I should step away. I should finish dressing and leave. Instead, I find myself searching his face for deception and finding none. “Prove it,” I challenge.
“How?”
“Show me these alleged alterations.” My chin lifts defiantly. “Right now.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “They’re in my office. Down the hall.”
Part of me—the advocate, the protector, the voice for my pack—genuinely wants to see these plans. But another part—the wolf in heat, the female responding to a powerful male—just wants an excuse to stay.
“Lead the way,” I say, leaving my unbuttoned blouse open over my bra.
Percy’s office is what you’d expect from a high-end architect—drafting table, multiple monitors, and scale models of various buildings. But what catches my eye is the detailed Wolfstone Preserve model, complete with miniature trees, the winding creek, and even the sacred rock.
“This is your plan?” I ask, leaning over the model.
Percy moves behind me, pointing to various sections. “Hamilton wanted to clear-cut everything, but I’ve redesigned it to preserve the old-growth forest on the north ridge. And these areas—” he indicates several green spaces “—would remain untouched natural zones. Including the traditional den sites.”
I look up at him in surprise. “How did you know where the den sites are? Prey shifters never enter wolf territory.”
A slight flush colors his cheeks. “I might have spent some nights hiking the area—observing, learning.”
The image of Percy Porkwell trudging through wolf territory in the dark, probably in expensive hiking boots utterly unsuited for the terrain, makes something warm bloom in my chest.
“You could have been hurt,” I say, oddly touched. “Lone pig in wolf territory after dark… not everyone would recognize you as a Porkwell.”
“Worth the risk.” His eyes hold mine, and suddenly, we’re not talking about architectural plans anymore.
Heat surges through me—a jolt of lust that leaves me slightly dizzy. My skin tingles, hyper-aware of his closeness, his scent, the warm breath that grazes my cheek as he speaks.This thoughtful side of him is both surprising and dangerous, burning through my defenses effortlessly.
He leans around me to point at something on the model, and my body betrays me—arching into him, pressing my ass against him, craving his touch, his cock.
I don’t know who moves first.
One moment we’re discussing land use, and the next, his mouth is on mine—hungry, insistent, possessive. My back hits the drafting table, sending pencils scattering across the floor. I should care about the Wolfstone model, which sits mere inches from being crushed beneath us.
I don’t.
“This doesn’t mean I agree with your plans,” I gasp as his mouth travels down my neck.
“Noted.” His tusks graze my collarbone, sending shivers across my skin. “Consider this a preliminary negotiation.”
My laugh turns into a moan as his hands push my open shirt off my shoulders. “Is this how the Porkwell’s do all their business?”
“Only with very special partners.” His mouth captures mine again as his hands make quick work of my bra.
The feeling is different from our earlier encounter.
Before, it was all heat-driven urgency and shock at our own actions. Now, there’s an undercurrent of something else—curiosity and exploration. His hands are more deliberate, and my responses are more honest.
When he cups my breasts, I arch into his touch, willingly savouring the softness of his hands. My fingers trace the muscled expanse of his back, and I feel him shudder; the reaction feels unguarded.
We’re discovering each other beyond the species stereotypes, beyond the professional antagonism.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin. “Every inch of you.”
Coming from anyone else, I’d scoff at the line. But Percy’s voice holds wonder, as though he’s genuinely surprised by his own reaction to me.
I pull back enough to look at him. “You don’t have to sound so shocked.”
