C5

Brielle Ashford POV

"You are a terrible liar, wolf," I mutter to myself, tossing my glowing screen onto the plush cushions of the sofa.

The silence inside the Ashford Cottage stretches thin and mocking as the afternoon shadows grow longer over Oakridge Village. I stand alone in the kitchen, my five-foot, plus-size frame swaying with a heavy, restless energy that leaves my palms damp. I spent the last three hours at the village square market buying fresh cuts of deer meat and wild mountain herbs, preparing to cook Garrick's absolute favorite meal because of the stiff promise he made this morning. Yet every five minutes, my eyes dart right back to the dark screen of my phone. No notifications flash. No mind-links hit my brain.

Why the hell am I waiting for Ronan Graywolf to send me a message? The raw realization makes my stomach twist with a toxic mixture of frustration and bitter self-loathing. I am a human wife married to a powerful werewolf alpha, yet my mind is completely consumed by the memory of his best friend's massive hands pinning my thick thighs to the mattress. I scrubbed my skin until it was raw, but I can still feel the heavy, phantom stretch of Ronan's thick length ripping through my core.

A sharp, piercing ring slices through the quiet kitchen, making my heart skip a violent beat against my ribs.

I scramble out of the kitchen, wiping my wet hands on my apron as I snatch the device off the couch. The surge of adrenaline vanishes instantly when the screen displays my husband's name instead of the dark wolf who dominated my night.

"Hello, Garrick?" I breathe into the receiver, keeping my tone flat.

"Do not wait up for me tonight, Brielle," Garrick's rough voice grunts through the line, accompanied by the faint, distant sound of a female giggling in the background. "An emergency pack alliance meeting just came up at the Ironwood Square headquarters. Eat your dinner and go straight to sleep like a good girl. I will be back at the manor by dawn."

The line goes completely dead before I can even draw breath to reply.

I let out a harsh, mocking scoff, staring at the blank screen. A pack alliance meeting? More like a private, wet marking session inside some hidden room where he can tie that young admirer Ivy Cross until she screams. His submissive little pack girls are truly blessed to have such a attentive, giving alpha leader.

The strangest part is the complete lack of pain in my chest. The agonizing sorrow that usually chokes me when he stays out late is entirely gone, replaced by a dark, hungry void. I unlock my phone again, scrolling through my empty alerts.

Did I push Ronan too far this morning? Did my teasing text message make him think I was just using his massive body for a quick piece of revenge? Werewolves have volatile, territorial pride, and the thought that I might have genuinely pissed off the six-foot-six enforcer makes a strange ache bloom deep between my legs.

Just as I am debating whether to break my own rules and call the Graywolf Dominion, a heavy, rhythmic knocking rattles the front door of the cottage.

My mind goes entirely blank. Garrick just said he was tied up with pack business for the rest of the night. Why would the alpha be back at the human residential area this early?

I pull the heavy wooden bolt back, swinging the door wide open. The words freeze in my throat when I see the unexpected beast leaning casually against the stone doorframe. The dying gold rays of the Blackridge Falls sunset catch the edges of Ronan Graywolf's broad shoulders, illuminating his striking features and casting a predatory glow over his dark complexion. He looks like a dark prince straight out of a forbidden fantasy.

My eyes instantly drop to the low collar of his tunic, tracking the fierce, deep red marks swelling across his dark skin.

"Forgive the intrusion, human," Ronan purrs, his voice dropping into a deep, gravelly register that sets my blood on fire. "It seems my inner beast has grown completely addicted to the scent of your milk soap. I couldn't even make it past the pack borders without turning my carriage around to hunt you down."

My white cheeks burn a violent shade of pink as I stare at the heavy, dark purple bruises on his neck. Those are the marks from my own mouth. I did that to him while I was writhing under his heavy weight.

