The Curvy Girl Meets the Billionaire Werewolf novel · Chapter 6 of 24

Chapter 6: Hands Behind You

His house stood on the bluff, glass and cedar, with the whole dark lake for a back wall.

I didn't see much of it.

I saw a hall, a staircase, a bedroom with a bed like a ship's deck and a leather chair by the window.

He turned on one lamp.

I turned it off again.

The moon came in over the water, and I could see him perfectly.

"Sit," I said.

He sat in the leather chair.

I reached into my tote bag and took out my lilac apron.

I had come to the diner straight from work and never taken it home.

I wound the long strings around my fists.

"Hands behind you."

His eyes went up to mine.

Then he leaned forward and put both arms behind the back of the chair, wrists crossed.

He did it.

I walked behind him and tied them.

I looped the cotton twice and knotted it snug, and I could feel his pulse jumping in the vein.

"Can you get out?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Will you?"

"Not unless you tell me to."

I came around the front and looked at him.

Griffin Stroud sat tied to a chair with his jaw tight, his legs spread, and his cock tenting his jeans.

I had never in my life felt this powerful.

"Tell me something," I said.

"Anything."

"Does anyone ever tell you what to do?"

He swallowed.

"No," he said.

"Everybody asks me.

"What should we do, Alpha, what do you want, Alpha.

"Three hundred people ask me what I want, and no one tells me.

"You say sit and I don't have to decide anything.

"You just say it."

Something tender cracked open under my ribs.

"Then I'll say it," I said.

I started with my sweater.

I pulled it off slowly over my head and dropped it on the floor, and then I unhooked my bra.

His eyes dropped to my breasts and stayed there.

I stepped out of my skirt.

I stood there in my underwear with the moonlight on my belly and thighs, and his breath came out of him in a ragged push.

"Don't look away," I said.

"I couldn't."

I slid my underwear down my legs and kicked it aside.

Then I put a knee on the chair on each side of him.

I settled my wet heat onto the front of his jeans.

He bucked.

"Not yet," I whispered, and unzipped him.

He sprang out into my hand, thick and flushed, and I wrapped my fingers around him and sank onto him in one smooth slide.

We cried out together.

I held still.

I held his shoulders, and his neck, and kissed his throat, slowly, while he shook underneath me and fought not to thrust.

"Please," he said.

"Etta, please, move."

"Say it again."

"Please.

"Please, I need you to move."

"Good boy," I said.

He groaned.

I took his face in both hands.

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