Lycan Christmas

her. Deep down he was certain the hellish things he’d survived thus far in life would fail to rival seeing any pain in her eyes—especially pain he’d caused.
He closed his eyes and groaned. He longed to touch her creamy skin, wanted to see if it was as soft as it looked, yearned to bury his nose in her jasmine-scented hair. And he’d give up everything just to gaze into her wide brown eyes while he claimed her. His body hardened and throbbed as he thought about how she’d cry out his name as he slid into her over and over, how her thighs would tighten around his hips, securing him to her, how her inner muscles would squeeze around him and pull him deeper until they both came.
True, he’d never slept with a woman, but he’d witnessed the act, heard enough stories to know everything that happened in vivid detail. He groaned again, wishing he didn’t have such an understanding about sex, because picturing it with her, along with all those vivid details, was torturous.
His heart raced, and he gritted his teeth as he ran his palm over the uncomfortable bulge that strained behind the zipper of his jeans. His eyes shot open, and he punched the tree next to him hard enough to rattle a few pieces of bark off. Stop it. She is not for you, no matter what fate says. Besides, who said fate couldn’t get one wrong once in a while, because the old bitch had definitely gotten this one wrong. Maybe this was punishment for his past deeds. Maybe fate wanted to show him what he could never have, rub his nose in it like a naughty puppy that piddled on the floor.
He grunted in frustration, backed deeper into the woods, and started for his own cabin. If someone caught him leering at her like some perverted stalker, he’d never hear the end of it. If Knox or Rose caught him, he might lose his pecker. Knox and Rose. Yeah. And he’d actually entertained the idea of touching Melony? If Knox didn’t kill him, Rose would. He’d already crossed the line once with them, and doubted they would be as willing to forgive and forget a second time. She’s yours. It doesn’t matter what they think. It’s your job to protect her, not theirs.
35
Lycan Christmas
S. K. Yule
He shook his head as he stepped up on the cedar porch of his cabin, opened the door, and slammed it hard enough to rattle the hinges. How was he going to keep his hands off her when he was supposed to spend hours each day with her? He’d barely been able to control himself the first time he saw her.
He undressed and showered, hoping the hot water would ease his turbulent thoughts, but ten minutes later, as he lay in bed, all he could think about was pink spiky hair, sparkly brown eyes, a tinkly laugh, and luscious curves. She was intuitive, too, and he hadn’t missed the way she’d tried to coax info out of him without being pushy. He’d practically been able to hear the wheels turning in her brain when she’d talked to him as he’d walked her home.
But why? Did she honestly want to know about him, or was figuring him out some kind of game to her? He didn’t think it was the latter because although he’d only just met her, he was a good judge of character. That trait had saved him numerous times when he lived amongst the rogues, and it was rarely wrong. That left the first choice: she was genuinely interested. The thought sent a quiver of joy through him, an emotion he hadn’t felt often in his lifetime.
Or maybe she was simply being a normal human trying to communicate?
He stretched his legs on the cool, crisp sheets and willed his raging hard-on to behave. Unsurprisingly, it refused. Deciding he’d get more sleep if he put himself out of misery—no matter how temporary the fix may be—he reached down and encircled his erection with his hand. He squeezed firmly, pushed down to the base, and pulled back up slowly. The slide of his palm against his stiff flesh became smoother with his precome, and he increased the rhythm until he was gritting his teeth and arching off the bed.
Within seconds he came, his breathing ragged, his body satiated, yet still unfulfilled. He cringed as he reached for the towel he’d tossed onto the floor beside the bed from his shower and cleaned up. He closed his eyes and let sleep creep in, knowing he would never have a satisfying release again until he had Melony.
36
Lycan Christmas
S. K. Yule

Chapter Five
An insistent banging on Melony’s door awoke her the next morning around nine. She was normally up before now, but she had apparently needed the rest. She stumbled down the hall, still half asleep, and made her way toward the knocking only to find none other than Shannon standing outside, holding a laundry basket.
“Hi, hon.” Shannon pushed past her and set the basket of clothes on the floor just inside the door.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Melony mumbled before a blast of cool air hit her sleep-warmed backside, sending a shiver down her spine, spurring her to hurriedly close the door. Wow, what a difference in the weather from last night. And what had Shannon called her? Hon? Hon? She was definitely not “hon” to Shannon.
Shannon’s hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and she wore dark jeans that looked as if they’d been painted on—probably skinny jeans—knee-high black boots, and a furry white coat with a thick hood that hung behind her head.
“I was just wondering if your washer and dryer are working?”
“I have a washer and dryer?”
“Yes, you silly goose. Almost all of the cabins have them. Well, not a washer and dryer in the ordinary sense, but a washer/dryer combo.