Hunt Me! I Crave the Chase (Spooky Boys #3)

Before I took matters into my own hands.

Before I was lost entirely.

The second I’d showered off the blood and pulled on my clothing—apparently my brothers had gone shopping at some point and bought me clothes that actually fit—I’d said my goodbyes and immediately leapt out the door in search of Jeffrey.

I still needed to tell Jeffrey the truth about myself—about my wolfskin—and the fact that I’d been pretending to be his dog. But I just…I didn’t know how. I’d never been good at words.

How do you tell the person you love that you’ve been lying to them?

I didn’t want to hurt him.

I didn’t—and I already knew I was.

It was as inevitable as the next rise of the moon.

Now…however, was not the time to be worrying or reminiscing. Because Jeffrey was here, and he was beautiful, and he was putting on a show for me, my perfect mate-mate-mate.

The sweet scent of sex filled my nostrils as a slick drop of precum slipped down Jeffrey’s cock, disappearing beneath the dark fabric of his boxers as his hand slid up his length, blocked by fabric. I wanted to lick. I wanted to inhale him. To chase that sweet droplet down his shaft and stick my nose behind his balls to where his scent was headiest.

“I deserve an apology,” Jeffrey said, almost conversationally as his pelvis twitched toward his fingers and his lashes fluttered. He was glorious like this. Flushed from head to toe, his chest heaving with stuttered breaths. His nipples were rosy and peaked. His eyes were half-mast. His lips, bitten raw. “You left me alone.”

It was a game.

We both knew I’d had no choice, but pretending as though I had…softened things. Made everything less dire. Made my tail wag and my heart burn with warmth for this resilient, lovely man and the little mercies he bestowed upon me.

“I’m sorry,” I replied automatically, because it was true. I was sorry about a lot of things. But I wasn’t sorry about this. About him. I couldn’t regret him, even if I tried.

Broad shoulders flexed as Jeffrey slowed his movements, glacially so. Watching me watch him, like my micro-expressions were what was getting him off. Every time my brow twitched or my nostrils flared his cock would leak again. His gaze was dark as he watched the tick of my jaw, and my mouth, his expression hungry. Always hungry. Always aching for touch.

“You’re not forgiven.” Jeffrey’s voice was gravelly soft.

I whined, low and unhappy. We were playing, but I still hated the idea of disappointing him.

He laughed.

My cock jerked.

God. I liked this side of him. I liked it a lot. I liked it just as much as every other side to his personality that I’d discovered. For once, he was being honest with his emotions. For once—he wasn’t holding back. There were no demons in his gaze. He was quaky, hungry, and masculine need.

“Please,” I begged, aching to touch, my body trembling. “Please can I touch now?” I wanted to pin him so fucking bad. To mount him till he cried. To knot him. To breed him till he was full of my cum. Wanted to impregnate him, to fill him full of my pups, even though I knew that wasn’t something he could do.

I wanted to try anyway.

Don’t.

Don’t.

Don’t.

You’ll scare him.

My wolf howled at me to move closer. To take what was ours. To respond to Jeffrey’s teasing and taunts the way an alpha should. With absolute dominance.

Don’t scare him.

My hands flexed at my sides, the bones creaking.

“No,” Jeffrey twisted his fingers around the crown of his cock and I strained to catch a glimpse of it again. The damn fabric kept covering it. “Only good boys get treats.”