Grace of a Wolf

Chapter 149: Grace: No. Nope. Never.

Caine hovers over me, all rippling muscles and heaving chest, his words hanging in the air between us.

"...there’s no rule saying you can’t touch yourself, right?"

My brain dies. Just kaboom, explodes, done-for.

Did he just—? Is he suggesting—?

Wait. What now. Did he just—

He wants to WATCH me?

Heat explodes in my face as my eyes go wide. The suggestion alone sends a traitorous pulse of arousal through me, but it’s instantly swallowed by a tidal wave of utter mortification.

Nope. NO. Never. Not happening.

My thighs may be clenching with need, but my embarrassment screams louder.

"Absolutely not," I splutter, my voice somewhere around ten octaves higher than normal. I’m not even sure if ten octaves exist, but if they do, I’m there, baby. High and freaked out.

I lurch backward on the bed, scrambling like a freshly squashed insect. My legs are noodles, my dignity a corpse. I manage two feet of retreat before vertigo hits like a sucker punch.

"Shit," I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut and willing the spinning to stop. My stomach lurches dangerously, and for a horrifying second, I think I might actually throw up. Yeah. Way to complete this masterpiece of indignity.

Caine’s expression shifts instantly. The heat in his eyes cools, replaced by sharp concern as he takes in my pallor.

"Are you okay?" he demands.

I wave a hand. It might as well be my flag of surrender. "I’m fine... I think. Maybe."

My body can’t decide if it wants to chase the lingering arousal or pass out from overexertion. I’m putting my bets on passing out, because no matter how much throbbing there is between my legs, my body can’t back it up.

Besides, the kids are out there. And Fenris. And yeah, I get wolves live inside their masters’ heads, but oh my Goddess, Fenris was out there the entire time.

We were basically a sexual audiobook for a wolf.

Not cool.

Caine pulls back, jaw tight. Then he slams a fist into the mattress beside me. The entire bed jumps, and fabric tears under his fist. Seriously? How do you rip a sheet with just one punch?

Shifters are just cheating at life at this point, aren’t they?

"I shouldn’t have touched you," he growls, his voice dripping with self-loathing.

Oops. Way to dial up the drama, Grace.

"No! It’s not—" I start to protest.

Except it is. It absolutely is. This—whatever we just did—was too much, too fast. I haven’t processed any of it. The sex. The magic. The fact that I’m still dripping with his semen.

Semen

Which should be gross and totally isn’t.

And now my boyfriend (?) is blaming himself when I am one hundred percent the person who asked for more.

Way to go, me. I’m an amazing girlfriend. Obviously.

He runs a hand through his dark hair with another growl before standing, and my protests die in my throat as I watch. He adjusts himself, and I wonder vaguely where it’s always hiding. I don’t generally make a habit of staring at men’s crotches, but seriously, shouldn’t anacondas in pants be illegal or something? Especially when they hide?

His cheeks are faintly flushed, and a light sheen of sweat makes his tattoos gleam. They’re calm now, no longer moving, and I wonder if he can feel it when they do.

I look at him helplessly, unable to find words. What do you say after accidentally choking someone’s dick with magic, especially when the dick-owner is the one blaming himself for it?

Caine’s expression hardens as he moves away from the bed. "Get some rest," he mutters.

"Oh. Um. Okay, but—"

And the jackass doesn’t even pause as he jerks the door open.

"Wait. Caine—"

Then it closes.

Dumb me, busy ogling him while he’s dressed, and now I can’t explain it isn’t his fault.

I’m dazed and frustrated and confused all at once. The golden energy between us is long gone, and it’s left a strange emptiness in me, where even my limbs feel hollow and empty.

I flop back onto the bed with a dramatic groan, throwing my arm over my eyes. The ceiling spins above me, so I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trying to find equilibrium.

A shaky laugh bubbles out of me, teetering on the edge of hysteria. I was mad at him before this. Mad that he was acting all domestic, taking care of the kids, pushing me to the sidelines.

Mad.

How ridiculous. It’s nice, being taken care of.

Though now I have to worry about how he’s taking this all as his responsibility alone, when I clearly remember asking him to do things to me. I’m the one who asked him to kiss me. Insisted I could get control. Demanded he touch me.

Which was... awesome.

Seriously. Awesome.

Is it always like this? I get why people are so obsessed with sex if it is.

My smile slips as reality creeps back in. I’m still aching between my legs. Still a mess. And I’m only a smidgen closer to understanding this connection between us.

Something has to give at some point, right?

In the silence, a buzzing sound cuts through my thoughts. My phone vibrates somewhere on the bed, lost in the rumpled sheets. I pat around blindly, muttering curses as I bat at fabric. noveldrama

"Where the hell—"

My fingers finally close around the cool metal. I bring it to my face, blinking at the screen.

It’s not a text from Lyre. It’s the weird Divinity App again.

But this time, there’s no text. Just strange, glitchy lines of code. Symbols I don’t recognize—some of them don’t even stay still, like they’re shifting mid-glance. My eyes hurt just looking at them.

I stare at it for a few seconds, trying to decide if I’m hallucinating.

Then I sigh and drop the phone onto the bed.

"Not today, cosmic nonsense."

With a groan, I force myself off the bed. My legs wobble beneath me, and I have to grab the wall to keep from falling. One step at a time, I make my way toward the bathroom, remembering Caine’s face as he...

Damn.

I need a shower. And maybe a priest. I wonder if Lyre counts. She’s something more than magic and humanity, isn’t she? Maybe she can purify my newly found gutter brain.