“What happened to you?” I dared to ask him the question I’d been meaning to for a long time. I traced the scar on his right thigh and I felt him stiffen, his body growing rigid instantly. I quickly wished I could take back my words. It wasn’t any of my business, but I somehow develop a feeling of entitlement whenever we were intimate even though he’d made it clear we would never be an item.
His arms loosened around my waist and he rolled on his back. His hardened cock dropped to a semi-limp state and disappointment filled me within.
“That isn’t for you to know,” his harsh tone felt like broken bottles cutting against my skin and I watched him climb out of bed and into the shower, my mind in total disarray.
“When will you learn,” I muttered to myself, pulling the sheets around me. I’d wanted to ask him about that scar since the first time I saw it. I learned werewolves could heal from almost any injury, and alpha wolves healed faster, but this particular scar didn’t look recent, and it
