I’d talk about whatever she wanted if she kept taking her clothes off. The woman wasn’t built skinny—she was strong and sturdy, like I preferred. There was weight to her ass, her hips, her arms, and her tits. She was a fucking wet dream, right in front of me.
And she could bemine.
Even in my wildest dreams, I hadn’t dared imagine a life with a mate.
Guess I wasn’t much for dreaming.
My wolf sat down, as if committing to the conversation. He was probably doing so for my sake. I appreciated it.
Abigail turned partway, giving me a side-profile of the world’s prettiest breasts. They were heavy. Her nipples stood out. The far one looked slightly bigger.
The need to have them in my hands was intense.
“Can Cucumber see me through your eyes?” she checked.
My wolf nodded.
Of course the bastard did.
He wasn’t going to lie to his female. That wasn’t in his nature any more than it was in mine.
Her face reddened.
Her tits did too.
She didn’t turn away, though.
“Well, it’s probably better to get the awkwardness out of the way before you stop being furry anyway.” She gestured to her body. “I’m not super skinny. Probably won’t ever be. I have thigh fat. And cellulose. And stretch marks, even though I’ve always been this short and curvy. I walk to stay healthy, but otherwise exercise isn’t my thing. Neither is dirt. If that’s a deal breaker, you know where the door is.”
She finally turned around, stepped out of her thong, and slipped into her shower.
The door was glass, but she left it open.
If that wasn’t the world’s biggest invitation, I didn’t know what was. If only I wasn’t trapped in the fucking wolf, I would’ve come up with some way to tell her how much I loved her body the way it was.
But I was trapped.
And the wolf was still sitting dutifully. Waiting for permission or something.
Abigail sighed in contentment as the hot water ran over her skin, wetting her face and hair and breasts.
Especially her breasts.
She stood there like that for a few minutes, and the urge to join her was tremendous.
If I had even a small amount of control over my body, I would’ve done exactly that.
“You know that I’m a college professor,” Abigail said, as she reached for her shampoo and pumped some into her hands. She brought it to her head, and began scrubbing her scalp as she looked at my wolf.
He nodded.
I hadn’t ever attended college, so I wasn’t sure he knew what that actually meant. But apparently he was going to act like he did.
“I teach English 101. That means I stand in front of big groups of mostly eighteen, nineteen, and twenty year olds while I’m at work. Men and women. They all listen and take notes while I talk, and we have discussions about books, authors, essays, and other related things,” she said.
My wolf went still.
I could imagine how he would react to having a large group of twenty-year-old men staring at his mate, and it wasn’t good. He was the calmest wolf most people had ever met, but he was still a wolf.
