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The Intruder

The house is quiet when I return from my run, my skin tingling as I step inside. I’m sure my neighbors think I’m insane — it’s twenty degrees outside — but we shifters run hot. The cold weather doesn’t faze me.

I hear the bathtub running upstairs, and my cock twitches at the thought of Jules sliding naked into the hot water.

Apart from all the inappropriate images it conjures up, I’m glad to know she’s finally taking some time for herself. I haven’t seen her sit down since she came to work for me. I’m not sure Jules ever relaxes, but she damn well deserves it.

I’m about to head outside for my dip when the low creak of a door makes my hackles go up. There’s only one door in my house that creaks like that — the one leading into the wine cellar. 

Beckett doesn’t drink wine, and Jules is in the bath, which means it’s not either one of them.

In an instant, the predator in me rises to the surface, and I have to fight the urge to shift. Wolves are territorial creatures by nature, and the very thought of some stranger breaking into my home is enough to curl my fingers into fists.

My wolf tugs at his restraints, begging me to let him loose, but I can’t have a story about a home intruder being mauled by a wolf making national news.

Quickly, silently, I dart around the corner to the basement entrance and slip down the dark stairwell. A light is on at the bottom of the steps. This burglar is truly stupid. 

Who breaks into someone’s house in broad daylight, only to go rifling through their wine cellar?

I don’t make a sound as I pad toward the arched doorway at the end of the hallway. I’m inches away, intending to catch the intruder by surprise. But just then the light flips off, and Jules backs out of the room.

I suck in a breath at her sudden proximity. She hasn’t seen me yet.

Jules’s skin is dripping wet, and she’s got a fluffy white towel wrapped around her middle. I can see the backs of her bare thighs, and my gaze roves over the strong muscles of her back and down the graceful lines of her arms.

Wet like this, her spicy cinnamon scent is overwhelming. Water clings to her golden skin, and I have to fight the urge to trace the path of one rogue droplet with my tongue.

Before I can muster the presence of mind to move, Jules pivots to face me. She takes one step and rams into my chest with a surprised little yelp.

Something flies out of her arms. Jules lunges to grab it, but then she slips, and I throw open my arms to catch her.

The side of Jules’s face collides with my ribs, and my gaze flashes to her towel, which is hanging from the doorjamb.

I’m so stunned to have Jules in my arms that I’m not paying attention to how wet the floor is. I stagger back and hit a puddle, and my foot flies out from under me. 


We both go down, but I crush Jules against my chest to ensure I take the brunt if the impact. Heat surges through me when her supple breasts smash against me, hard little nipples digging into my ribs. 

All of a sudden, the beast inside me rears its ugly head, and it’s all I can do not to grab her juicy ass and drag her up to ride my cock. I want to lick Jules all the way down to her soft bare cunt and spend the rest of the evening having her in every way possible.

But before I can act on my basest impulses, Jules’s body goes stiff.

“I’m sorry!” she yelps, shoving herself off me and giving me a delicious view of her breasts.

Heat surges to her cheeks as she realizes what she’s done, and Jules flattens herself against me once again.

I grunt. The change in position has left her straddling my leg, and I can feel her soft core pressing into my thigh. 

She’s wet. I mean, Jules is wet all over from the bath, but down there, she is soaked. The sweet musk of feminine arousal wafts up to greet me, followed by the bitterness of shame.

“I’m so sorry!” she repeats, scrambling backward and covering her bare breasts with her hands. 

The maneuver leaves the rest of her exposed, and my gaze flicks down to her pert little cunt, which is bare apart from a thin strip of hair. I only catch the briefest glimpse of her sweet pink pearl before she clamps a hand over her pussy.

I clear my throat and avert my eyes, trying not to be a creep.

“I thought you were in Denver!” Jules splutters, her face flushing a brilliant shade of red. “I just came down to get something out of storage. I took a peek at the wine cellar and —”

She pivots toward the cellar door, giving me an unobstructed view of her ass as she tugs desperately at the towel. Her little growl of frustration sends all the blood rushing to my cock, but thankfully, Jules is distracted.

Her whole body is beet red by the time she gets her towel free and secures it around her middle. She rolls the top and tucks it in tight, but not before I get another good look at her perfect breasts and hard pink nipples.


My lust drains out of me almost immediately when I see the tears in her eyes. Jules is completely humiliated, and here I am checking her out. 

What is wrong with me?

I scramble to my feet as quick as I can, keeping my gaze on the floor. She’s so fucking sexy when she’s all hot and flustered, but this isn’t the time to seduce her.

“I apologize,” I stammer, feeling like an asshole. “I . . . didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t!” she insists, surreptitiously adjusting the towel so that it covers more of her ass. All she manages to do, however, is pull it down on her chest to expose several inches of cleavage. “I mean, you did, but it’s your house. I just thought you were gone, and —”

“I went for a run. I was about to head out to the pond when I heard . . .”

I stop just short of telling Jules that I thought we had an intruder. I can tell she’s worried about me catching her in the wine cellar, but I don’t care about that.

She cocks her head at my explanation, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. “But . . . it’s freezing outside. The pond is covered in ice.”

“I was about to take a cold plunge,” I explain. “It . . . helps to clear my head.”


I get the feeling Jules thinks I’m lying, which is making things really awkward. I bend down to retrieve her book, which looks like some girly romance novel.

I wonder if it’s smut.

“You didn’t get any wine,” I say, mostly to distract myself from the thought of Jules reading porn in the bathtub so close to my room.

“I didn’t — I mean, I wouldn’t. That’s your wine.”

“You are my guest. Besides, it’s more than I could drink in a lifetime.”


“I insist.” Please just let me do something nice to make up for checking you out.

“You really don’t have to . . .”

I ignore Jules’s protests and brush past her to pick a bottle from my stash. She likes red zinfandel, so I know she’ll like the Shiraz I pick out. It’s bold, jammy, and complex with a smooth velvety finish.

“Thank you,” she says, taking the wine without looking at the label. 

I can tell she’s still embarrassed, but she forces herself to meet my gaze, and the delicate pink flush to her cheeks is almost enough to make me abandon my principles.

I want to press her against the wall, yank that towel off her, and look my fill. I want to wrap those long legs around my waist and fuck her right here in the cellar. I want to ram my cock so deep inside her that she forgets her own name.

But I can’t do any of those things. Jules is my employee, and I have a monster living inside me. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t see anything.”

“You’re a liar,” she says, rolling her eyes. That little hint of snark is a relief. “But thank you. And thank you for the wine.”

“You’re welcome.”

Jules practically runs up the stairs, and I catch a tantalizing glimpse beneath her towel just before she turns to ask me a question.

I’m not even sure what my answer is. I’m too busy imagining that perfect ass in my hands, bouncing Jules up and down as she rides my cock.

The rest of the night, I lie awake thinking of her sinking into my tub. I imagine the warm water lapping over her soft supple body and her quiet sigh as it soothes her muscles. I think of the water rushing over that golden skin, wetting her full pink lips. Her perky breasts bobbing in the water, hard little nipples exposed.

I imagine Jules snaking a hand between her thighs and thinking of me as she touches herself. How I wish I could be that water — be that hand — touching every part of her.

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