Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“You don’t have to say anything, kitten,” Logan rumbles softly. He dips his head and kisses my wet cheeks and lashes, kissing away my tears. He’s so gentle with me—his lips are soft and tender.
I know he’s just trying to comfort me, but for some reason my body reacts as though we were in bed together. I can feel my nipples getting tight and suddenly I’m throbbing between my legs. I press my thighs together, trying to ignore the ache I feel. Oh God, what’s wrong with me? Why am I reacting like this?
Logan’s nostrils flare and he pulls back and looks down at me, a little frown on his face.
“Your scent…” His voice has deepened to a soft growl. “You smell really good, Poppy.”
“So…so do you,” I whisper. His fur and spice and leather scent is invading all my senses, making me feel dizzy again. But not in a bad way—I like it. I like him.
You like your brother-in-law, a guilty little voice in my head points out. Be careful, Poppy! What the hell do you think you’re doing?
I draw back from him, though I don’t want to.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“I am too,” Logan says roughly. And then he kisses me.
12
LOGAN
God, her mouth is so soft under mine. So soft and willing and so damn sweet.
I shouldn’t be doing this, but I don’t give a damn. I love the feel of her in my arms—her luscious curves pressed against my chest. Inside me, I feel my Wolf rumbling in pleasure. Part of this is his fault—he doesn’t just like her now, he’s decided that Poppy should be his—should be ours. He wants to claim her pup too.
I never expected him to feel so much for her. She’s off-limits by Were Law, but he doesn’t care about that. He just wants to protect her and possess her and I can’t say I blame him—I feel the same way.
Ours! I hear him growling inside my head. He doesn’t talk much but when he does, I listen. She’s ours—our mate—our female! We must protect her. Keep her safe.
I want to keep her safe too…but I want to do more than that.
I want to knot her…I want to breed her.
The realization breaks through the haze of lust that’s clouding my brain and I finally realize what I’m doing—breaking one of the two Unbreakable Laws of my people. (The other law is No Breeding in Fur Form, in case you’re interested.)
I pull away, breaking the kiss abruptly.
Poppy looks up at me with eyes that look almost drugged. I can smell the lust coming off her—a sweet, enticing scent seeping out of her pores that screams, “Breed me! I’m fertile!”
But she’s already pregnant. Why does her body smell like she’s going into her Heat Cycle?
“Why…why did you stop?” Her voice sounds dreamy…confused.
“Because we can’t do this.” I stand up and start pacing. “I’m sorry—it’s my fault. You just smell so fucking good and you’re so beautiful…”
She blushes, looking down at her hands.
“You don’t have to say things like that.”
“Things like what?” I look at her, confused.
“That I’m, you know, beautiful.” She makes a motion with one hand. “I mean, I’m fat and I’m going to get fatter. That’s not exactly attractive.”
She’s not fishing for compliments, she really feels this way—I can tell. Okay, we need to address this.
I sit back down beside her and lift her chin so our eyes meet.
“Poppy, you are beautiful,” I tell her sincerely. “You’re so fucking beautiful I’m having a really hard time keeping my hands to myself—even though I know you’re off limits.”
The skeptical look on her face says she remains unconvinced.
“Dirk used to say things like that too. He told me he loved ‘curvy girls’ but when I got a look at his Instagram, he was following all these super-skinny models and influencers.”
I frown. How can I convince her of how gorgeous she is? Then I have an idea.
“Hang on—I want to show you something.”
I get up and head to my bedroom. I come back with a framed picture of Sheila, my mate.
“Look.” I hold it out to Poppy who takes it and examines it.
“She’s really pretty,” she says at last. “Who is she?”
“My mate,” I say and sigh. Shelia had long, dark hair and dark eyes—a polar opposite to Poppy with her blonde hair and green eyes. But they have one thing in common and that’s curves. If anything, Sheila was curvier than Poppy is.
“Your mate?” Her eyes widen. “You’re married?”
“I was. She died ten years ago.” I take the picture back. “Breast cancer.”
“Oh.” Her eyes soften. “I’m so sorry.”
“I am too.” I shake my head. “I just wanted you to see her because she was curvy too.”
“I get it.” She nods. “I’m really sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” I say shortly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring you down. I just want you to know that I don’t give insincere compliments.”