Page 49 of Tolerated By the Sigma (Mate Hunt 7)

At least I wasn’t going to smell like jail anymore—that was definitely a good thing. The jail smell was awful.

And I could eat as much food as I wanted, now—that was also a good thing. I’d felt like I was starving to death for so long that the memories still made me shudder. And if the ones of Lisa came back… well, I couldn’t let myself think about that.

The water pressure steadied as I shaved my hairy-caveman legs and lady-parts, and I glared at the falling water as it did.

Dammit, Ryder.

He must’ve heard the weird sound the water pressure issues caused—and of course, the son of a bitch had gone and fixed it.

My anger steamed as I continued shaving violently, my body throbbing and my mind spinning as I tried to come up with a way to get revenge on him for his ridiculous anti-orgasm rules.

An idea occurred to me—a positively wicked, entirely evil, completely devious idea.

And fuck, I was so going to run with it.

The mental scars and shitty memories about what had happened with Lisa would remain, but if Ryder wanted to avoid talking about it, then I could play along.

And I could make him regret his refusal to let me touch him so much that he’d have blue balls for the next however-many weeks the damn climax continued without us having sex.

The bastard had no idea what was going to hit him.

I finishedup in the shower and then dried off, grinning deviously through most of it.

In my closet, I dug through my drawers until I found the perfect lingerie set. I didn’t have much sexy clothing, because it really wasn’t my style, but I had a few things.

And you’d better believe I was going to use everything I had to torture the poor bastard.

I tugged the light pink lace “shorts” on. They were shaped like underwear, but slightly looser, so my ass cheeks would definitely be on display. And the whole thing was made out of lace, so it wasn’t like anything would really be hidden.

The matching bra followed, my nipples definitely peering out through the lace.

I grinned at myself in the mirror.

The goal was to make him lose control, so I was pretty confident this shit would help.

I wrung most of the water out of my hair and then dragged a comb through it, pushing it behind my shoulders so it wouldn’t hide the goods from Ryder.

Strolling out of the bedroom, I pulled up Pinterest on my phone and acted like I was too busy scrolling to glance up at the presence of the massive man in the kitchen. The smell of his soap was strong, so I figured he’d taken a quick shower at some point while I was taking my sweet time shaving and plotting against him.

There was a crash, and my gaze shot up as I found Ryder staring at me. There was a plate on the counter—it was glass, and now broken—and steaming food mingled with the shards of plate.

“What is that?” His words were somewhere between a growl and a snarl.

I made a show of looking behind me, and around me. “What is what?”

His eyes flickered to red for a minute, but he shook his head harshly and the wolf vanished from his gaze. “What you’re wearing. What is it?”

I snorted inwardly, but didn’t show any evidence of my humor. “Lounge clothes. Did you think I was going to put on jeans and a t-shirt just to sit on my own couch and watch TV?”

He blinked at me once, and then twice.

I padded over to the couch, my gaze dropping back to my phone. “You’re forgetting that we don’t really know each other, Ryder. We’ve been mated for a while now, but we haven’t spent any of that time just living our lives. I’m not just the chick your wolf bit; I’m a woman, and I have likes, and dislikes, and feelings.”

Dropping unceremoniously to the couch, I sprawled out over half of my sectional and made sure not to rearrange my boobs or tug my shorts down when they tightened on my crotch uncomfortably. I wanted him hard, and horny, and going insane.

“I sure as fuck didn’t forget that you’re a woman, Kelley. Or that you’ve got a personality,” Ryder growled from the kitchen. I heard him moving around—cleaning up the plate he’d broken, I figured. I turned on the TV, not responding to his words.

A few minutes later, he leaned over the back of the couch and lowered a plate onto my half-exposed abdomen. His eyes slowly stroked my skin, and he cleared his throat. “I was planning on asking you to go out with me. On dates—a date. More, if you’re willing. I’ve screwed everything up already, but I want us to find some kind of normal. To have a normal relationship. To be friends.”

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