Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“Wolves aren’t usually attracted to humans, but I’m helplessly, hopelessly attracted to you. When you called it quits, I tried to shake it off, but I can’t. You’re all I want.”
She blinks rapidly like she’s hiding tears. “Oh.”
“Come home with me tonight,” I coax, biting her breast through her dress. “I need to have you near me. Please.”
The scent of her arousal floods my nostrils, making me dizzy with lust.
She gives a tiny nod of assent. “Okay.” Her answer is sweet and soft.
It’s everything I need to hear.
Chapter Fifteen
Madi
Brick Blackthroat wants to have a relationship with me. That almost shocks me more than the fact that he's a wolf. I’m still quickly assimilating both as Brick drives me to his place.
When we left the stairwell, hand-in-hand, the Adalwulf contingent had already vacated the building, and it was just Blackthroat’s team left in the conference room, discussing the situation in heated voices.
The way they all stopped talking when we came in tells me I was a large part of that discussion.
“What now?” Vance asked in a tight voice, his gaze flicking from me to Blackthroat.
“Go home. I’ll clean up my own mess.”
None of them seemed to like that, but other than disgruntled stares, no one protested.
“Am I your mess?” I ask as we drive. “When you said you’d clean up your own mess, did that mean me?”
He slides a sidelong glance at me from behind the wheel. “Humans aren’t supposed to know about our kind. Obviously.”
“Yes, obviously.” I’d already assumed that much. “As you said, I signed an NDA. I won’t breathe a word. Not even to Aubrey.”
He sends me another unfathomable glance. “Thank you.”
I fidget for another moment. I have to ask. “Are you taking me home because I’m part of the mess?”
“No, Windows.” He gives a humorless laugh. “I would have your memory wiped if I didn’t trust you–without hesitation. Even though it could damage that big, beautiful brain of yours. We take our privacy and pack safety very seriously.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I don’t want to know the answer, but I have to ask. “H-how?”
“I’d make a deal with Thaddeus, the vampire king. Vampires can fuck with minds. Hypnotic suggestions and all that.”
The shiver turns into a shudder. “Okay. Wow. Vampires exist, too.”
He reaches out and squeezes my hand like he did in the stairwell. "You're safe with me, Madison. Do you believe that?"
I draw in a breath, considering. The connections are still coming together in my mind as I sort through all of our past interactions. When I view them through the lens of Brick being a werewolf, they make more sense. The weird rules about no fragrances in the building. The prohibition against silver. His reaction to having me show up in the Berkshires and spending Thanksgiving with the pack. The protectiveness of everyone around him.
I see what Blackthroat meant. It was never about our social status difference. I thought that because of my own hang ups with money, but it was a werewolf-human thing. I’m an outsider getting too close.
So am I safe with him?
Yes, I think I am.
His behavior toward me points only toward a steady and continued interest in me. He's not dragging me off to his place now to make me his wolf-dinner. Or turn me into one of his kind. Or even mind-wipe me with a vampire. I know when he's lying. He does that overly-scornful act.
Besides, why would he tell me about the vampire thing if he planned to use it on me?
“Yes,” I answer him out loud. “Why are we going to your place?”
This time there’s no mistaking the meaning behind his look. It’s positively feral. “Because, Windows, I haven’t feasted between your legs in over four days, and it’s absolutely killing me.”
I squirm in my seat.
Brick’s nostrils flare. “I can smell your arousal, sweetheart. Good thing we’re here.” He drives into an underground parking garage with a manned gate. The security guard waves to Blackthroat as he drives through. After a spiral downward we go through a few more gates–these automatic–and enter what appears to be a luxury car showroom. The spotless floor is coated in a gleaming pale silver epoxy, the ceiling has ultra-modern recessed light banks. A few dozen gorgeous cars worth eight figures each fill the parking spaces.
“What…where are we?”
“My garage.”
I barely hold in my gasp. “Your…personal garage?”
“Yes. But a lot of these cars belonged to my father.”
I’m dying. Literally dying. I’m not a car person, but if I were, I’d probably orgasm right here. There are Jaguars and Astin Martins, Porsches and limousines. New models. Old ones. All in mint condition. “Gulp.”
Brick walks around to take my hand when I get out. “Did you just say gulp?” He pushes me against a shiny red Ferrari and insinuates one muscular thigh between my legs.