Page 12 of His Public Claim
“What do you need, myshka?” he asks softly.
“The morning-after pill.” My cheeks flush scarlet. “We didn’t… So I could be… Pregnant.” I guess probably not, given his seed is dripping down my thighs. I squeeze them together, as though that will keep it in. Ridiculous.
He clenches his jaw so hard I think he might crack a tooth and nods once, staring ahead at the road.
Yikes.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
He looks annoyed. I wish I hadn’t mentioned it and had just… Waited to see, and maybe been pregnant, and had this man’s baby. That doesn’t sound so bad. Sounds really good, actually. His square jawline with dark stubble in evidence is rather like Lev’s, and he’s kind. Plus he’s wealthy. Excellent bone structure, amazing smexy time skills, kindness. That’s a great combination in a baby daddy.
“I’ll provide anything you want while you’re staying with me. I’ll sort a credit card in your name. Consider my house your home.”
I let out a little squeak of assent that I hope doesn’t convey the thought in my head about how, if I weren’t already in love with my brother’s best friend, I could fall for this man like crumbs of buttered toast from my clumsy fingers.
“There’s one condition.” He pauses and curiosity hooks me. “There’s a room I don’t want you going in.”
“Just one room?” That infers I’m allowed into all the others? Which is more than can be said for Highbury House.
He gives a jerky nod. “You have full permission for anything else, but there’s a room I don’t want you entering.”
“Why not? What’s in there?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up and he shoots me a droll look. “If I told you that, wouldn’t it be the same as letting you in?”
“Well. No.” If it was the armoury, he could just tell me, “There’re lots of shooty and stabby things in there, don’t go in”, and I’d be A-okay with that. I’m not a wannabe-action-hero kinda girl. I’m more of a watch-from-behind-the-sofa sort of person. “Not if it was bomb storage. Or a torture room. A dungeon.”
“That’s not how I run my mafia,” the wolf replies mildly, but I can tell, despite the mask, that he’s slightly affronted that I’m suggesting he does things like that.
“You did kill someone in front of me,” I point out.
He curls his lip. “I don’t bring the dirt into where I live.And while you’re there, no one enters unless I trust them implicitly. So, no. Not a prison.”
I take that in.
“Is it akinkydungeon?” Do I want that? The idea of him playing sexy games with other women makes me feral with unreasonable jealousy. I’ve known this man—intimately—but only briefly. There’s probably a woman with a better claim. Maybe more than one.
“No.”
“Pity.” Could I join his harem? Ugh. I don’t think I could cope with being constantly grinch-green from envy due to seeing the man who took my virginity with anyone else.
“You can go into the kinky dungeon.”
“Oh. Good.” I try to sound chirpy, but it’s not working. Gah. He probably has athletic smexy times with tall, sophisticated brunettes. Every day. As part of the workout that keeps his physique so mouthwatering. He’ll settle down with one, a gorgeous and classy woman from a family who dotes on her.
Gentlemen might prefer blondes for a good time, but I’m under no illusion. They want to marry women with confidence and experience, which rules me out.
“You’d have to dust a bit though. I haven’t been in there for a couple of years.”
“What?” I was so distracted by my pity party—exclusive guest list: me—that I don’t understand what he means for a second.
“The kinky sex dungeon. It’s at your disposal, but a little out of use.”
He hasn’t had anyone there recently? It’s absurd how happy that makes me. How can I be so possessive of someone I met only strictly a few minutes before we wereintimately acquainted? It’s as though my pussy thinks I’ve swallowed him whole. That he’s mine.
“Is it your bedroom?”
“No.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and I bet when he really smiles it’s magic. I’d love to see my wolf really smile.
