1
Ruby
Once upon a time, the Big Bad Wolf made a terrible mistake.
Spoiler: I’m that wolf. And the mistake is currently lying on top of me.
His breath is hot against my neck—sweat-slick and sweet like damp earth after a summer storm.
I shouldn’t be here, sprawled across Percy Porkwell’s Egyptian cotton sheets while his tusked mouth works its way down my collarbone. But when you’re a wolf in heat confronted with one of the gorgeous heirs to the Porkwell empire, sometimes your body makes really stupid decisions before your brain can catch up.
And my brain is scrambling to catch up.
“You like that, don’t you, Little Red?” Percy grunts, his fingers tangling in my hair. For a second, something in hiseyes—uncertainty, maybe?—betrays the cocky facade before that familiar smirk returns.
I hate that fucking nickname.
Even more, I hate that brief glimpse of something real behind his pig-prince act. It’s easier when I can pretend he’s nothing but a corporate drone with good bone structure.
I hate how he and his brothers think it’s hilarious to reference fairy tales that demonized my ancestors. But my back arches, betraying me as his thumb brushes against my nipple.
“Don’t call me that,” I growl, though it comes out more like a whimper.
Pathetic.
He snorts—literally snorts—and the sound should repulse me.
Instead, my thighs clench involuntarily.
Damn these hormones.
Damn this heat cycle.
And damn Percy Porkwell’s surprising skill with those fingers.
“Whatever you say, Ruby,” his voice drops an octave, rough around the edges. “Or should I call you Ms. Wolfhart when you’re writhing underneath me?”
I scoff even as my hips buck against his. “Don’t flatter yourself, Porky. I’m not writhing.”
His tusks glint in the dim light of his penthouse bedroom as he grins. The room itself is annoyingly perfect—minimalist black and chrome, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city he’s helped reshape.
“Give it time, little wolf.”
The worst part isn’t that I’m naked on this trust-fund pig’s bed. The worst part is how desperately I want to be here, despite knowing better. Three generations of wolf-kind warning me about the Porkwell brothers, and here I am, giving the middle one access to parts of me no pig should ever see.
What would my fellow activists think if they could see me now? I, Ruby Wolfhart, who once chained herself to a tree in the Moonpaw Heights to stop the Porkwell bulldozers, am now willingly pinned under one.
His mouth dips lower, trailing wet kisses down my stomach, and I have to bite my lip to keep from howling. The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing, and each move is calculated like one of his precious architectural designs.
The Porkwell’s built half this city—literally—and Percy acts like he’s building me too, brick by shuddering brick.
“You’ve got that look like you’re about to lecture me,” he murmurs against my inner thigh. “Relax. I’ve got you.”
“Maybe I’m plotting your demise,” I say, my claws slightly extending anddigging lightly into his shoulders. Not enough to draw blood—I’m not stupid enough to leave evidence—but enough to make him grunt in that delicious way that sends sparks racing down my spine.
“Murder fantasy, huh? Kinky.” His lips nudge higher between my legs. “Let’s see if I can make you forget all about it.”
The first touch of his tongue makes my eyes roll back.
