Page 23 of Shifted Desire

“Partners,” she butts in.

I shake my head. “No, I know Declan.”

“You’ve been here for less than a month and you already have a friend at The Vault?”

“He came to a few events at the club I…frequented when I lived out west.”

She raises a brow. “Frequented? Damn, how often were you there?”

I glare at her question. “You think knowing about my sexual proclivities will help with this discussion?”

She grins, and my dick swells. “Might not hurt. Since we’re making a list of the facts. Speaking of which…” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a notepad and pen, clicking the pen with a flourish, then scribbling something down.

“This isn’t a joke, Sam.”

“I don’t know…The more I consider it, the more I’m thinking the universe has a fucked-up sense of humor and we’re the butt of her joke.”

She hovers her pen over the pad expectantly. “Go on.”

“I’m not going to give you a list of my kinks and the frequency of my sexual encounters,” I huff.

“No, no, continue with the facts of our situation.”

Her mouth curves into a hint of a bratty smile when I glare at her. “Fine, I’ll continue for you. We fucked and now you’re turned on whenever you see me, and can’t give me a job I’d be perfect for because you’re worried you’ll be too distracted by your boner.”

“You’re turned on, too,” I retort, hating how ridiculous I sound as soon as the words are out of my mouth.

Her jaw tightens. “Sure. Blame the succubus for your horniness. Not like I haven’t heard that one a million times.”

“That’s not what I said.” I’m getting fed up with Samantha putting words into my mouth. Acting like I’m some lecherous monster trying to take advantage of her when I’m trying to deal with this situation like adults.

“You didn’t have to,” she murmurs, gaze dropping to her hands.

“My desire is my own. If anything is making me struggle to maintain control, it’s my damn curse gnawing at me, driving me mad with the need to…”

I shake my head, unwilling to finish that thought aloud. “You being a succubus might amplify it, especially if you’re…interested in me. But nothing is your ‘fault’.”

There’s a long pause. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and I hate how hungrily I watch that inadvertently sexy motion.

“What’s going on with your curse? Are you sick?”

Her concern sounds genuine, making me explain before I can think better of it. “Not sick, exactly. Werewolves aren’t wolf shifters, but we have a few similarities. It’s rare that we have mate bonds, but even without them the urge to…breed is still potent. It gets more pronounced if you ignore the instinct to rut during the full moon. Our libido skyrockets, so it gets harder and harder to ignore our arousal.”

Her eyes widen. “And you’ve been ignoring that instinct?”

My face heats. “Yes. I learned years ago that it’s not safe for me to transform.”

“Wait, you don’t transform at all? Gods, no wonder you look like shit!”

“Thanks,” I reply drolly.

“Damn, dude,” she chuckles. “You’re more of a mess than I am.”

“Glad to see my problems amuse you,” I deadpan.

“Hey, when your life is in the toilet, it’s nice to know that you’re not the only shitshow.”

She jots something down on the pad of paper.