Filthy Prince by Liza Street
Gabrielle’s been guarding a secret while she hides in a Junkyard trailer, safe from the prying eyes of her new “friends,” and safer still from the ruthless control of her alpha father. This precious secret is more important than anything—even more important than Gabrielle’s desire to be with the sexy, enigmatic wolf shifter who stole her heart.
“Let me in,” Damien said. “I’ll fix your back ache.”
Gabrielle cocked her head, likely considering his offer. Maybe, like him, she was remembering the last time she’d let him into this trailer all those months ago. They’d screwed like bunnies for nearly twelve hours straight. She’d been unapologetic about her wants, demanding in her desire. No barriers, no hesitance.
There was a big, baby-sized barrier between them now, but he wanted to embrace the woman and embrace the baby.
And tonight wasn’t about sex. It was about taking care of her in a more fundamental way.
Finally, she stepped back, into the trailer. “Well, come in. Show me what you got, wolf man.”
He loved her gruff talk coming from that sweet, innocent-looking mouth. Holding in his smile, he stepped into the trailer and went directly for the table set-up instead of the bed. All the pillows and blankets would probably be more comfortable for her, but he didn’t want to cast any doubt on his intentions. So he fiddled with the table until it dropped, lying flush against the raised floor beneath the dining area. Then he grabbed one of the other seat cushions and set it on the floor. After giving his set-up a critical eye, he got a second seat cushion and put it on top of the first. “Come on, have a seat,” he said. “Welcome to your personal massage parlor.”
Her eyes lit up and she shuffled forward. “Seriously? Because you would not believe the way my shoulders are screaming at me right now.”
“From the way you’re standing, it looks painful.”
She took the last few steps toward him and settled on the cushions with a groan. He got in the seat behind her, putting his legs on either side of her.
“Is it okay if I touch your shoulders?” he asked.
She turned to give him a sidelong glance. “You’ve literally been inside of my body with your dick, your fingers, and your tongue. You’re now asking to touch my shoulders?”
“Consent,” he said with a shrug. “It’s important to me.”
“Well, okay. You can touch me.” She faced forward again.
He swept her hair out of the way. “Can you put your ponytail up, like in a bun or something?”
“So demanding,” she grumbled, but he could hear the smile in her voice. She quickly lifted her arms and fiddled with her ponytail, and like magic, it was now a messy bun and out of his way.
He tried not to think about what she’d said a second ago—his dick, fingers, tongue being inside her body. He’d pleased her in numerous ways that night, wanting to try out everything. His cock grew hard at the memory.
No, he reminded himself. That’s not why we’re here right now. Gabrielle had given him permission to give her a massage, and that’s what he was going to do. He settled his fingers over the tense slopes of her shoulders and exerted just enough pressure to see where the muscles were the tightest.
Gabrielle moaned. “That feels so good.”
“I haven’t even started,” he said.
“Yes, you have. And it’s amazing.”
He chuckled, then gently prodded the angles of her shoulder blades and the length of her spine, up to her neck. The poor woman was tense everywhere, so he began with the tops of her shoulders and worked from there.
“Holy crap,” Gabrielle said, her voice a groan. “This is good. Where’d you learn how to do—ohhh. Yes.”
Her noises were pure pleasure and not at all supposed to be about sex, but his cock felt heavy as that giant cement cylinder that Gabrielle had sat on the other day. He found a knot in one of her shoulders and worked it over, sweeping his thumb over it again and again, rubbing it into oblivion.