He makes a smooth move to slide past my shoulder into the privacy of the cottage, but my arm shoots out instantly, my palm slamming against his rock-hard chest to halt his advance. "Garrick is not here," I warn him, my voice trembling with an explicit edge that screams for him to do the exact opposite of what I am saying. "You need to leave right now, Ronan."

Pretending to be completely deaf to my human warning, he steps closer, his massive chest compressing my arm back against my own body. "That is perfectly fine, Brielle. I am a very patient wolf. I will simply sit inside and wait for my alpha to return."

"Then wait outside in the dirt," I gasp, shoving against his massive frame with all my strength.

He uses the sudden movement to his advantage, his huge hand—still wrapped tightly in his signature purple leather—snatching my small wrist in a iron grip. He pulls my plus-size body forward, slamming my soft front directly against the rigid, muscular contours of his torso.

The distance between our lips vanishes until there is barely a hair's breadth of cold air separating us. The raw, spicy scent of his arousal hits my nose, turning my knees to water. Startled by the sheer intensity of his focus, I stumble backward, my boots tripping over the threshold as I retreat into the dark hallway of the house.

Ronan doesn't hesitate. He dashes inside like a predator invading a cage, his massive arm catching me around my waist before I can hit the hard floorboards. With his free hand, he slams the heavy cottage door shut behind him, the wooden bolt sliding into place with a definitive click.

A heavy, dangerous feeling settles deep in my gut as the shadows of the hallway swallow us. I turn around frantically, reaching for the iron handle to open the door, but Ronan moves like lightning. He corners me instantly, pressing his towering six-foot-six frame flat against my back, trapping me completely between the thick wood of the door and his pulsing heat. His hard length is already fully aroused, prodding thick and heavy against the back of my skirt.

"Do you like being taken from behind like this, human?" I ask, refusing to move an inch even as my breathing turns shallow and wet.

He leans down, his hot, heavy breath tickling the sensitive skin of my bare shoulder as his mouth grazes my earlobe. "No, Brielle. This cheap, blind position is meant for immature, brainless little omegas who need to be broken. That is not what you are to me."

"Then what am I to you, Ronan?" My curiosity peaks, a heavy spike of desire making my core drench against my silk underwear. I slowly twist my body around in his tight embrace, turning to face the dark god looming over me.

"Slide your tongue into my mouth, and I might just tell you," he smirks, tilting his dark face down. He taps his cheek with one thick, purple-wrapped finger, his dark eyes flashing with a wicked, predatory hunger.

I place both of my palms against his chest, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but I am absolutely no match for his primal strength. Pushing against him feels like trying to move a mountain of solid ironwood. "You need to walk out that door right now, wolf. My husband is on his way back to this cottage as we speak."

It is a blatant, desperate lie. There is no way in hell Garrick is abandoning his little pack whore this early in the evening. I am just trying to throw a bucket of ice on the explosive spark building between us before it develops into a full-blown addiction that will get us both executed by the pack elders.

Ronan remains completely unbothered by the threat of his alpha. A dark, knowing chuckle vibrates in his throat as he leans down to claim my lips. When I desperately twist my head away to avoid the kiss, his mouth slides naturally across my cheek, his hot tongue licking a wet trail down to the sensitive valley of my neck.

He bites down hard on my pulsing artery, making me scream out in pure, unfiltered pleasure as his large hand rips the apron off my waist.

"Garrick hasn't even unbuckled his trousers for his little dinner guest at the lodge yet," Ronan growls against my raw skin, his fingers shoving my skirt up to my waist to expose my thick, aching curves to his touch. "There is absolutely no way that pathetic dog is coming home before midnight."

My breath catches in my throat as his heavy words hit my brain. He knows exactly where my husband is. He knows Garrick is cheating right now.

"You planned this," I pant, my fingers digging into his short black hair as his hand slides between my thighs, ripping my soaked underwear right down the middle.

"I told you, Brielle," Ronan whispers, his dark fingers sliding deep into my dripping wet heat, making my knees buckle as he stretches me out right against the front door. "I am going to make you forget his name entirely."