“Such a paragon of romance. Whatever, this is fine. But you gotta make it up to me this week.”

His huge hand palmed her head, thumb tracing over her jaw with more tenderness strictly required for a handjob, and her heart thrummed. It doesn’t matter. Stop thinking it matters.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, Ms. Blevin.”

* * *

Chapter Seven

S he didn’t expect Grayson to suddenly decide she was the love of his life; didn’t expect him to put her above work, and a certain measure of freedom had come with her lack of expectations.

She no longer stayed home counting the days between full moons, knowing he wasn’t either. She had precious little free time as it was, and spending it pining over someone who was not doing the same over her felt like time poorly spent. It didn’t lessen her enjoyment of the time spent with him, and there was no one else with whom she wanted to spend the full moon, no one else with whom she wanted to spend any full moon ever again.

She wasn’t interested in being knotted and claimed by another wolf, and if it wasn’t the annual Lupercalia celebration, she had precious little patience for their bluster and machismo. He was the only one who would knot her, the only one with whom she shared the turn, and if the smell of another man’s touch on her skin made him go cross-eyed in jealousy every once in a while, Vanessa had decided that simply wasn’t her problem.

She liked having Grayson Hemming chase her, but she had determined that if the goalposts were never moved, he would grow tired of the game.

The swell of skin was molten beneath her lips, hot and slick from her mouth. Her tongue traveled up a pulsing vein, pausing to suck until his stomach muscles jumped beneath her palm. She increased the pressure, sliding her tongue over him, lips tightening, the sound of his heavy panting like a symphony above her.

Vanessa smiled as she pulled back, sucking until the moment she released, letting her lips pop.

When she replaced them with the blunt edge of her teeth, scraping lightly against the bulb of flesh, his heavy pants coalesced into a choked grunt. His chest heaved as she dragged her canines over his knot, pressing just enough to make it hurt. She loved this period, just before the moon, when he was

oversensitive and his knot swelled up as soon as his cock got hard, and she could make it hard so easily.

“I’m going to fuck that smile off your face, Vanessa,” he choked out, his big hands fisting in the sheets. “I’m going to pump you with my knot, over and over again until you’re gaping. I’m going to . .

. fucking . . . ruin you for anyone else.”

She laughed, delighted by the way he was wheezing, biting harder. She had learned several important lessons over the last year. That he was not quiet was one of her favorites. She could pull grunts and groans from his throat with ease, and the sound he made when he came — his balls emptying in thick, white ropes across her breasts and belly, spurting into her mouth, running down her thighs as he erupted into her — made her legs tremble, like a pavlovian response. He had a deliciously filthy mouth, but this — his strangled moans and wheezing pants, the empty threats, and the teeth-gnashing tantrum he threw every time he wasn’t in absolute control — had become some of her favorite sounds in the world.

It was a relief being out of the office. She’d found herself regularly ducking into corners and empty conference rooms to breathe, to remind herself that big law was full of personalities like his, that he wasn’t even the only overbearing asshole at this firm. She noticed he tended to get stuck in litigation mode, particularly when juggling multiple big clients with pressing needs. Aggression and combativeness were highly valued traits in the courtroom. That was what brought clients to the door .

. . but those same traits were a nightmare in the office. Now though, they were free, and she intended on paying him back for the warpath he’d been on for the past two weeks.

Dragging her nails down the meat of his thighs until she knew she would leave welts, visible marks of her ownership of every inch of him, Vanessa pushed herself to her knees, fastening her lip around his cock and swallowing as deeply she was able, which was embarrassingly little, relishing the rumble in his chest nonetheless. That he would let her do whatever she wanted to him was another lesson, one she exploited at every turn.

“I’m sorry,” she crooned, running her tongue over his weeping slit, sucking up the pre-cum pearling at the tip, “we haven’t been very nice. Is this better, baby?”

He groaned again when she resumed sucking his cock to the best of her meager abilities. He could palm her head with ease, and he did so as his fingers tightened in her hair, shallowly thrusting upwards into her mouth.

“How can someone have such a smart fucking mouth and still be so bad at sucking cock?” His voice was a rasp, and he rumbled when she dug her nails into the side of his thigh before slapping his

skin.

“Does that mean I should stop?” she choked out, gasping for air, a line of drool connecting her mouth to his swollen glans. He was right. He loved having his perfect, porn-worthy cock sucked, and she was ridiculously, horrifically bad at it, possessing both a strong gag reflex she could not overcome and a jaw that tired quickly. It seemed like a waste, being involved with someone like her.

“Did I say that?” he laughed, pushing the fingers of one hand through her hair and gripping her chin with the other, tracing her lower lip with the edge of his thumb before guiding her mouth back to him.

“It’s alright. You’re perfect, baby. I’m still going to ruin you, but I love your worthless, terrible mouth

. . .”

She was stretched too full to be able to smile, humming over the backhanded sentiment as he continued to mutter obscenities and misplaced appreciation. The thought of him being with other women still caused a ripple of fury to move up her back, but she knew they existed just as she saw men who were not him in those meaningless weeks between moons and only hoped the partners he had throughout the month who were not her were sucking his beautiful cock the way it deserved.

She’d witnessed it once at the prior year’s Lupercalia celebration. Two girls on the veranda, humans both, on their knees before him as he reclined on one of the chaise lounges, servicing the thick rod of flesh that routinely made her gag. She’d frowned at the sight of them, particularly the blonde who’d been deep-throating him with ease, as if she’d had her back molars removed, along with her tonsils and uvula, while a petite redhead sucked his testicles.

“Overindulging?”

He’d smiled lazily with a shrug, a quicksilver gleam in his heavily hooded eyes, beckoning her over.

“I didn’t know where you’d gotten off to. These guests looked lonely, and let it not be said I’m not a gracious host.”

He’d caught her earlier that night, had taken her on hands and knees, and she’d only been slightly mortified at being had in public, her first Lupercalia with him only taking place the year before.

Afterward, she was lost to the tidal wave of hedonism, allowing another wolf to swing her around the waist, bending her over and entering her from behind.

“I don’t want to be a third wheel . . .”

“Don’t be stupid,” he’d cut her off, gripping her wrist and pulling her to recline beside him. “They were bored, and you weren’t around. Two mouths are better than one, rabbit.”

His teeth had tugged at her pout, his tongue sliding against her, lips trapping lips in soft suction. She gasped when his mouth trailed over her jaw and throat, teeth catching at her clavicle before he kissed over her shoulder. Hot need, his mouth was demanding and reverent, sucking at her pulse point and kissing the hollow of her throat before reversing course to crash back into her lips with renewed urgency. She couldn’t suck his cock like this human, and she wasn’t the only woman he fucked, but she was the only one he knotted, the only one with whom he shared being a wolf, and the only one he kissed this way.