I swipe my keycard and push open the door, the weight of the day hanging heavy on my shoulders. Now I understand why wolves hate the city.
It’s too loud. Not just a little loud—relentlessly, obnoxiously loud. Cars honking, sirens wailing, humans shouting. My ears never get a break. And the scents...
In the past two weeks, I’ve learned far more about my employees than I ever wanted to know. The "mysteriously paired" lunch breaks, the sudden change in perfume, the way two people come back smelling suspiciously alike—sometimes even when one of them is wearing a wedding ring.
I step into the penthouse and let the door seal shut behind me.
The scent of home hits me—Lenora, warm and sharp, laced with the mouthwatering perfume of roasted chicken. No trace of Ronan’s chaotic energy anywhere. I can’t sense him.
I kick off my shoes in the entryway and toss my briefcase onto the living room chair. Normally, I’d sink right into it, but my suit smells like outside, and there’s no way I’m putting that stench into my furniture. I head straight for the laundry room, loosening my tie.
"A bit mean that you don’t say hello to your mate when you’re home," a voice calls from the doorway.
Lenora’s leaning against the frame, eyes unreadable.
"I’m sorry, let me just take this off—" My words cut short. My gaze drags down. "What... is that?"
"What?" she asks, all wide-eyed innocence.
"That," I say, my eyes dragging over her again. "You’re wearing."
"Clothes." She tosses the word over her shoulder as she turns, walking away without a care.
My exhaustion from the day? Gone. Completely gone.
I strip my shirt and slacks, tossing them into the laundry basket, my jacket and vest into the dry-cleaning bin. Then I follow after her—still in my underwear—because restraint is overrated.
Her scent leads me straight to the dining table, where she’s leaning forward, setting down a platter of food. My eyes land right where gravity is doing me the greatest favor—her cleavage—and she looks up just in time to catch me staring.
Then she turns and heads back toward the kitchen, and like the pathetic creature I am, I follow her in without a thought.
"Go and put on some pants, Cameron." She stops, glancing back at me with that sly smirk that says she knows exactly what she’s doing.
I stop dead in my tracks, exhaling slowly before I turn on my heel.
Eating with a hard-on has basically become my new normal.
I bite into the roast chicken, savoring the juices, then scoop up a spoonful of rice.
"Don’t look at me like that," I tell her between bites. "I’m starving. I’ll get to you in a few."
"I’m not doing anything, my dear. You just happen to have a dirty mind." She smiles innocently—too innocently.
I raise an eyebrow but don’t take the bait. Lenora lives for this.
On the seat beside me, her hand rests casually on my thigh... and then starts drifting higher.
Every. Single. Night.
She has as much of a libido as I do—and right now it’s happening again. That wave of emotion that isn’t mine washes through me: desire, affection, love. I glance at her, and in the warm glow of the penthouse lights her gray eyes hold nothing but that same unshakable devotion she shows me every day.
I still don’t think I deserve it. But she’s mine. And I’ve finally learned to accept that—Lenora is it for me. My only. My last.
"How was work?" she asks, fingers inching higher.
"Same old, same old," I say, taking a sip of water—before slamming the glass down.
Her eyes widen a fraction before I scrape back my chair, stand, and scoop her over my shoulder in one motion. She laughs, the sound light and wicked against my back.
"Do you have to tease me? We’re going to end up here anyway," I growl as I head for the bedroom.
"But where’s the fun in that?" she counters sweetly.
My hand comes down on her backside, and she yelps.
Halfway there, I catch a glimpse of her skirt riding dangerously high—no underwear.
"You were going to rip it off anyway," she says, that mind-reading trick of hers slipping into her tone. "Why bother wearing any?"
I chuckle, slam the door shut, and stalk toward the bed. Honestly, who designed a room with this much space between the door and the mattress? Finally, I reach her and toss her down.
Immediately, she’s on her hands and knees. Seriously? I don’t dislike it though, not at all.
I remove my shirt and head to the bed on my hands and knees. I get into my pants—remove it—and there it is, angry and veiny, normal stuff... but something else. I look at it. Am I hallucinating, or did my dick get bigger? I mean, it’s always been a considerable size, but I narrow my eyes at it.
Something is suspicious.
She moves back against me. I smack her ass hard; it becomes red. Normally I would worry about hurting her, but she likes it, and as expected—look at that—she creams.
"I’m the one that should be impatient, why are you?" I say.
"I waited all day," she breathes, voice shaking. "Counted the hours until you got back. I even touched myself but... it wasn’t enough. Please, Cameron."
I’m only a man. And when my mate begs like that, there’s no universe where I deny her.
Heavens, it’s like coming home every single time. And it’s always so tight and she cries out loud enough that I silently thank whatever genius interior designer decided on top-grade very expensive soundproofing. If anyone heard her, they’d think I was hurting her.
I’m doing the opposite.
"Happy now?" I say, sliding my hand across her lower back.
My claw comes out to tear the tank top. I still can’t shift at will, but I’m getting the hang of partial shifting . I make a clean line across the shirt and her back, blood forming on her skin.
Again, she loves it, because she tightens against me.
For a while, I thought maybe she was a masochist. We tested that theory with some porn, but no—she doesn’t want pain for pain’s sake. She just likes things rough. And that? Works perfectly for me.
I strip off the ruined shirt and lower my head, licking the crimson trail—who am I to judge, really, when I’m licking the blood and it’s getting me going?
I grab her waist and drive into her with everything I’ve got. My full strength—enough to shatter furniture, crack trees—can’t break her. No matter how hard I go, how tight my grip, she takes it.
And gods, that’s so damn hot.