Read Online Moonbound (Moonfate Serial Book 1) by Sylvia Frost - Free Book Online

pull the rest of my hair behind me, keeping it from his wandering hands.
    “Oh, most definitely.” He looks surprised that I haven’t grasped the obviousness of this fact.
    “You’re a werewolf who says things like, ‘There’s the rub,’ like you’re some kind of Shakespearean actor.” I hold up my thumb, beginning to count his offenses against me.
    “‘Better a witty fool than a foolish wit.’” He grins roguishly.
    “You’re convinced that some girl you don’t even know is going to fall in love with you just because you stalk her in the dark at fucking midnight!” I tick off another finger.
    “Love has never been a part of the equation. That,” he spits, “is a human foible.” His grin falls until his face is as cold, hard, and dark as a moonless night.
    I feel my heart mirror his face. I was right. All of this is a lie. A trick to get me to submit. I knew that all along. So why does hearing it make me want to cry?
    I clench my jaw and say, “Well, good. I could never fall in love with your kind. You’re all dominating bastards.”
    “I see.” His hands fall away from my body and he takes a step back.
    I count it as a mark of pride that when he does, I don’t fall.
    Silence suffocates the space between us.
    He just stands there, regarding me with an infinite, inscrutable patience. In the distance, even though the rain has stopped, I hear a crack of thunder. His arctic-pale skin glows.
    I open my mouth and close it again. Then, carefully, I walk past him, forcing myself not to turn around. I can’t believe that he does nothing to stop me.
    Once I get to my bike, I hurry in picking it up off the ground and dusting the grit off my jeans from where I fell. Not that it matters. I’m soaked in mud, water, and sweat. Just as I’m about to swing my leg over the seat, he finally speaks.
    “Stop.” His voice is deep, and rings with all the force of his command. It has the same kind of power mine had when I sang.
    Shit.
    So this is a werecall.
    I have no choice. My whole body freezes, patiently awaiting his next order and my core clenches both at the wash of pleasure and at the knowledge that he is making me do this. That I am his.
    He growls, “Kneel.”
    I drop. My knees sting from hitting the pavement, but the rest of my body turns hypersensitive to the tiny pleasures. The play of hot and cold at the juncture of my thighs, the pulsing warmth there, mingling with the cool water.
    He prowls toward me, his eyes burning with something that might be hunger or anger. All of his playfulness is gone; he is transformed as thoroughly as if he had changed into a wolf.
    “Eyes down.”
    My gaze falls. I want to scream, but another part of me savors the chance to forget. I can only stare at his feet as they stride toward me. My neck is locked in place, totally vulnerable and exposed to him.
    “Good girl.”
    My thighs part a millimeter at his praise.
    He’s so close now that my lowered gaze catches his jean-clad thighs and the huge bulge just a little higher. His cock. My heart thumps in my chest. Oh, God, is he going to tell me to give him a blowjob?
    A sick part of me thrills at the idea, of him unzipping, pushing the back of my head into his crotch, the tip of his velvety dick playing against my lips as he looks down at me, completely satisfied with his control.
    But no, he keeps going until he’s behind me. His hand rests over my neck as he brings my back into his thigh forcefully, as if to imprint this position on me. Teach me.
    And some sick part of me is learning. Being on my knees in front of him feels unbelievably natural.
    He grabs a handful of my curls and pushes my head forward and down, until my chin digs into my chest. Then he brushes my hair away from my neck so that it falls into my face. It itches my lip and my nose, but I don’t move. I can’t.
    “This is what I would do if I was the horrible dominating bastard you think I am, isn’t it?” His fingernails trail up and down the column of