Page 84 of The Wolf

“Oh, because I don’t want a fucking garden decoration to compliment my wife?” he doubles down.

I repeat—over the goddamn top.

“You’re allminenow,” he murmurs into my ear, his voice low and possessive.

I smile like an idiot to myself. “I thought I wasalreadyyours,” I snark, turning my face to the side to look at him. “You know, this is more like aformality.”

He leans in even closer, his tone getting all growly. “You’re aroyalpain in my ass, you know that, right?”

“Would you love me as much if I wasn’t?”

He doesn’t answer. His lips crash into mine, passionate and demanding, as if he’s claiming me all over again. This isn’t a kissmeant for public consumption, but everything else fades into the background as I melt into him, forgetting for a moment that—oh right—there’s an audience. I don’t care… I can’t. I’m already half-drunk on him, on the way he looks at me, the way he kisses me, the way he owns the room—and me.

Then, I feel him grasping my wrist as he twirls me away and nods toward the dance floor. “Shall we?”

The music changes, a slower, darker melody, and he leads me into the middle of the room. The crowd parts for us, making way. I can feel their eyes on us, their curiosity, their judgment.

As we start to move to the rhythm, Alex’s large hand settles low on my waist, fingers pressing just a little too firmly, a little too possessively. His other hand captures mine, pulling me close until there’s barely any space between us—so close I can feel the heat of him through the ridiculous amount of layers of my gown. Even in his human form and with me wearing heels, he’s still so tall that my eyes are level with his chest. His scent fills my senses, making my head spin. It’s different now from his natural werewolf musky forest vibe that I’m used to—smoke, spice, leather, power, and something wild. He’s such afineman. I have to keep reminding myself to breathe because of the way his perfectly disheveled black hair falls over his face, his darkening eyes never leaving mine.

“You’re staring,” I tease, though I stare at him with the same intensity.

“Can’t help it,” he admits. “You’re breathtaking.”

He spins me, the movement is sudden yet gentle, then brings me even closer, his palm sliding lower, fingers teasing the curve of my ass through my puffy skirt. His other hand traces down my arm, then across my side and onto the small of my back, closing me in a tight embrace.

I shoot him a look, my heart pounding as my chest heaves, compressing against the tight corset with each inhale. “Act likea gentleman,” I whisper, trying to sound stern, though it comes out all breathless instead.

His eyes darken further, wandering lower to my cleavage. With a smirk, he leans in, his lips brushing against my collarbone, thick stubble tickling my skin. “Not a chance.”

The music wraps around us,but the only thing I can hear is my own heartbeat thundering in my ears as my pulse quickens. The tension between us coils tighter with every step, every touch, every little kiss. His wet lips trail a searing path up my neck, his tongue darting out to taste the heat of my skin, leaving a delicious sting of possession behind. His breath is hot against my ear as he reaches it, his voice low and raw, settling deep within me. “I’m fucking all your holes tonight, baby.”

Umm, that’s one way to kick off a royal wedding reception.

My brain malfunctions, my breath catches like I’ve forgotten how oxygen works, and my cheeks flush so hard I might actually catch fire.

He knows what he’s doing to me. Of course, he does. That look of wicked amusement on his irritatingly handsome face says it all.

Before I can regain control, his hand sneaks beneath the tulle of my gown, fingertips grazing my thigh, leaving a trail of tingles in their wake.

“Mmmm, what do you have over here,” he rasps, discovering my high-knee stockings held up by the strings of the lace garter belt.

In a rush, my senses snap back, and I’m suddenly hyperaware ofeverything. The heavy thrum of the music, the weight of every gaze on us, the ghost of his hand moving higher, onto the bare patch of skin of my inner thigh, branding me.

My breath is getting shallower. “Alex,” I choke in a tight voice. “People can see us.”

Fuck, they are all watching our first dance.Are they watching?

He grins—this wicked, predatory grin of his that makes every nerve end in my body buzz in excitement. “Good. Let them see.”

Is he serious?

My heart is doing Olympic-level gymnastics. I mean, sure, I’m crowned now, but does that give me a free pass to get handsy with the King in front of an entire kingdom? I don’t think so.

I should care, right? I should be mortified. Scandalized, just like they all probably are.

But when his expert fingers find the expensive lace of my panties, the fragile barrier teasing both of us with the anticipation of what lies beneath, all coherent thought leaves the building. I can only think about how badly I want more.

I feel how wet I am for him as his fingers stroke me, slow and deliberate, working magic between my legs. His touch is a calculated assault, firm and devastatingly precise, the friction against my clit through the delicate fabric sending spirals of pleasure crashing through me. He then pushes the crotch of my panties aside to get better access, and his long fingers slide over my slickness, spreading my arousal.

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