Page 19 of Mated to the Werewolves
I stare down at her. “So, no boyfriend?”
If our situation was different, I wouldn’t push her, but she’s our mate, and the sooner she realizes it, the better.
She flushes pink, her scent intensifying. “No boyfriend.”
“That’s good,” I say, then clear my throat because my voice comes out a low growl, and it’s just embarrassing how gone I am for this woman.
“We’ll cook together, then,” Sebastian declares, saving me from making more of a fool of myself. “We can start tonight with the pies, then do the turkey tomorrow.”
“That sounds good.” She smiles shyly. “If you’re sure I’m not intruding?”
Carter lets out a low laugh. “Did you get the sense that you were intruding earlier?”
She sends him a mock glare. “No.”
Sebastian is all but bouncing in his chair. “Or we could do a cake instead of pie. What do you like better?”
Emma beams at him. “I’ll never say no to cake.”
I stare at them, envying their easy conversation. Sebastian is extroverted and cute, which are two qualities no one would ever think of in connection with me.
Suddenly feeling like the third wheel, I push back my chair and stand.
Emma looks up immediately. “Is everything okay?”
I dip my chin in a nod, not trusting myself to speak. If I open my mouth, there’s no telling what might come out. I want to declare she’s mine, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her off to bed to taste every inch of her skin. But if I so much as come close to her sweet pussy again, I know my monstrous side will make itself known immediately.
I can just imagine how Emma’s cries of pleasure would turn to shrieks of terror if she found me looming over her naked body.
Shoulders hunched, I carry my plate and mug to the kitchen sink and leave them for Carter to clean. He happily accepts the chore of cleanup if Sebastian and I cook for him—he’s completely incompetent in the kitchen. For once, that works well in my favor because I don’t have to load my plate and cutlery into the dishwasher, which would only allow someone to catch up with me.
“Troy,” Emma calls from the table. “Wait?—”
But I don’t. I have to get away from their slice of happiness right now. The pressure in my head is too powerful for me to deny myself any longer.
I slip into my office and close the door behind me. Then I drag my t-shirt over my head just in time to keep from ripping it at the seams. My body expands, my fangs punching down, fur sprouting all over my back, my legs, and down the outer side of my arms.
My cock remains hard as it grows, though. That doesn’t change one bit through my transformation.
Urgency takes over me, and I shove down the elastic waistband of my sweatpants and boxer briefs, then step out of the confining fabric. I wrap my clawed hand around my cock and give myself a rough, hard stroke. My back bows from the pleasure. I’d washed my hands before cooking breakfast, but a trace of Emma’s scent lingers on my fingers, so I grip my dick with my left hand and bring my right to my mouth to stifle my grunt of pleasure as I fuck my fist.
I’m so far gone with this little solo-love moment that I don’t hear the footsteps in the hallway until it’s too late. The doorknob rattles, then turns slowly—because I forgot to lock it in my haste to get naked.
Suddenly, Emma flings open the door, and there she is, gorgeous and unafraid. She must have followed me here to talk, but I want to do so much more to her than just talk. Her eyes widen, and her gaze ping-pongs from my face to my cock and finally settles on the vicious scars marring my body.
“Run,” I snarl, gripping my cock tighter. It’s as if my fist is the only thing keeping me back.
She blinks. “What?”
A shudder racks my body, and I take an involuntary step forward. “Run, Emma. Go. Now.”
But our mate must have a death wish. Because she doesn’t obey me at all. Instead, she moves into the room—and closes the door behind her.
Chapter
Nine
EMMA
