He freezes in the doorway, and his head turns slowly to the side.
Whoops.
But it’s too late to turn back now:
“Why don’t you walk your big furry ass right back over here, so I can stroke you a few times and then run away like a big idiot.”
His body stiffens.
He turns the rest of the way around. His gaze is glowing and locked on me like a predator that has just been taunted after letting its prey go.
The bond, or whatever this little firework is in my chest, flares to life. Every single hair on my arms stands up.
Oh shit.
Oh shit.
Oh shit.
He doesn’t say anything. He just tilts his head and looks at me. And in that look is a hundred different emotions: Danger. Hunger. Worship. Need. Barely leashed restraint.
I swallow hard.
“Okay—maybe that was a little rude,” I giggle nervously, trying to grab the shredded halves of my jacket.
He takes a step toward me. I take one back.
“I’m sorry,” I try again, softer this time. “But you were kinda being a dick. Actually... I’m not sorry at all!”
Another step.
His eyes stay fixed on mine, unblinking. Glowing brighter with each step.
I square my shoulders, gripping the torn sleeves of my jacket.
“Who even does that?” I snap. “Ohh, let me teach her a lesson about self-control while I try to make her super horny.” I snarl. “Honestly. How very noble of you.”
Another step.
My brain is screaming at me to shut up, but I’ve never known how to stop while I’m ahead.
He stops two feet away and bends down so his face is level with mine.
“You said you’d be ovulating in four days,” he murmurs, voice like sin.
I freeze.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Still true.”
He leans in—just enough for his breath to ghost my lips.
“Then let’s hope I kill your stalker before then. Because if I don’t…” His lips brush my jaw—barely. “... I will not benobleagain.”
I hate him.I hate that I don't hate him.
I fling myself backward onto the mattress like a dramatic Victorian widow—arms splayed, hair a mess, body still soaked in heat.
Can you die from horniness?
