Page 41 of His to Hunt

Her smile is small, but I see it. I feel it too, through the bond. A little flare of warmth. A little flicker of disbelief. Like part of her is waiting for someone to snatch this away from her. She doesn’t realize it yet, but no one ever will. Not while I’m breathing. I’ve waited too long to find my mate to ever let the bond wither or anyone else to interfere.

“Next,” I order, stepping back. I have to fight my instinct because I want to tear the dress off her, but I manage to restrain myself.

She disappears into the dressing room again, and this time she takes longer. I hear Jennifer offering suggestions. I hear Taryn mutter something about not being able to pull it off.

I nearly tell her she can pull off anything because I’d happily pull it off her, but I keep my mouth shut.

When she comes out again she’s wearing black pants that look like they’re sewn onto her and a soft cream sweater that hangs off one shoulder. It should be simple. Almost modest. But it still affects me, just like the dress.

The sweater makes her look soft. Warm. A little too innocent. The pants show every curve of her legs and ass. She turns slightly to look in the mirror, and my fingers dig into the arm of the chair hard enough that the wood groans.

Taryn’s eyes dart to me. “Was that the chair?”

“Yes,” I growl, struggling to restrain myself.

“Did you break it?” she asks, nervously glancing at the sales associates who don’t seem to care. The sight of a black Amex usually does that.

“Not yet,” I mutter.

Her lips twitch, and she looks at herself again. “I like this one.”

“So do I,” I admit, looking at her ass again, wishing I was clutching it while she rides my cock.

“You like everything,” she smiles.

“No,” I object. “I like you. The clothes are just lucky enough to be touching you.”

She blushes again, and I smell the effect of my words instantly. Fuck. The boutique is filling with her sweetness. My mate is standing in front of me dressed like temptation wrapped in cream-colored cashmere, and I’m supposed to sit here sipping champagne while pretending I’m civilized.

I’m not civilized. I’m a wolf with money, a mate, and a quickly weakening leash.

“Turn around,” I command.

Her eyes widen slightly. “What?”

“I want to see the back,” I gesture for her to spin.

She turns, slowly, and I mutter obscenities under my breath. The pants cup her ass perfectly. Not too tight. Not cheap. Just enough to make it clear my mate has a body worth worshipping. And hiding from every other male alive.

“We’ll take those too,” I growl.

“You barely looked,” she quips.

“I looked enough,” I respond.

“I think you’re just buying everything,” she sighs.

“Everything that looks good on you,” I admit. “And so far, I haven’t seen anything that doesn’t.”

She turns back, giving me a look. “Victor.”

“Taryn,” I chuckle.

“That’s ridiculous,” she says, shaking her head. “I have clothes. I don’t need anything this fancy.”

“What’s ridiculous is that you’ve been walking around in clothes with holes in them while people upstairs had guest rooms with fake flowers and lavender candles,” I snarl, probably revealing too much, but I don’t give a fuck. She needs to hear it.

Her expression changes. The blush fades, and something vulnerable passes over her face. I regret the sharpness immediately, but not the truth.