Chapter 12 #2
I don’t think she understands what that does to me.
I can hear her undressing. The zipper. The denim sliding down her legs. The faint shift in her breathing. My cock hardens until I have to adjust myself with a low growl.
“What?” she asks from behind the curtain.
“Nothing, mate,” I answer.
“It didn’t sound like nothing,” she says, some curiosity in her tone.
“It sounded like me behaving myself,” I assure her.
There’s a beat of silence.
“Oh,” she whispers.
That one soft sound nearly makes me lose every bit of restraint I brought into this boutique. I’m halfway out of my seat when the curtain opens and Taryn steps out in the blue dress. I sink back into my chair, every thought in my head turning to smoke.
The dress hugs her body in ways that should be illegal.
It clings to her breasts, narrows at her waist, then skims over the curve of her hips.
The blue does something dangerous to her eyes.
Susan was right; There is blue in them. Not enough to stop them from being gray, but enough to make them look like storm clouds over deep water.
Taryn fidgets with the hem. “I don’t know. It’s kind of…”
“Perfect,” I growl.
She glances up at me. “You think so?”
“I think if you wear that in public, I’m going to spend the entire night reminding myself that murder is inconvenient,” I say, eyes still roaming over every inch of her. “Because I’ll want to kill every man who looks at you with lust in his eyes.”
Her lips part. “Victor.”
“I’m serious. Every man who looks at you too long will irritate me,” I grind out.
“That’s not a reason to buy it,” she sighs.
“No,” I agree, standing. “This is.”
I walk toward her slowly, giving her plenty of time to see what that dress has done to me.
Her eyes drop to the front of my pants, and her throat moves with a swallow.
I’m not ashamed of letting her see how fucking hard my dick is.
She should know exactly what she does to me.
How desperate I am to make her mine in every way.
I stop in front of her and run my knuckles over her waist. “You look like mine. Absolutely fucking stunning.”
Her breath catches and she looks down. I can tell she’s not used to being complimented. A woman as beautiful as she is should have been drowning in compliments every day of her entire life. Until I found her, that is. Now she’s all fucking mine and every other male better back the fuck off.
“That’s the reason,” I growl. “We’re buying it.”
Jennifer makes a tiny sound behind me. I don’t look at her.
Taryn looks down, touching the fabric. “It’s probably expensive.”
“It doesn’t matter how much it costs,” I say.
“It does matter,” she protests. “It should matter. We could at least ask…”
“When it looks this good on my mate, I don’t need a price check,” I say firmly.
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.
I stand and move closer, lowering my voice. “I’m not angry at you. I’m angry that no one did this sooner.”
“It’s just clothes.” Despite what she says, her eyes shine a little.
“No, mate. It’s not,” I sigh. “It’s more than that. It’s about taking care of you the way you should have always been cared for. If it wasn’t for that fucking fate-block…”
She stares at me for a moment, then nods and looks away.
I hook a finger beneath her chin and turn her face back to mine. “You don’t have to earn being cared for.”
Her lips part, but no words come out. Good. Maybe that one got through.
“Next outfit,” I say, letting her go. “Before I kiss you in front of Jennifer and Susan and make everyone uncomfortable.”
“I think you already made them uncomfortable,” she whispers.
“They’ll survive,” I chuckle.
She laughs softly as she disappears again.
That sound does something to me. Something stronger than her arousal. Her laugh makes my chest tighten, makes the bond claw under my skin. Makes me want to buy the entire damn boutique just because she laughed inside it.
The next thing she tries on is a little black dress. She steps out looking nervous and spectacular, with the fabric hugging her breasts and stopping halfway down her thighs. The dress has thin straps and a neckline that makes my wolf rise close enough to the surface that my vision sharpens.
“This is too much, right?” she asks anxiously, smoothing the fabric with her hands.
“Yes,” I admit, already knowing I’d have to tear out a throat or three if she walked out of here in that dress.
Her face falls slightly, but she seems to understand.
“For anyone else to see,” I clarify, standing up.
Her eyes lift to mine.
“That dress is mine,” I growl. “You can wear it for me. In private. Where I can tear it off you with my teeth if I decide I don’t like it being on you anymore.”
Her scent spikes so fast I almost close the distance between us in one giant step. Jennifer coughs. Susan suddenly becomes very interested in organizing hangers.
Taryn presses her thighs together, and I see it. The tiny movement. The way her knees shift. The way her fingers twitch at the hem of the dress.
“You can’t say things like that in public,” she whispers.
“I can say much worse in public,” I growl. “Like the fact I can smell how fucking wet you are. How much you wish you had my tongue or my cock inside you.”
Her eyes go huge. “Stop!”
“Am I wrong?” I laugh.
Her blush answers before her mouth does. “No,” she whispers.
My jaw tightens. I take one step closer, then another. “If we were alone, I’d put you over that little velvet bench, push this dress up, and find out exactly how wet.”
She sways a little.
I catch her hip, steadying her. “Careful, mate.”
“You’re doing that on purpose,” she accuses, but her voice is too breathless to hold any real anger.
“Maybe I am,” I quip.
“Why?” she asks.
“Because you’re beautiful when you’re flustered,” I grin, leaning down and kissing her forehead.
“You’re dangerous.” She looks up at me, eyes wide and shining.
“Yes,” I say, brushing my thumb over her hip. “But not to you.”
For a second, everything between us stills. No teasing. No growling. No wicked little threats. Just the bond stretching tight, warm and alive.
Then Susan’s voice cuts through it. “I found a coat that would look wonderful with that.”
I slowly turn my head toward her. She freezes. Taryn makes a tiny sound that might be a laugh.
“Bring the coat,” I say, grinning as Susan hands it over and scurries away.