The SnowFang Bride
Sterling had been prepared to be resentful and distrustful of me, certain I was playing along with some ploy to part him from a large chunk of his wealth, or ruin him in some way. Knowing that wasn’t the case after all had to have been the final insult. Him thinking he had been bullied and played, just to find out he wasn’t even worth toying with.
Sadly, for both of us, this wasn’t as simple as me being my father’s pawn.
It would have been a hell of a lot more straightforward if I was bait, and Sterling the nice woolly sheep being led in for fleecing.
Him sleeping apart from me wouldn’t make things any better between us, or easier on the pack. It’d make things worse.
Sterling’s lips compressed a little tighter.
“I won’t make off with your virtue,” I told him.
A glint in his hazel eyes, like a knife twitching in and out of direct light. He leaned forward, his voice like a hand through my fur, “Whatever virtue I had was made off with long ago.”
A little color crept to my cheeks, my insides squirmed, but not from fear. What would those hands feel like on my skin? Rough like the scrapes and callouses on them, or gentler? Angry, perhaps. His fingers pulling through my hair, perhaps just a little too rough.
One thing at a time. Maybe I should find out how his hands got that scraped up before I let him touch me with them.
Sterling kept watching me, observing, learning my every nuance and tick, as mates—especially Alphas—will do. He came to the conclusion my body wasn’t actually on offer just yet. “You trust me to not lay a paw upon you.”
“Should I not?” I asked.
He leaned closer, his breath on my cheek, his lips very close to mine. “When I shake off the shock, Winter, I would not trust me.”
His words were like a rough caress, sending fire over my skin and a single shock through me. Desire overrode the haze of rattled anger and insult. I think I might have whispered something monosyllabic, and certainly imbecilic. It didn’t matter. He closed the final breath of distance between us, his strong body pressed mine against the wall, and kissed me.
I had never been kissed like that. Hard. Rough. Hungry.
My fingers found his shirt and jawline, one set twisting into the fabric, the other raking fingernails along his flesh, enjoying the painful bristle of his unshaven skin.
He grabbed a handful of my thigh, lifted me against him, his touch rough and everything I had never known I needed. No, not rough enough, not nearly enough. He felt so strong, so solid, so rough under those tailored human clothes.
I gathered myself and pried him back a few degrees. “Not tonight,” I breathed. “Gaia may have chosen you for me, but I want to see why.”
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