“Don’t forget I’m a wolf too, Mr. Hemming. Are you going to let me put my teeth on your cock? Scratch your skin? Can I scrape you raw?” She squeezed him again, her blood thrilling when he yanked open his belt. She expected him to open his pants, to pull his cock out for her . . . instead, he gripped her wrist, pulling her hand in to grip the solid shaft of his erection.

“Do you see what you do to me? How hard just the smell of you makes me?” His fingers directed hers to cup the meat of his scrotum, a growl vibrating his chest when her nails dragged over his balls. “You can do whatever you want to me, rabbit. But I’m going to taste that pussy first.”

He’d kissed her clit the same way he kissed her lips, with gentle pressure and suction, the drag of his teeth and the swipe of his tongue, until her thighs had trembled, her muscles pulled taut as bowstrings. Groaning when she came, he’d pressed nose and mouth to her as she shook, as if she were the finest vintage and he couldn’t slake his thirst.

She wasn’t sure why she was surprised that Grayson Hemming had the biggest cock she’d ever ridden, because fucking of course he did. Stupid, arrogant, big-dicked asshole. Undressing him for the first time had been like unveiling a work of art, her mouth following the line of dark hair his parted shirt buttons revealed, down his chest and stomach until her lips met his open belt buckle, and the solid, steel-like bar of flesh that had bounced out of his pants had nearly given her fucking black eye. Impossibly thick and veined, his foreskin did nothing to hide the shape of his fat cockhead, retracted just enough to show a circle of shiny-pink glans that attracted her tongue like a blinking light.

The first press of him within her made her head drop back, and that was all he did for several minutes — press his head in, breaching her continually until she was writhing, desperate for more. Her breath caught when he pushed in fully, stretching her wide, slowly, burying himself balls-deep within her while he could, before his knot swelled. She thought it didn’t seem fair for him to have so much. To be handsome and successful was already bad enough; to have checks in the first two columns and possess the sort of penis songs were written about seemed practically unethical. It’s why he has such a bad personality, to balance out the huge dick.

“You feel so good,” he’d groaned into her hair. “Like you were made for my cock.”

She hated admitting he was right. She hated him, hated his stupid smug smile and wretched dimple and perfect fucking hair, hated the sound he made as her nails dragged down his chest, hated that his cock felt so good. He was right — it was as if he’d been made for her. His thick shaft rubbed against every inch of her, reaching every hidden nook and cranny, spots within her she didn’t even know existed. Vanessa thought of full moons past and the lackluster partners with whom she had often shared the lead-up, desperate to satisfy the heat in her blood with anyone available. None of them had felt this good, and none had fucked her half so well. Every thrust was hard and deep, their bodies pressed together in a way that kept his pelvic bone moving against her clit, giving her constant stimulation, and she might have been ashamed of the noises she was making — high desperate gasps, begging and pleading him fill her up and give her his knot — if she wasn’t going cross-eyed from the pleasure.

“Just like that, fucking stars . . .” Her hands were tight in his hair, damp with perspiration as he rutted into her. Vanessa felt as though she might shake apart, babbling against his shoulder, each rock of his hips twisting the band of tension behind her navel tighter. “You feel so fucking good. Give it to me just like that. I hate you so much . . . I want you to rearrange my fucking guts with your big cock. I want your knot, please, please give it to me . . .”

She felt the moment he began to move with urgency, the drag against her g-spot and the pressure against her clit, his hips snapping, and she was gone. Vanessa sucked in a shuddering breath, her climax hitting her like a solid punch to the gut. Radiating up her spine and shaking her limbs, all she could do was cling to him.

His teeth were sharp at her neck, and although she’d grown up well removed from anything resembling pack society, she’d never been told as a child that she should want to marry a big, strong alpha, that she didn’t even believe in bullshit like bonding and scent mates, it was hard to believe that they weren’t meant for each other at that moment, and all she wanted was for him to lock his teeth on her neck and seal her with his knot. She could feel it, bumping the mouth of her opening, promising a delicious pain-streaked pleasure . . . but instead, he led her hands to the pulsing bulb of flesh at the base of his cock.

“Squeeze me,” he rasped against her neck. “Milk my knot, baby. I’m going to fill you up, rabbit. I’m going to fill you till you’re dripping.”

It wasn’t how she wanted to squeeze him, but as he continued to piston against her sharply, it was clear he had no intention of knotting her just then. His orgasm moved in a ripple up his back, his hips moving with pulse after pulse into her, and if she’s been knotted tight, Vanessa was confident the pressure of each one would have tipped her over the edge once more.

She had her first taste of five hundred dollar champagne, Billecart-Salmon Le Clos Saint-Hilaire, his preferred bubbly, and she’d been unable to suppress her giggles when the bottle was uncorked at their table. He was a ridiculous snob, but Vanessa thought she could get used to this treatment.

“Why should we denigrate ourselves with garbage?” she tittered, raising her glass to clink against his, worried she would leave a slick stain on her seat when he returned her glinting smile, her pussy throbbing.

“Exactly.”

He seemed entirely at home with the white glove service, used to being waited on. You are from completely different worlds. A smaller, more scathing voice in her head piped up, competing with her standard inner monologue. Why does that matter? He’d only interested in fucking you, and now that he has, things will return to normal just like he said. Vanessa pinched her leg to break the voice, shaking it away. Instead, she listened with a raised eyebrow as he ordered, eliminating everything which may have contained an ounce of flavor from his meal, she thought.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a picky eater.”

He chuckled, sipping from his glass of expensive champagne.

“I have a lot of dietary restrictions. It has nothing to do with being picky.”

“Watching your girlish figure?”

The smile he gave her then was particularly sharp, his canines longer than they had been just a few days prior.

“Migraine control, actually. Not that it helps much. I should bite the bullet and eat all the delicious aged cheeses.”

She thought that his exit from his own office and temporary relocation to the fishbowl suddenly made an enormous amount of sense, considering the time he spent with the lights off in his office. She frowned.

“Isn’t there anything you can take?”

“Pharmaceuticals are formulated for humans, Ms. Blevin. Not for us. Hastings-Durning is one of our biggest clients for a reason. It doesn’t matter what I take because it burns off with the turn. Same as if you were to take over-the-counter pain meds for a headache the week of the full moon. It’s not designed for our systems.”

His next question brought her up short. “Why didn’t you move into the DA’s office? You would have done well there.”

Okay then, obviously, we’re done talking about him. Vanessa hadn’t expected him to bring up anything pertaining to work. She’d assumed he might avoid the reality of how they knew each other and their connection, but what else were they to talk about?