Page 103 of Howl You Doin?
“God, I love... I love this,” she moans. She slams her eyes shut as her body bows under mine, taut with tension.
The words shock me. They burrow deep down to a place I wasn’t even aware existed as I stare down at her flushed, ecstatic face.
“I love you,” I whisper.
I grip her to me and kiss her with everything in me, lost to sensation. Lost in her. And as I fill her, a sense of rightness overwhelms me.
Chapter 33
Whitley Whitt
Spilling the beans.
“I love him,”I whisper to the empty library, then collapse into a chair in front of the fireplace.
The movement sends dust motes scattering in the air, shining with the morning sun from the uncovered windows. Fuck me.
He said he loves me. And I never even said it back, even though I wanted to, although I don’t think he noticed since he was too busy draining his balls in me.
The kicker of it is, I’ve had this niggling sensation in the back of my mind ever since he mentioned the Van Helsings, and I have no idea what to do or say, or how to approach telling him an ancestor of mine could have been someone who hurt him. I half fought having sex with him at all, even as the want to plead for him to fuck my pussy yesterday became overwhelming. As much as he can scent me, I can perceive his scent too, and it changes when he gets horny. It’s sweeter to the senses somehow.
I’ve been needing his cock for days, even as I was avoiding him for something that wasn’t his fault. Now I feel like a complete asshole.
My plan of reading a book as a distraction didn’t play out how I thought it would. I assumed I would have time to read a book, rub one out, and go about my day with him none the wiser, not wanting to complicate things further since it feels like I’m keeping a secret.
But then he showed up—because of course he did.
The idea that I could ever deny Connor anything, especially when he’s offering his big powerful body up on a silver platter, is laughable. My insides tighten with apprehension at how guilty I feel about not telling him.
I rub my palms into my eye sockets and try to think. All I’ve done today is attempt to keep my head down and do my job, but now most of the guests have left. I stand up and stretch out my limbs, pressing my hands into my lower back as I stick my chest out and arch my spine, then look around the library.
I have no idea what Connor truly went through, and no way of knowing how he will react. My gaze slips from the sunbeams slanting through the massive windows, whose green velvet curtains have been tied back with gold tassels, to the oak shelves lining the room.
“There’s gotta be at least a hundred shelves in here,” I mutter to myself. “I wonder if there’s anything here on lycans.”
Thirty minutes later, I blow a curl of hair from my face, no longer in doubt that I’ve bitten off a bit more than I can chew.
I don’t fail to notice I’m a coward. A coward looking for books instead of just confessing and talking it out, but my love for him is just so new. I’m scared shitless of having him and losing him in the span of a week, then being stuck like this, a wolfish freak, without him. Every strand of hair on my body stands on end andI fight to keep control of myself. I let out a sigh of relief when my hair tie magically holds, and I rein myself in.
I don’t think I can do this without him... and isn’t that realization just terrifying?!
If I had any idea where Odette’s room is, I would ask her.
Maybe she could tell me how big of a deal it is and gauge how mad he will be at me.
I’m not sure how Connor would feel about me asking her anything, but if anyone knows if my ancestors had something to do with it, she will. I would go ask Allan for her room number, but I have no idea what to say.Hey, Allan, do you know which room the Witch Queen is in?And wouldn’t that just raise more red flags than what it’s worth?
Even then, I’m not so sure she ever technically checked in. Who knows, with her being a supernatural. Shit.
My shoulders slump as another thought enters my mind: Odette could have left already, and I wouldn’t know. It may not even be an option anymore, which still leaves me pilfering through the library, trying to open every book and drawer I can find.
“I’m really going to have to learn lock picking to get anywhere with this,” I mutter under my breath as I yank on a knob, my nose twitching from the specks of dust filtering through the air.
Common sense tells me that the library may not have all the information, but it will have something, and something is always better than nothing. If only the people who lived here left their desk drawers unlocked; it would make my whole life easier.
I blow out a harsh breath and push the wisps of my hair from my face. An old grandfather clock ticks loudly, and the smell of musty carpet and paper fills my nose with every inhale. I creep around the bookshelf and run my fingers along the old leather spines.
It would help if I could read all of them. At this rate, it seems I will need to add learning Romanian to my list of tasks before I get anywhere.
