Page 52 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

Pheromones slam into me, and I whimper.

“I was gonna offer you a cool-down stretch,” he smirks. “But I don’t think you’re ready for that kind of intimacy.”

My brain short-circuits, and I take a single step back; just enough to preserve the final scraps of my dignity. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’mcool.”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

Our faces are inches apart, now. My blockers are barely holding, and his hand is splayed against my lower back.

“This is a terrible idea,” I murmur.

He arches a brow. “You keep saying that.”

“Because I like pretending I have impulse control.”

His smirk could melt steel. “You want me to stop?”

I should say yes. Really, I should.

(I don’t.)

I stay exactly where I am as his mouth hovers a breath from mine.

“That’s what I thought.”

His fingers curl just slightly and guide me until I’m facing away from him and looking directly at the mirror. He steps in close enough that I can feel the heat of his bare chest at my back. One hand settles lightly on my hip, the other on the curve of my neck.

“Bend for me,” he instructs.

My eyes meet his in the reflection. “Jace…”

“You said you’re fine,” he replies, deceptively soft. “Just a cool-down stretch, right?”

I swallow thickly, then shakily move to bend at the waist. He drops to one knee, and his hands glide down my legs, fingertips grazing the backs of my thighs as he adjusts my stance.

He spreads me out wider and lower. “Gotta keep your hips aligned, sweetheart. Don’t want you pulling anything.”

My abdomen clenches tightly.

He straightens again behind me, but it doesn’t change the fact that the heat of him is all-consuming. His palm slides over my lower back and presses down until I arch, until I can feel the hard line of him against my ass.

I gasp, and our eyes lock in the reflection.

“Still doing okay?” he asks, all fake innocence, like I’m not soaked through my shorts and vibrating at a pitch only animals can hear.

“This is—this is not stretching.”

“It is,” he insists. “You’re just distracted.”

I try to glare at him, but I get as far as lifting my head further up before he reaches forward and brushes my hair off my neck, his fingers trailing down the back of my tank top with agonizing slowness.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he says. “Every day since that night.”

“I haven’t,” I lie.

---