Page 46 of Shadowed Whispers

“So talk,” Leo says, speaking in the voice he uses when he’s done playing.

Neither of us anticipated this when Leo asked her to lunch, but I’m not mad about it.

In fact, I’m going to take it out on Leo as soon as we get back to our dorm room.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bishop speaks up, “and from the look these two are giving you, neither are they.”

“You are an instructor,” she says through gritted teeth. “You can’t date a student.”

I can’t tell if she’s mad at him or trying not to come.

I can’t have that. I dip a finger inside her. Her walls squeeze me so tightly that she nearly cuts off circulation to my finger.

What would it feel like to have my cock that deep inside of her, feeling her walls squeeze me like that?

“Have you ever read the handbook, Frankie?” Bishop questions.

Frankie bites her lower lip, a delicious sign of her building arousal. I push another finger in her, and I swear she gushes over my hand. I can’t take it anymore—I need to see her face. I slide my other hand along the back of the booth, close to Leo, and gently tilt her chin upwards. Her hooded eyes meet mine, and I’m greeted by the most exquisite sight—dilated pupils, flushed cheeks, and lips swollen from biting them too hard. Her breathing is erratic as her chest heaves with each pant.

“Eyes on me,” I command softly, silently ordering her to block out the world around us. “Not yet.” I turn her head back to Bishop and stop moving my fingers.

She doesn’t even fight me.

“They are all the same.” She waves her hand away.

“No, they aren’t, Frankie,” he says. “You should read the handbook.”

It’s infuriating that we have to dance around her. She believes she’s alone in the world. She isn’t. All she has to do is look around her and see all of us in her scope.

“Fine, I will.”

“Good, I want an essay?—”

He won’t punish her. “That won’t be necessary.” I emphasize my point by curling my finger inside her hot channel, eliciting a low moan from the depths of her throat that sends shivers down my spine. Bishop’s smug grin falters, and a frown forms on his face as he realizes he’s no longer the center of her attention. Her cheeks burn red, and her hips roll toward me. The next moan that leaves her lips has an older couple looking our way.

“Jesus, man, just let her come,” Bishop commands.

“You threw down the challenge,” I drawl, massaging that little spot inside her that keeps making her eyes roll into the back of her head. “And I am enacting it.”

“I didn’t think you’d fucking do it, okay?” he snaps.

“Then let this be a lesson to you, Bishop.” I turn to her as I continue to massage her. I feel her wetness dripping over my hand and onto the seat beneath us. On her other side, Leo whispers sweet nothings into her ear, praising how good she’s doing, focusing on us and where she is. She isn’t nearly as mindless as I’d prefer, but I have this idiot to contend with.

“A lesson.” He leans forward, his voice dropping. “She’s mine, and she will belong to me and my future pack someday,” he warns, but it isn’t heated, almost as though the warning is an invitation. “Do you understand?”

“No.” I do, but fuck him. I’ve had more important men torture me for information. He is nothing more than a pathetic little pawn trying to manipulate those around him. “If you are inviting us to be yours, then this isn’t the way to do it.”

“Oh, and what, asking for an orgy was the way to go?”

“What are you two talking about?” Frankie chimes in, one hand trying to hold her hips up to give me better access.

“Just talking about a group project I’m putting you three in together. Think you can work as a team?” Bishop recovers too fast, almost as though he was born to sling bullshit.

“Can we not talk about school?” Her chin drops to her chest, and she’s breathing very carefully now. My hand is soaked, but I’m relentless. I know exactly how to make her sit right where she is now—on the edge of that cliff, ready to fall over but unable to do so.

“Of course we can work together,” Leo says, his voice laced with amusement as he sensually licks ketchup off his thumb, never once breaking eye contact with Frankie.

Frankie’s breath hitches, her hands gripping the edge of the table. Her hips rock into my hand, silently pleading for more. I oblige her, adding a third finger and curling them in just the right way to have her mewling again.

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