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What have I done?
How do I take it back?
How do I make sure she never stops?
A pained, pleasured groan vibrates through my chest, and Serena pulls away, panting. For a second, without her lips on mine, fear wins out. I want to snarl at her, but it seems like she’s expecting that.
Her eyes go wide. She blinks up at me, so scared and vulnerable. My Alpha roars, infuriated that she feels afraid because of me.
I look down at the way I’m holding her—with a hand clamped around her wrist and the other buried into her hair. It’s hardly romantic or even nice. Is that why she’s uneasy?
But no. When my fingers flex against her scalp, a burst of her true perfume snakes into the humid air.
She wants this. Likes this.
And she’s dripping on the floor, goddamn it.
I grind my teeth, my mouth watering, and say the only thing I can think of. “You need a towel.”
Serena blinks. A small laugh tumbles out of her. “Um, yeah. Sure. Thank you.”
I want to punish her for laughing at me, but I also want to reward her for laughing at all. It’s hard to decide which notion is more insane.
I don’t want a mate.
I shouldn’t be kissing her.
Or manhandling her.
And I most definitely shouldn’t be watching the way soapy water sluices over her curves.
But I do. I have. And I will.
My gaze trails over her perfect nipples, memorizing the way the dark buds point slightly upward. The feminine sweep of her waist and soft stomach. Her flared hips. And lower?—
Fuck, I can’t breathe in here.
Hiding a gasp, I pivot and practically rip a towel off the nearest rack, keeping my head turned while I hold it open for her. Her fingertips graze mine as she takes it from me. A moment later, she peeps, “Coast is clear.”
I turn back to her with a sharp nod. Her hair catches my eye first—specifically, the way I mussed it. Since I suddenly exist one thought at a time, I turn toward my bathroom counter and snap, “Come.”
She drifts to my side, lingering nervously. I watch her toes curl into the bathmat under her feet while she waits for me to reveal my plans for her. When I show her the comb in my hand, her lips wobble. Then they spread into a bright, wide smile.
I feel my brows pinch. Do I have something on my face? Why is she looking at me like that?
“What?” I demand.
Humor twitches through her expression. “Nothing.” She shrugs a shoulder. “I like you.”
She—
I glower, waiting for the punchline. “You like me?”
Serena nods, brow pinched in confusion but eyes clear and earnest. “Um… yeah.”
Why? And, more importantly, how?
No one likes me. And why would they? I’m smart enough to know how insufferable I am.
