Page 13 of Ruthlessly Mated
“I can pee alone,” I say, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door behind me. Bathrooms are great because they always have a lock on the door. I make use of that lock, and then immediately try to climb out the bathroom window. It’s an old trick, but it’s worth trying because it’s the only option I have right now.
Creak…Bam!
They’re onto me quickly. The second the hinge squeaks, the door bursts open and three wolves come pouring in. Conroy grabs me furiously and pulls me close to his face, his teeth snapping at the end of my nose.
“Don’t you dare run away,” he growls, as if he’s personally insulted by my attempted escape.
“Let me go!” I don’t know why I bother saying that. Obviously he doesn’t care what I have to say, or what I want, or what I need.
“No.”
“I have to go. Don’t ask why, just let me go.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Conroy snarls at me.
“Okay. Fine. You want me for your own? You don’t even know me. You idiots think I’m just out here for the taking.”
“You quite literally were.”
“Yeah, and now you’ve knotted me and come inside me. Moron.”
“If you don’t start talking with some respect, you’re going to be crying from having a cock in your ass.” Conroy’s threat is vicious, cruel, and more than a little bit frightening.
My eyes narrow at him, and I decide not to tell him in just what way he is fucking up. Fuck him. He might be my mate, but I don’t have to like him. A mate is just a cock nature chose to fuck me. It doesn’t mean he’s a good guy, or even worth basic decency.
Damon
Conroy thinks he can brute force every problem. He’s often right, but with this little minx, he’s wrong. She can’t be forced. She can be pinned down, fucked, mated, bred, but none of that is going to get to the core of her. He’s being especially bull-headed right now. She probably thinks he is stupid. He isn’t. He’s just stubborn. As is she.
I don’t like talking. Words are a waste most of the time. Action suffices. But I know the subject is going to come up sooner rather than later.
Conroy drags her back into the lounge, where she stands, furious and naked. I find a blanket for her and wrap it around her shoulders, covering her body. I indicate that I will wash her clothes, and she follows me as I take them to the washroom, which is located next to the bathroom.
She watches as I load her clothes into the washing machine, taking off all the bits and pieces that would be ruined in the machine, or ruin the machine. She is silent with me, and the quiet between us feels very calm.
“Thank you,” she says. “That’s nice of you.”
I nod and give her a little smile. I want her to feel comfortable. I want to know her. I want to know where she comes from and what she’s doing and what her childhood was like, and what her middle name is, and what her favorite color is, and what the hell she is up to—because I know she’s up to something. None of these things can be discovered without asking her questions, and I cannot find my voice, not yet. Maybe not ever.
“You have such big, dark eyes,” she says. “You have so many thoughts behind them, I imagine. And you’re with that growly idiot out there. What do you and Tailor see in him?”
There’s a pause in which I do not answer.
“Oh, sorry,” she says. “I forgot you don’t talk.”
She reaches for me and puts her hand on mine. “Can you talk?”
Her hand is soft. I am the only one of us she has reached for, initiated touch. That means a lot to me, even if none of the others so much as notice it.
I nod.
“But you don’t.”
I nod again.
“I respect that.” She smiles at me. “Everyone talks too fucking much anyway.”
We stay in the washing room together until her clothes are washed, and then I put them in the dryer, and then they get dry, and she barely talks and I don’t mind at all, and she doesn’t mind at all either.
