Page 26 of Claimed

I’m achy and tired. I’ve been in my wolf shape twice today and my body isn’t used to that. Plus, that walk was way longer than I bargained for, and it was fraught with stress about whether Jimmy would be at the motel, whether anyone had suffered due to my disappearing, and not just that… thoughts about the Arcana Falls village, the pack, the trouble I’ve caused them so far, and most of all… Greyson. The way he spoke to me. The way he touched me. The words he spoke. The things itdoesto me.

What’s going to happen when we’re on the other side of the door to his home? He’s so angry. Maybe even angrier than when he first caught me after I shot Tyson Savage.

My thoughts of terror are interrupted when a woman calls out, “Mornin’ Grey!”

She’s elderly but extraordinarily fit for her age. She’s bent over some flowerbeds with a little shovel.

“Congratulations! Hello young lady. Welcome to the pack,” she says. “I’m Claire.” She rises to standing and smiles wider.

I attempt a friendly wave, but drop my hand when Greyson’s angry gaze snaps to my face.

He’s definitely angrier than when he first caught me.

“Claire,” he returns halfheartedly and continues until he’s at his door where he squats, lifts the giant gift basket while adjusting me in his arms before he manages to twist the doorknob. Once inside, he slams the door and sets everything down other than me before angrily twisting the lock.

“I can walk,” I try.

But his eyes cut to my face and the fury there makes me drop my gaze and clamp my mouth shut.

He clenches and unclenches his jaw while climbing to the top level and taking me straight into the bathroom adjoined to his bedroom.

It’s a beautiful space. The most beautiful, spacious bathroom I’ve ever had the pleasure of being inside. Two sinks. A big shower alcove that could fit four men. There’s also a large, deep tub.

I thought my bathroom at the motel in Drowsy Hollow was spacious, and it is compared to the closet-sized one at home, but this bathroom is three times the size of the motel one. And the water from the taps in here comes out not just clean, also odorless. It wasn’t bad in the motel, but there was a slight bleachy scent. This water here in Arcana falls is the best water I’ve tasted in my life.

I wanted to snoop in the many cupboards and drawers when I used it after he first brought me here, but I resisted that urge. Other than the black and white checkered floor and tile, everything else is gleaming white instead of the yellow of the bathroom at home. Yellow due to age as well as being the goldencolor that was in style when the home I live in was delivered. Or stolen, knowing my father.

He turns the shower on and steps in. But the water is freezing for a second, so I shudder and gasp as it pours down on our nude bodies.

He seems unbothered by the chill, also unfazed by my shriek, and doesn’t back away from the cold spray, keeps me there under it. Mercifully, it quickly warms. But he still has me in his arms with a chill in his expression that makes me feel ashamed.

He’s been so nice to me so far.

I guess I ruined that.

Finally, he sets me on my feet and reaches for the shower gel bottle on one of the shelves built into the tiles. He pours a lot of it into his hand, rubs his palms together and works on lathering himself up. I’m standing rigid, watching as he soaps up everything, including his erection and the surrounding vicinity.

Yes, as angry as he is, he has an erection. And this can’t bode well for me, can it? Do my actions tonight mean he no longer cares about my fear around being mounted? Being, in his words,claimed.

He turns his back to me as I continue to stand still, watching his soapy hands move over as much of the back of his body as he can reach. He grabs a bottle of shampoo and squirts some into his hands, then lathers up his hair while I watch the bubbles take their time trickling over the ridges and down the valleys of his muscled body until they disappear down the drain.

I’m so fascinated by the process, I kind of forget for a moment where I am. Not to mention the fact that I’m ogling a large alpha who’s currently mad at me.

He's efficient at getting himself clean while I watch as his strong hands move over his wet skin, and when all the bubbles are dribbling into the drain between his feet, my eyes bounce back up in time to see him slick his wet hair back with his hands before he steps out.

Thinking he’s leaving me be so I can wash up, I move closer to the drain, getting fully drenched by the hot streams of water.

As I’m absorbing the wonderful feel, the massaging heat, and maybe the best shower head I’ve ever been under, he’s back. Water droplets dot the expanse of his skin. A droplet falls from his full lower lip.

As I watch it leave his lip another one catches my eye. His collarbone. This drip tumbles over his shoulder. And then my eyes catch another moseying down his corded throat. Because I’m watching random water droplets trickling down Greyson’s body, it takes me a moment to notice that he’s soaped up a washcloth.

I reach for it, thinking it’s for me, but he doesn’t hand it over. Instead, he begins to wash my shoulder with the red cloth, which smells like sugar cookies. He’s placed a new bottle of shower gel beside the one he just used on himself.

I work down a swallow, focused on his mouth as he lathers up my other shoulder. The soapy red cloth moves down my left arm before it dashes across my belly and then up my ribcage. I watch it slide across my right breast and stop. The washcloth falls and hits the floor of the shower with a wet thwack. My eyes follow his hand as he reaches for the shower gel and then drizzles some across my breasts. My gaze bounces up to his face. But his eyes aren’t on mine; they’re on my breasts as he takes one into each hand and lathers them up.

His thumbs graze over my nipples, which react, immediately bunching up tight, as if I’m cold. I’m not cold. I’m far from cold. It’s very, very warm here.

He moans while touching my breasts. A funny sound slips out of my mouth, too, as our eyes meet.

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