The Curvy Girl Meets the Billionaire Werewolf novel · Chapter 2 of 24
Chapter 2: Fifteen Minutes
In the winner's dinner suite Etta tells him what she came to say, and he answers by going on his knees at her first order.
The Lakeview Suite was on the top floor, and it had a dining table with a white cloth and a silver dome.
One wall was glass, and the whole black lake lay behind it with the harbor lights on its edge.
Griffin Stroud shut the door behind us and did not touch me.
I was grateful for that, because my hands were shaking and I needed them to be mine.
"Fifteen minutes," he said.
"Go ahead, Miss Dahlgren."
"Etta."
"Etta."
He said it slowly.
I took the letter out of my coat pocket and held it out.
"Your company is ending my lease.
"My grandmother has baked on that corner for fifty-one years.
"My mother learned there, and I learned there, and I have never missed a rent day."
He took the paper.
He read it standing, with his jaw going hard on the second line.
The scar through his eyebrow went white.
"I have never seen this," he said.
"It's your company's name."
"It's my company's stamp."
He folded the letter once and put it inside his jacket, over his heart.
"Chisolm's office," he said, mostly to himself.
"I'll deal with it Monday.
"The building is yours, Etta, as long as you want it."
I had rehearsed for three weeks to be talked out of my tears.
I hadn't rehearsed for being believed.
My eyes went hot and I laughed, a wet ugly laugh.
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"I was ready to spend my savings for that."
"You were ready to spend it on a stranger," he said.
"You've got eleven minutes left, and none of them are owed to me.
"The car is downstairs if you want it."
He meant it.
I could see that he meant it, and he stood with his hands loose at his sides and let me decide.
That undid me worse than the speech.
I looked at him, all six foot five of him, those broad hands, that mouth in the beard.
I thought about the way he had walked down the aisle.
"I don't want the car," I said.
"What do you want?"
"You said the winner gets the first dance."
"I did."
"I'm not good at dancing," I said.
"I'd like the other thing first."
Something moved behind his eyes, and they went from amber to gold.
"Say it plain," he said, very low.
My pulse beat in my throat.
"I want to kiss you.
"And then I want you to take me to bed, and I don't want to talk about the lease."
He crossed the room in three steps.
His hands came up and cupped my face, so gently that my breath caught, and then his mouth was on mine.
He kissed.
Slow at first, his beard scraping my chin, his tongue stroking mine until I moaned into his mouth.
I wound my fingers into his vest and hauled him down.
He growled, a real growl, deep in his chest.
His hands slid down my sides to my hips and gripped, and he lifted me clear off the floor.
He set me on the edge of the dining table.
The silver dome rocked and slid off the end, and neither of us looked.
"Look at you," he said against my throat.
His palms ran over the green velvet and spread across my thighs, across the soft heavy swell of my belly, and he groaned.
"Etta.
"Every bit of this."
"I'm a size twenty," I said, because it was what I always said first.
"I know exactly what you are."
His thumbs dug into the crease of my hip and I made a sound I had never made in my life.
"Off," he said.
"Please."
I yanked the tie on my wrap dress and the velvet fell open.
My black bra, my black underwear, the stretch marks on my hips.
He went still and looked.
I waited for the flinch.
It never came.
His breath shook out of him instead, and he went down on his knees on the carpet between my legs.
"Gorgeous," he said.
"Christ, I'm going to ruin that table."
He hooked his fingers in my underwear and dragged them down my legs and off.
He put one huge hand on each of my inner thighs and spread me wide.
The cold air touched me, and I was wet and showing it.
"Griffin," I said.
"Say it again."
"Griffin, please."
He put his mouth on me.
His tongue dragged flat and slow from my entrance to my clit, and I bucked and grabbed his hair.
The ash-blond strands slid through my fingers, and he moaned against me.
"Slower," I said.
He slowed.
I hadn't known I could say it.
I hadn't known a man would do it the second I said it.
He circled my clit with the tip of his tongue, lazy, wet, maddening, and sucked it gently into his mouth.
My thighs shook against his shoulders.
"Like that.
"Don't stop.
"Don't you dare stop."
His groan went right through me.
He slid two thick fingers inside me and curled them, and I cried out.
He worked me with his hand and his mouth together, steady and filthy, his beard rough against my thighs.
The pleasure wound up tight and hot in my belly.
"Griffin, I'm going to."
"Good," he said into my skin.
"Come on my mouth, sweetheart."
I broke.
I came hard, with a shout I couldn't hold in.
My back arched off the cloth and my hands fisted in his hair.
Outside the glass, the whole lake went white.
He licked me through every aftershock.
He didn't stop until I pushed his head back, shaking and breathless and laughing.
He sat back on his heels.
His mouth was wet, his eyes were pure gold, and the front of his trousers was straining.
He looked at me.
I looked at the size of what I'd done to him, and my mouth went dry.
"Sit," I said.
I didn't know where the word came from.
It came out low and steady, the voice I used on the dough.
Griffin Stroud, who owned the shipping on half this lake, sat on the carpet.
He sat right down on the floor with his back to the glass and his hands on his thighs, and he waited.
His chest was heaving.
Gold eyes locked on me, hungry and obedient and blazing.
"Good," I said.
A shudder went through his whole big body.
"Take your shirt off," I said.
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