Page 70 of Lycan Prey
Huffing, I reply, “Unless you’ve got a magic ointment that can grow back hair within seconds or conjure up an ice cloud to sit on, your ‘help’ isn’t required.”
His laughter rumbles through the room once more. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”
My reply is a glare.
I carefully peel off my jeans. The relief when they finally hit the floor is instantaneous.
I reach for my trusty flannel pajamas, praying they will offer some comfort. Sighing at the relief of nothing chafing, I’m about to climb into bed when a knock sounds at the door. Soren tells them to enter. It’s the bags from the car. The maid places them by the door before wandering out, and a smile splits onto my face.
“Hey, I know how you can make it up to me!” I call over my shoulder as I move to retrieve the bag I’m looking for. Soren, still chuckling, follows me, perplexed.
“Anything,” he says, but his voice trails off as he watches me dig through the shopping bags I brought home.
My hand closes around the waxing strips I purchased, and I turn, a triumphant grin on my face. His eyes widen as I brandish the box like a trophy.
“Anything but that!” he backs away, shaking his head. “No!”
“Oh yes,” I insist, stepping closer. “You said anything.”
He makes a break for it, but I’m quicker, fueled by the fiery motivation of revenge. I tackle him onto the bed. He shrieks like a girl clawing his way out from under me, but I grip his pants so as he slides off the bed, he is left only in his boxers.
Soren gets to his feet and makes a dash for the door. Only when he reaches for it, we both pause, hearing his mother’s voice outside. He turns, his eyes land on the bathroom, and he beelines for it, but I pounce on him like a spider monkey. I cling to his back, and he thrashes silently, knowing his mother will come rushing in here if he makes too much noise. Unable to throw me off without hurting me, he falls backward on the bed, my wax strips tumbling onto the plush carpet.
“No, I refuse!” he says, jamming his fingers in my ribs while I try to wriggle out from under him.
“We had a deal, so you’ll take it like my fanny did!” I snap at him. He becomes deadweight on top of me, squashing the air from my lungs.
“I’m not moving!” he tells me while I thrash beneath him. He laughs as I try to escape his weight, giving up. I lay like a starfish, trying to catch my breath.
“You given up yet?”
“Never!” I tell him, biting the back of his shoulder. He jolts and roars, jerking upright.
“You just bit me!” he snaps as I climb off the bed, retrieving the ready-made wax strips from the floor.
He looks at his shoulder before noticing me sneaking closer. “I said no!”
“Either I wax you while you’re awake, or I wait for you to sleep and wax your head!”
He glares.
“What will it be?” I ask him.
“All the women in this place have gone mad. I am King!”
“About to be a hairless one!”
“Fine!” He falls back on the bed and folds his arms across his chest, glaring at the ceiling. “I swear if you tell a soul about this, I will… I will think of something!”
I giggle, moving toward him.
I climb on the bed and pin his legs between mine. He sits up slightly, and I yank at his boxers, only to pause when confronted by the considerable sight of his manhood. A moment of hesitation flickers through me—he dares me with a raised eyebrow to continue while my face flames at the closeness of it.
“No, not that,” I decide, my eyes scanning for a less intimidating target.
His chest—I rip open his shirt before he can argue, the buttons popping off, perfectly hairy and far less daunting. I slap a strip onto his chest.
“People will see that!” he snarls at me.
