Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 212458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1062(@200wpm)___ 850(@250wpm)___ 708(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 212458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1062(@200wpm)___ 850(@250wpm)___ 708(@300wpm)
I think this might be the best shower in the history of the world. And not just because of the stunning view. My back has had this annoying stiffness all week after lots of time spent hunched over working on forming and filling hundreds of little personalized cardboard boxes with candied almonds. By myself. And curling ribbon for these little scrolls I did with a sappy love poem for the place settings. Not to mention the fact that I sleep beside someone who hogs the bed and steals the pillows. And it feels like it’s been even worse than usual the past week or so. I had a better sleep at Mom’s last night than I’ve had in eons, even though I only slept a few hours. A whole bed to myself. No snoring beside me. And I didn’t have to wear socks because there was no complaining about my cold feet.
If he keeps snoring I’ll be tempted to start sleeping in the guest room. And I know that sounds awful – not even down the aisle yet and already planning on separate rooms, but a girl needs her sleep, especially when she works twelve-hour shifts that require her to be on the ball – on the ball otherwise peoples’ lives are at stake!
Mason tips my chin up. “You’re a million miles away.”
Not a million miles, just a hundred and fifty or so, back at home in my real life.
“This is ridiculous,” I mumble, pushing my way out of the shower. “I need towels.” All I see are the lush hand towels.
He moves out also, and when he does, he squats to open the cupboard doors under the long vanity. I can’t help but check out his absolutely perfect butt. I mean… it is as perfectly shaped as a peach. And it’s right here in front of me.
He turns and unfolds, showing me another perfect and rather erect thing as he passes me a towel and then wraps one around his waist. I hold my hand out for another for my hair and he grabs another one, but instead of passing the second towel to me, he moves up to me and begins rubbing the towel over my hair while I wrap the first towel around my body.
After tucking the towel to hold it shut above my breasts, I take the other towel from him and try to take over, but he pulls me close and laughs against the skin behind my ear. And then he trails kisses down my neck to the bitemark, making me shudder and pull away.
Goosebumps are everywhere.
“Stop it. And what did you do to my neck? Will this scar?” I touch the spot, looking into the mirror.
“Absolutely,” he says.
“It better not!” I snap.
“What good is your claiming mark if it fades?”
I slow-blink. “Claiming mark?”
“A statement about our connection. It’s also pretty useful.”
He moves up directly behind me and I catch myself leaning back into him. With nowhere to go, instead of trying to move away, I ask, “How’s that?”
“Now that I’ve mated and marked you, I can track you. I can sense emotions from you, too.”
“Huh?”
“And that mark shows other shifters you’re claimed if they can’t already smell me on you, though they will. Damn fuckin’ right they will,” he says, voice gravelly. “And when you touch it, you’ll know you’re mine. When I touch it…” He smiles wide. “Even more pleasure.”
I try to swallow, but I can’t. “Did you say track me?”
He rubs his finger along that spot on my neck and I pull back while feeling my nipples pinch and pucker. I can’t help but gasp.
He scoops me up into his arms and carries me back toward his bed. “More talking later; I smell what I want.”
“No. No, Doggo; listen to me,” I try.
He lays me back and then goes for the towel around me, opening it. “Guess what I smell?” His gaze is pointed between my thighs.
God, he’s obsessed with sex.
“Is this what you’re normally like? A sex maniac?”
“Just for you, Amelia. You want me, too,” he answers while he dots kisses along my breasts.
“I do not,” I state.
“The delicious aroma coming off your body says different,” he volleys, “and before me, you haven’t been fucked properly in a long time.”
“I’m engaged,” I advise.
“And he hasn’t laid a hand on you for days or longer. I smelled nobody on you.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“You should get to come daily. And with me, it’ll be at least that often.”
“Who says I don’t?” I snap, though my nipples tingle at those words, at the tone in which he says them.
“The only way you are is if you’re taking yourself there,” he says, eyes sweeping over my face, then traversing straight down to my toes before lazily drifting back up, making my cheeks burn.
His eyes sparkle with amusement as he adds, “Now, that… that’s something I’ll have to see. You’ll be putting that show on for me. But not right now, because it’ll be a while before I can see myself being able to keep my hands off you.” He smiles. “A long while.”