Page 102 of Pack Choice
“And you got her off in your office. Is that allowed?”
“I couldn’t help it,” I say, scrubbing my hand through my hair. Her scent is warping my mind. Making me speak trash I should keep to myself. “She smelled so wet. I had to taste her.”
“You tasted her?” Ford asks, swallowing hard.
My hands are shaking. My mouth watering. “She tastes like–”
“Can you both stop talking about me like I’m not here?” Molly says and my eyes land back on her. The fair hair around her brow is damp and sticking to her forehead in tiny little curls. The pulse in her throat is leaping about, and my office stinks of slick. I bet it’s gliding down her thigh right now. I bet she’s all pink and swollen between her legs. I bet that little nub of hers is begging for attention.
“Molly,” Ford says in a voice so low it seems to make the floor shake.
She whimpers.
“I’m not in heat.”
“Of course not,” he says, watching as she rubs her hand over her lower belly, grimacing again.
“It hurts?” I ask.
“Nooo,” she insists, biting down hard on her lip.
I sink my fingernails into my palms, letting the sting of pain bring me back to my senses.
“You need to take her home to her nest.”
“N-n-nest,” she mutters.
“Yes, you want your nest, sweetheart?”
She stares at me with eyes that are rapidly turning glassy.
God, I bet she looks good in heat. I bet she sounds and feels good too.
“I just need fresh air. Away from the two of you. Then I’ll be just fine.”
“You’re not going out for fresh air.” Ford takes a decisive step forward. “It isn’t safe. Not when you smell like this.”
At least the meathead is doing his job at last.
But then Molly’s doubling over and moaning, clutching her belly in agony.
We’re both by her side in an instant, Ford rubbing circles over her back, me running my hands up and down her arm. Her skin is blazing hot, yet she shivers against our touch.
I can’t help myself, I nuzzle into her neck, chasing her scent, tasting her skin.
Her hands ball in the front of Ford’s shirt and she pulls him down, pulls his mouth right down to hers.
It’s him she wants, not me. Him. But then her other hand is curling around my neck, stroking through my hair, and she’s tilting her head, encouraging me to keep nibbling along her throat.
I growl, rumbling my mouth against the paper-thin skin, feeling the rapid beat of her heart in her pulse.
She moans and the aroma of slick hits the air. I want that. I want that slick so bad. I want it on my tongue. I want it in my mouth. I want my cock soaking in it.
Ford must be thinking the same thing because both our hands are grappling at the hem of her skirt, yanking it up, the material ripping with a loud tear.
I find the globes of her ass encased in some ridiculous pair of lacy panties and I squeeze. She rubs her backside against my palm, wanting more, and I watch as Ford swims his thick fingers beneath the fabric.
She sighs in relief. Sighs at his touch and I brace myself for the stab of jealousy.
