Page 14 of The Sweetest Lies
Clothes are being shoved in my face, and when I finally glare up at him, he’s not looking at me. His head’s tilted away in a strange sort of awkwardness.
“Why—why aren’t you looking at me?” I finally ask with confusion choking my throat.
“Just put the shirt on, for fuck’s sake.”
I blink.
He continues to look at the brickwork of the ground. Yes. He does make it look fascinating. The most interesting slab of brick shit he’s ever laid eyes on...
“You—you think I’m sexy.”
“No.”
“I think you do, Zilo.” I turn to him fully and press my palms to the nice curves of my hips.
“Then you’d be wrong.” Still no looking. Still the most adorable awkwardness I’ve ever seen from this alpha hole of a man.
“Then look at me.”
He visibly flinches when his eyes meet mine. The heaviness of his brow shadows his green eyes as he seems to put a lot of effort into maintaining eye contact.
Wow. This is hard for him.
The way I square my shoulders juts out my chest a couple of inches closer to his impossibly warm body. He blinks so rapidly, you’d think it was a nervous tic.
“What do you want, Zilo?” My tone is huskier than necessary, but I can’t help but leave the innuendo in that phrase.
The gravel in his tone is nothing compared to how hard he clears his throat before speaking. “What are you doing up here, Cersia?”
Color me impressed. He sounds like his genuine asshole self.
“Clearly, I’m trying to seduce my wolf out.”
Seduce. The explicit wordplay in my mind knows no bounds.
“By yapping around naked like a pissed-off Chihuahua?”
My eyebrows leap up in defense.
“By channeling my inner beast,” I correct.
“Your beast is a small demonic rodent dog?”
My mouth slaps open with disgust. “It is a fierce warrior.”
A smile kisses his lips, and it melts the annoyance in me to see his jaded eyes soften for once in his hardened life.
“A fierce rodent, eh?” The callouses of his palm brush along my cheek as he pushes back my wind-blown hair.
And I’m suddenly speechless.
The reminder that fucking is the fastest way to lure out your inner shifter thrusts through my mind. It chokes up my throat, and I don’t even think I could breathe if I wanted to.
Because Zilo, he’s primal. He’s rugged and animalistic. And I’m suddenly aware that he’s very, very fuckable.
His calloused fingertips linger against the cool skin of my throat as his head dips down so low, the coarse strands of his beard tickle my cheek.
“Cersia,” he whispers on that delicious gravelly tone of his.
