Read Treeland Pack Tales 3: A Trace of Ivy for Free Online Page A

soap lathered rich and creamy and reminded her of Chet. Heaven.
    She was in so much trouble. She actually liked her new
captor. And that made him more dangerous than any of the monsters.
     
    CHET ROLLED UP his sleeves and scrubbed a couple of bakers
while the oven heated. He imagined Ivy raiding his wardrobe and grinned like a
sap. Unusual for him to tolerate a female in his unit. She seemed to fit in
with the rest of his favorite things. Perfectly natural for him to be indulgent
and allow her a few liberties, considering she’d been through hell.
    He drew the cork from a French Syrah to let the wine
breathe, and set out a pair of goblets. A quick fridge inventory gave him a
green light to make a beet salad. After he’d set two places in the dining room,
Ivy still hadn’t returned. The apartment had top-notch security, but she’d only
regained consciousness a while ago. She might have fallen. What the hell had he
been thinking to leave her alone?
    The door to the master bath stood ajar. Chet bolted through
the entrance into a cloud of steam. He turned on the exhaust fan. The mist
cleared, revealing a neat stack of immaculately folded wool on the toilet.
She’d taken such care with his things. He sighed, appreciating her
thoughtfulness. Another incident of sappiness on his part, not that he tracked such
nonsense.
    After he dropped the pile in the dry cleaning hamper, his
focus locked on the naked female in his shower. Water beaded on the glass
doors, enhancing her perfection.
    He yanked off his boots and socks, tossing them behind him.
A perfectly good dress shirt lost its buttons as it went the way of the
footwear. He undid the top two buttons, then skimmed the jeans and boxer briefs
down his flanks and kicked them aside.
    His horny old wolf drooled at Ivy’s bare backside, and his
cock stood at attention, eager to play. There was no way to hide his erection.
Confident he had control of both his animal and his hard-on, he stepped into
the shower.
    She stood under a torrent of water, facing away from him.
Wet blonde hair streamed down her back almost tickling her butt. She was all
long elegant bones and taut pale skin. He reached for the shampoo and poured a
generous dollop into his palm. “How about I wash your hair?”
    “I’m not ready for sex.” Her voice quavered.
    The sharp scent of her fear stung his nostrils and raked his
heart. He tamped the surge of rage for the torture the rogues had put her
through. This was not about him. She did not need to deal with his helpless
anger. He had to find the right balance between comfort and firmness or he
would have to leave. Plus he needed to stay calm and in control while he fought
his own instincts. He swallowed a sigh and cranked down his wolf’s suggestions.
She wasn’t furry, and neck nips weren’t likely to accomplish anything except
freaking her out even more.
    “Didn’t think you were,” he said too gruffly and began
working the lather into her scalp, careful to avoid the slight bump at the base
of her skull. A different angle, a sharper rock, a bit more impact, and she
might not have woken up. She was still frightened, but she had not run or
cowered, so she trusted him at least a little. He massaged her head reverently,
aware what a rare gift he’d been given.
    For long seconds she stayed iron-maiden rigid. At last she tilted
her neck to give him more access. “That feels incredible.”
    “You do not need to worry. Nothing will happen between us
without your consent and desire. I do not believe in nonconsensual play.” He
continued the massage down her nape and across slight shoulders.
    He held still, ready to leave if she asked. The biting tang
of fear gradually evaporated with the steam. Ivy leaned against his chest.
    At last, the skin-to-skin, full-body touch he’d hungered
for, but wasn’t crazy enough to hope for, happened. Her perfect butt nestled
against his hard thighs and provided a cushion for his heavy balls. His wolf
settled back with a