Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 268

Chapter 268: Grace: Romance (III)

His smile fades. Returns. Fades again.

I sit at the edge of the bed, my hands pressed flat against the duvet and rose petals crushed beneath my palms, staring up at Caine and his fascinating changes of facial expression.

A little awkward when he was clearly ready to tear my clothes off a few seconds prior? Sure. But a lot less awkward than him sniffing me when I haven’t showered yet.

His jaw tightens. Then relaxes. His lips twitch upward. Then down.

I clear my throat hesitantly, but he doesn’t respond.

Nothing.

Oh—he’s probably talking to someone in his head.

"So I’m gonna..." I gesture vaguely toward the bathroom door. "Shower?"

He blinks at me a few times, then nods once, slow and deliberate. I purposely do my best not to notice how his eyes drag down my body before doing so.

This is the most drawn-out sex scene of my life—not that I’ve had any—and I have no idea how to handle it.

Except, you know, to shower. So it can... proceed.

Ahem.

And then Caine doesn’t move, still standing there without a single word, blocking my way to smell-good freedom.

I wait.

He stands there, still staring at me, smiling/frowning at intervals.

I wait longer.

He breathes.

Arousal’s long since taken a nap at this point, waiting until I’ve washed away embarrassment and awkwardness for the fun bits, and Caine is... not helping. Okay.

Fine.

I rise, almost falling backward when my chest bumps into his.

The damned man still doesn’t move, though his storm-gray eyes definitely darken.

Then I squeedaddle my way past him with an awkward (word of the day?) side shuffle, breathing out in relief when I finally make it around his body.

And then, because I have no pride and a whole lot of feelings to work through, I dash to the bathroom without another word and slam the door behind me.

I sag against the wood, pressing my spine flat against it.

Silence from the other side, thankfully. No chasing Lycan here.

Thank.

Fucking.

God.

If he’d suggested showering together, I might have imploded.

My body chooses this moment to completely malfunction as my embarrassment hits peak levels, my brain running through all the little interactions we’ve had since he smothered me in his embrace after escaping the weird parallel place with Ellie von Murderess.

I kick my foot out twice. My fists ball up and shake at my sides in a full-body cringe so violent my shoulders hit my ears. Then I press both palms over my face and emit a sound only bats could appreciate, rocking forward onto my toes before snapping upright and stomping my feet against the tile like I’m marathon-running, but... you know, in place.

What is wrong with me?

The woman who’d climbed across a truck console and kissed him like the world was ending? So not me. And yet I did it. I did it. And now we’re here and it’s obvious we’re going to have sex and not like, fingers, but actual sex without stopping midway and oh my God, how the fuck am I supposed to start this conversation after I get out of the shower?

Hi, sexy, I’m all clean, come lick me?

Uh, no.

Deep breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

I drop my hands and face the mirror.

Then I shriek, a sharp, strangled thing of sound before I kill it with my palm, ignoring how much it stings to slap my own mouth.

Jesus Christ and all babies born in mangers.

The woman in the mirror looks like she crawled out of a collapsed building. My blonde hair is sticking up in like, six different directions, with a giant mat on one side. It looks like I have running mascara, only it’s dirt. Probably graveyard dirt tainted with the grumpy soul of my adopted pack’s ancestors.

God. How on this vast green earth did Caine manage to stick his tongue in my mouth?

He saw this. He looked at this and said he wanted to mark me tonight.

Relief floods through me so hard my knees soften. He’d been breathing on me. Nose buried in my neck like it was his personal oxygen supply. If I’d smelled like a gym locker after the day I’ve had... I cast a baleful glance at the pile of clothes I’ve kicked into a corner before returning to the tangle-hacking.

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