Page 19 of Claimed By the Grumpy Shifter

"Guilty as charged. And you, Marc Steel, are straight out of chapter one of every single one of them."

"Great. No pressure there."

"Oh, there's definitely pressure," she says with a grin that's pure mischief. "Romance novel heroes have very high standards to maintain. You'll need to be brooding but tender, dangerous but protective, mysterious but emotionally available when it counts."

"Anything else?"

"Good in bed. That's non-negotiable."

The bear roars. My bulge throbs, and she's blushing furiously, like she can't believe she just said that, but she doesn't take it back. Instead, she holds my gaze with a courage that makes my bear rumble with approval.

"I'll keep that in mind," I manage.

"Good," she says, then takes a sip of wine like she didn't just turn my world upside down with a single sentence.

This woman is going to be the death of me.

And I can't wait to find out how.

Chapter 8 - Christine

Did I really just say that?

Heat floods my face so fast I'm surprised the wine doesn't start boiling in my glass. I can feel Marc's eyes burning into me from across the table, and I'm torn between the urge to hide under the tablecloth and the shocking realization that I don't actually regret the words.

Good in bed. That's non-negotiable.

What is wrong with me? I don't talk about sex. Ever. Especially not with men who look like they could teach graduate-level courses on the subject. I'm the girl who blushes when the pharmacist asks if I need anything else after buying tampons. I'm the girl who has to leave the room during the steamy scenes in movies because I get too embarrassed to watch.

And yet here I am, on a first date with the most devastatingly attractive man I've ever met, casually discussing bedroom requirements like I'm some kind of sex goddess instead of a twenty-six-year-old virgin who's never even been properly kissed.

Oh God. I'm a twenty-six-year-old virgin who just told a former Marine that sexual performance is non-negotiable.

I take another sip of wine, hoping it will calm my racing heart, but it only makes the heat in my cheeks burn hotter. Marc is still staring at me with those amber eyes, and there's something in his fierce expression that makes my entire body tingle with awareness.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, his voice all gravel and promise, and I swear I can feel the words in places that have no business responding to the sound of a man's voice.

This is insane. I've known him for two days, and already I'm thinking about things I've never seriously considered with anyone else. The way his hands would feel on my skin. The weight of his body covering mine. The sounds he might make when—

Stop. Just stop.

But my traitorous brain doesn't want to stop. It wants to catalog every detail of his appearance, from the way his shirt stretches across his broad shoulders to the way he holds his fork, like he's consciously moderating his strength. Everything about him screams power, barely leashed intensity, and some primitive part of me that I didn't even know existed wants to be the one to unleash it.

"You're thinking very loudly over there," Marc observes, his voice cutting through my internal spiral.

"Sorry." I force myself to take a bite of salmon, though I can barely taste it through my embarrassment. "I can't believe I said that."

"Which part?"

"The... the bedroom part." I can't even bring myself to repeat the words. "I don't usually... I mean, I'm not normally..."

"Forward?" he suggests, and there's something almost amused in his tone.

"That's one word for it." I risk a glance at his face and immediately regret it, because he's looking at me like I'm something he wants to devour slowly. "I'm usually very shy around men. Especially men like you."

"Men like me?"

"You know." I gesture vaguely at his face, his body, his entire overwhelming presence. "Attractive. Confident. Capable of reducing grown women to babbling idiots with a single look."

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