?”

I gulp at his assessment, unable to decipher whether it’s said with disdain or amusement. His facial features give nothing away.

“Would that be a good thing or a bad thing?” I ask, unsure where the confidence to speak is coming from as the darkness threatens to seep back into my bones.

Why am I trembling in anticipation for his answer like my world hangs in the balance?

He shakes his head, his hair flopping with the motion. “I’ll take that as a yes. I just find it amusing that you are more focused on the fact that I’m naked, and not the reality that I'm a wolf. A verity that I'm pretty sure Florentine’s have no knowledge of until they get here. Which was, what? Twenty minutes ago?”

My cheeks burn hotter under his assessment as he remains pressed against me, dick and all.

“The wolf is new, too,” I manage to rasp, and he snickers once again, only this time, his eyes seem to soften.

“You could be a wolf,” he states, as if the words falling from his lips don't hold so much weight. I’m not ready to delve further into this just yet.

“And you could be getting up now,” I murmur, glancing over his shoulder to avoid the shift in his eyes.

Instead of standing as I hoped, his hand reaches for my face, his fingers curling around my chin as he tilts my head back, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Where's the fun in that?” he asks, the words raspier than necessary. The glimmer in his eyes makes it profusely clear that he knows the effect he's having on me right now.

“Fun. What's that like?” I retort, quirking my eyebrow at him, and his smile grows wider.

I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I need to put as much distance between me and this guy as I possibly can right now.

“You're amusing. Say thank you and I'll leave you be.”

My eyebrows narrow. “Thank you?”

He scoffs like my question is ridiculous. “For saving you,” he explains, and I gape at him.

“You knocked me to the ground. Why am I thanking you?”

He scoffs again, the sound seemingly familiar from his lips already. “It was either that or a knock to the head from the ball. What would you prefer?”

Neitheris on the tip of my tongue, but something about our intimate position makes it impossible for me to lie. Despite the desire that seems to ripple through me at his proximity, I need this to be over sooner rather than later, so I bite back the snark that plays on my tongue and clear my throat instead.

“Thank you,” I rush, watching as something flashes across his face. I can't decide whether he's disappointed or had enough of me, but either way, he stands, offering me his hand.

I take it without wasting a moment to consider if it’s a good idea or not, and he yanks me to my feet. He remains completely unfazed by the fact that he has no clothes on.

“Aren't you going to cover yourself?” I ask, glancing around at the audience we seem to have garnered. Not that I think any of them care much about my presence, but the spectacle he's putting on has definitely caught the eyes of quite a few girls here, possibly some of the guys too.

Definitely some of the guys, and I don't blame them.

“Cover a masterpiece like this? That's diabolical. I was made to be appreciated. I can't deny the people what they want.”

Once again, I’m left gaping at him, his ego growing larger than should be possible.

S's voice cuts through the air, breaking the stare off between us. “P, you're holding up the tour again,” she hollers, making my cheeks grow pinker as the blush spreads down my throat.

Pressing my lips together, I turn away from him, unable to stop myself from eyeing the dick that was pressed against my leg, and I gulp. Rushing toward S, I stop halfway, unable to deny myself another glance at him in his full naked glory.

He picks up a football that was lying right by where I was flattened and tosses it toward his teammates with a force that has to be…well, inhuman. As if sensing my stare, he turns to face me fully before walking backward toward his group. With a wink and a salute, he turns, and I’m forced to refocus on Professor Whitmore again.

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