Page 32 of Forbidden Mischief
“Let’s do this.” I don’t even wait for him to lead the way.
We step outside together, the air cool and crisp. Asher’s already a few feet ahead, his long legs carrying him at an effortless pace, and I jog to catch up. We don’t say anything as we head down the driveway, the only sound is the crunch of our feet against the gravel and the rustling of the trees.
Behind him, I fall into stride, keeping pace as best as I can. It’s harder than I thought—hell, the guy’s practically made of muscle—but I’m not about to let him show me up.
The second we hit the tree line, Asher shifts.
I’ve seen it before, but it still gets me. His body shudders, stretching, twisting, muscles rolling under his skin. Fur erupts over his arms and chest, his spine curves, and in a blink, he’s fully shifted—a massive black wolf standing where my stepbrother had been.
He shakes out his fur, then looks at me.
Cocky bastard.
I take off running first, knowing damn well he’s about to make me pay for it.
I’m fast—magic enhances my stamina—but he’s faster. Within seconds, he’s at my side, massive paws silent against the earth as we move. The air is thick with summer heat, my shirt clinging to my skin as I push myself harder.
But Asher doesn’t just run.
He plays.
He bumps into me, nipping at my heels, darting ahead only to double back, teasing me. A growl vibrates in his chest, not threatening but taunting. Every time I think I’m gaining ground, he cuts me off.
I fucking love it.
I shove him back, laughing as I almost trip, but then—I actually do.
I go down hard, dirt and leaves sticking to my sweat-damp skin. Before I can react, Asher pounces.
A hundred and something pounds of wolf lands on top of me, pinning me flat to the ground. His fur is warm, his breath hot against my neck.
I’m laughing, breathless—until I feel it.
His cock.
It’s pressed against me, even through his fur, and my entire body locks up.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
My pulse slams in my ears. Asher freezes too, his massive frame tensing before he suddenly pushes off me, his claws digging into the dirt as he bolts.
Gone.
I sit up, chest heaving, mind racing.
I should be freaked out. I should be disgusted.
But all I can think about is the way his weight felt on me.
I swallow hard and run a hand through my hair, trying to make sense of it. I can’t.
And that scares me more than anything.
Back at the house, I shower, hoping to scrub away whatever the hell that was. It doesn’t work.
Asher shows up a little while later, human again, dressed in nothing but low-slung sweatpants. His hair is damp from his own shower, and when he meets my eyes, I see it—the same thing I feel.
Tension. Uncertainty. Something way too dangerous.
