Grace of a Wolf - Chapter 235

Chapter 235: Grace: In the Gutter
Caine’s eyes linger on my face as his lips curve up. Just a little. Just enough for my breath to stutter and warmth to wiggle its way down between my thighs.

The man’s too handsome. I used to think he looked like some sort of cologne ad-slash-underwear model, but now I think he belongs on all the porn videos. All of them.

But no one else can watch. Only me.

… I’m pretty sure my intelligence has hit rock bottom, lazily snuggling up to the gutter and refusing to come out. I’ll blame it on my age and not on the probable pheromones this man’s wafting my way.

Why does he smell so good? There’s got to be some sort of science to mateship.

“That wasn’t what I called you in for, but if you insist—”

His hand slides over to the gear shift doohickey on the side of the steering wheel and my pulse goes ballistic.

“No, I didn’t mean—um, that wasn’t supposed to come out. I meant, how was your day?”

His fingers are long and lean, with well-defined knuckles, and I never understood the idea of hands being sexy until now, with my eyeballs glued to them and various not-safe-for-work memories dancing around in the memory core of my brain.

Since when are knuckles so attractive?

Since now, I guess.

“How does ‘how was your day’ turn into ‘let’s find somewhere quiet to f—'”

“That’s not what I meant!”

My shout comes out panicked and kind of breathy as I lunge across the bench seat to slap a hand over his mouth before he can say the word I know is coming.

Caine’s eyes curve over the edge of my fingers, and something soft, warm, and wet flicks against my palm. I shiver and jerk my hand back, cursing myself for my gutter brain and being incapable of life-ing properly around this man.

Now that he’s obediently quiet, I pull my hand away, giving him a stern, don’t you dare bring this conversation into the gutter look.

But, of course, I forgot the entire premise of our relationship’s telepathy being shit.

His mouth opens and he says calmly, picking right up where he left off, “Fuck?”

My eyes close without my permission as I suck in a deep, grounding, responsible and so not in the gutter breath. “It was an accident. The kids are awake and Randy’s still inside. I definitely didn’t mean to say that.”

I did. I did mean to say it. My entire body’s humming with denial and refusing to accept ownership of the words currently coming out of my mouth.

But I’m not going to admit it. Nope. This is new Grace, who has control of her libido and definitely isn’t going to hump him into quasi-sex (?) in the truck. And our relationship is technically a secret right now, even if it’s the literal worst secret in the history of secrets, ever.

If the pack had a tabloid, we’d be front page, headline news.

“Ah,” he drawls, and something hot and electrifying lands on my hip. Then my other hip.

Then I’m unceremoniously yanked into his lap, and my ass hits his steering wheel with a startling honk.

I yelp.

He chuckles.

At this point, I’m fully aware we are deep into sexy-flirtation mode. The kind that might end up with my pants off—again—and my body’s screaming I am not opposed to this.

But my brain reminds me that, despite the darkness, there are two curious pairs of eyeballs glued to the window. Especially after accidentally beeping the horn.

“Caine, Jer and Sara—”

“Don’t worry. I’m not doing anything to you,” he says, like his hands haven’t already swooped under my shirt and finagled their way under my bra strap, only inches away from my now-aching nipples.

My eyes snap open, meeting his in the darkness. At some point, the interior light went off, at least reducing whatever the children can see of our shadows in here.

“Your hands seem to be doing something,” I mumble, trying to sound stern but coming out kind of…

…inviting.

His lips brush up just beneath my left ear. “I heard human women need regular exams to catch breast cancer early.” His eager hands pause where they’re at, not advancing any further. “I’m just doing my duty.”

No, you’re not. You’re not doing anything. Your hands are just sitting there and not playing at all and this is so not fair.

But what comes out of my mouth instead is a little squeak, because something is hard and growing under my thighs.

“If you aren’t concerned about your health, I can always stop,” the sanctimonious bastard says like he’s actually inspecting me for lumps and bumps.

I suck in a deep breath and try to glower at Caine, but my gaze ends up landing on his chin instead. “I’m going to need to see proof of your medical degree.”

He chuckles again, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into my bones. Then he leans over, his chest pressing against my body, his scent wrapping around me, and one of his hands… disappears. Somewhere. Doing something, but not me.

I blink.

Then, suddenly, the seat jerks back and the steering wheel is no longer digging into my ass.

I yelp in surprise, my hands flying to his shoulders to steady myself.

“Since you insist on sitting here, I needed to make space,” Caine says calmly.

Who’s insisting? Who’s insisting?! I didn’t climb into his lap—he put me here!

“I didn’t insist on anything,” I hiss, very aware of his hands settling back on my hips, warm and steady. “You’re the one who yanked me over here like I’m some kind of… of…”

“Mate?” he offers, his chest all rumbly and the thing down below getting… mm, yep. Harder.

“Sex toy?” I rebut, trying and failing to have the courage to meet his eyes.

Nope. Still firmly in oh my God we’re doing it again territory and my brain has migrated down south for this event.

“Hmm.”

I swear I can hear the smirk in the sound.

“I’m not opposed,” he says, officially opening the flood gates even as I try to tell myself him being okay with calling me a sex toy is totally not a turn-on.

My body, once again, is not on the same wavelength as what little logic I have left. It says it is, and a major one.

My eyes finally meet his, only to skitter away in panic at the triumphant, dark look on his face. Like he’s about to devour me and enjoy every second.

Yes, please, but also wait, no, not yet.

“I should go—”

His wandering hand has returned, gripping my chin as he leans forward to press his lips against mine.

I’m expecting possession and dominance, but instead it’s just a light feathering touch as he strokes a finger against the line of my jaw. “Tomorrow,” he says, pulling back almost immediately.

“Tomorrow?”

His mouth quirks. I know this because my eyes are glued to it, and I lick my dry lips, unsatisfied by the brief kiss.

“I’m taking you to dinner tomorrow,” he says, enunciating each word clearly.

My dazed stare finally lifts as I replay his words in my head. Then I jerk upright a little.

Wait a second.

Does he mean we aren’t going to do anything—?

Oh. Right. That’s what I wanted. Because… of curious eyes.

Yeah.

Totally. Not. Disappointed. At. All.

“Oh,” I say, unable to bring up as much enthusiasm as I’d like over the announcement of our first date.

I lick my lips again, and his hand goes from my chin to my nose, flicking it gently. “My eyes are up here.”