Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 271

Chapter 271: Grace: Let There Be Dragons

Okay, yes, I have power. Massive power. The power to bring a Lycan King to his (metaphorical) knees and give up a ridiculous explanation I really need to hear more of and give me the most amazing kiss of my lifetime, in a dead tie with pretty much ever other kiss we’ve shared.

But.

But.

Why. Does. My. Luck. Suck?

Granted, I knew the food was coming. Knew. And yet...

Caine’s face pushes against my hand, his nose between my middle and index finger, making him look both smushed and sexy with the way his eyes gleam. Yeah, I know. I have a problem. He’d probably look sexy to me covered in mud.

Anyway.

Dinner.

This supposed dinner where my value is rated.

"Someone’s here," I insist again, using my free hand to point at the door.

He grunts like a caveman, apparently incapable of wording, and a small thrill flushes through my veins. Yep. I did that. Grace Power.

But more importantly, our food is at the door.

"Shouldn’t you go check?"

"They’ll drop it off," he mutters, even though the pressure on my hand eases as he moves back an approximate millimeter.

His reasoning is tempting. So very, very tempting. Plus, we’re already hot and heavy and I no longer have to deal with the sheer mortification of trying to figure out if I’m supposed to be clothed or not.

In the end, though, I know how hard he’s worked at making this perfect for me, and I don’t want his effort to go to waste. And what girl doesn’t like being romanced?

Not me.

I place both palms on his chest, doing my best not to think about how rock-solid his muscles are, and push.

He doesn’t move.

I push harder, digging my heels into the ground, until my arms shake. My hands slip across his still-damp skin but I recover and shove with everything I’ve got.

He moves. Barely. It’s an entire generous half-step backward.

"Go," I tell him, pushing again, high on the euphoria of making him move a little. Grace Power, part two. "Get the food."

What girl doesn’t like an indulgent man?

Not me.

Another begrudging step, then another. His eyes go from me to the door and I swear I can see calculations manifesting in the air, probably figuring out how quickly we can eat without it feeling like he’s rushing me.

Eventually we’re at the door, one pushed step at a time, and his hand reaches for the handle. That’s when my eyes drift down and I realize the man’s only wearing a towel.

What if the person delivering is a woman?

"Stop!" I shriek, reaching out to grab his arm.

Only Caine’s head turns as he looks down at me. "You don’t want to eat?"

"You can’t open that door," I respond, now immersed in pulling him away. Far away. Man or woman, who wouldn’t be tempted by him practically naked at the door?

"Why."

It’s crazy; I can hear the period in place of the question mark.

"Because you’re—" I gesture at the whole situation. All of it. The towel. The abs. The V-line disappearing into suggestion. "You’re naked."

He stares at me without blinking. Then he tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling.

Did you know throats can be sexy?

His is.

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