JESSICA
“I want you, Jess… and I’m so fucking tired of pretending I don’t.”
W–What did he just said?
Did Grayson Westwood–Alpha asshole, my nightmare, the boy I’ve hated breathing near me since forever–just say he wants me?
Me.
Jessica Wilkinson.
Myshes fluttered like maybe blinking harder would reset reality. It didn’t. He was still there. Still looking at me like that. Still standing in front of me with that stupid, wrecked look on his face.
Gods.
He was serious.
“You hate me,” I rasped – because I needed it. I needed him to say it. Needed it sharp. Ugly. Easier to swallow than whatever the hell this was.
But he just huffed – sharp and bitter, like I’d wounded him.
His jaw clenched – that hard, furious line he always had when he was two seconds from snapping.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Hate you so bad I dream about you.”
Dream? Sure, he gets dreams. You know what I get? Nightmares. Of him – standing in the middle of the clearing while the entire pack watched – shouting my name like it was
shouting my name like it was a curse and dragging my reputation through the fucking mud. But yeah. Tell me more about your little dreams, Grayson.
“Jess “he stepped closer.
Nope. I backed up fast, boots dragging hard across the wood floor.
“Don’t.” My palm flew up like that could stop him. “Don’t fuckinge near me.”
“What the hell is your problem, Jess?” Grayson’s voice wasn’t calm anymore. It was <b>a </b>snarl. Rough. Sharp. Furious like <b>I </b>was the one ruining his night.
Fuck him.
I ripped my wrist out of his <b>grip </b>so hard my shoulder ached
<b>it </b>was about to explode.
–
didn’t care, wouldn’t care, not when my whole chest felt like
“My problem?” I barked–high, raw, shaking like I was about to punch him in his too–perfect jaw<b>. </b>“You’re asking me what <b>the </b>hell <b>my </b><b>problem </b>is?”
12:44 Wed, <b>30 </b>Jul G
He just red down at me big, wolf–bright, that goddamn Alpha heat rolling off him like he owned this whole cabin and me right along with it. I shoved him back with both hands. It didn’t move him an inch. So I stepped right the fuck into his space anyway–fire in my throat, pulse a riot – and jammed my finger hard against his chest.
“You’re my fucking problem!” I practically screamed it. Loud. Furious. Wrecked. Every word hit him like a p to the face. “You’ve always been my problem!” I jabbed my finger harder, chasing him like I wanted the fight. “From the second you opened your goddamn mouth, from the second you made it your personal hobby to humiliate me in front of everyone- you have been in my way. In my head. Under my fucking skin-”
?
I stop. Fuck. Fuck.
Stupid, stupid, weak.
I sniffed hard
–
– sharp, ugly scrubbing at my face like that could erase the whole fucking moment.
“You bullied me,” I spat – low now, raw. “You ruined me, Grayson. Every fucking chance you got. Every trial. Every training. Every goddamn time I got back up, you were right there waiting to knock me down again.”
His jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jump.
“Jess-”
“Don’t.” I pointed at him again – shaky, but gods, still furious. “You practically told me I’m the weakest wolf in our pack and now you want me?”
“I never wanted to break you,” he said.
“Bullshit,” I snapped, heat spitting off every word. “Bull–fucking–shit, Grayson. You didn’t just want to break me–you wanted to watch me break. Wanted front row seats while you ripped me apart in front of everyone like some power–drunk asshole with a goddamn godplex.”
His jaw locked.
Good.
I stepped right back into his space fucking said so.
–
toe to toe with the big, bad Alpha who thought the sun rose and set just because he
“You think I don’t know what you are?” Myugh was pure poison. “You’re pathetic.”
That got him.
His whole body went tight, every line of him pulled sharp.
“You walk around like you’re untouchable, like everybody’s supposed to fucking kneel just because you bark loud enough -newssh, Westwood–I’d rather fucking die.”
His chest heaved–breathing rough, wild, pissed.
<b>“</b><b>Jess- </b>
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“No!” I jabbed a finger straight into his chest – hard enough to rock him back a step. “Fuck you. Fuck your ego. Fuck your alpha bullshit. You don’t get to treat me like dirt for years and then look at me like–like I’m yours just because you finally figured out you have feelings.”
His eyes burned–gold and furious and helpless all at once.
“You wanna want me now?” I sneered. “Too fucking bad. You don’t deserve me. You don’t even deserve to fucking look at me.”
I could barely breathe around him
around this fucking heat wing up my throat. Gods, I hated him. I hated Grayson
Westwood like it was a full–time fucking job
“You wanna fuck me now, Grayson?” I bit – voice shaking, not with fear, but with how goddamn hard my heart was mming against my ribs. “Now you wanna put your hands on me?”
He didn’t move. Gryason just stood there -jaw clenched, chest heaving like breathing hurt. I stepped right into him – toe to toe, chest to chest – grabbed the front of his shirt in both hands like I might tear it straight off him just to watch him burn.
“So what?” I hissed
–
breath all over his lips, sharp enough to cut. “Kiss me then. Fuck me. Go ahead.”
I grabbed his hair. Rough. Mean. I wanted him to feel it. I need him to feel it. This is what he fucking wanted? Fine. I yanked his head down close enough to taste his goddamn breath. But I didn’t give him shit.
“Isn’t that how it works with you?” I breathed against his lips, hate tangled with want, voice all broken ss and venom. “Take what you want. Mark it up. Bragter.”
His throat worked like swallowing me down was killing him. Good
“Maybe after you’re done,” I sneered, words all teeth, all spit, “you can go run your fucking mouth to the whole goddamn pack. Tell them how easy I was. Tell them how I threw myself at you like every other stupid bitch who didn’t know better.”
I pressed my mouth to his ear–hot, shaking, vicious. “Do it,” I whispered, all poison and pulse. “Touch me, Grayson. Fuck me. Own it.”
His breathing was ragged now. Chest rising and falling like he’d juste off a fight and his eyes- gods, his fucking eyes -burning straight through me, wild and dark and wrecked in a way that was not victory.
Tshoved him back. Hard. Like touching him made me sick. It does. It does make me fucking sick. It makes me want to vomit.
“You can’t,” I spat – voice low, sharp, like breaking skin.
I smiled. mean as hell.
“That’s the thing about you, Grayson,” I snarled, “you can hurt me. You can humiliate me. But you’ll never fucking have
me<b>.</b>”
Enjoy your fucking dreams, Westwood. That’s all you’ll ever get.
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