Chapter 207
Chapter 207:
Morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, painting stripes of gold across the tangled sheets. I tried to shift, to slide out from the warmth of the bed, but a heavy arm tightened around my waist like a steel band, anchoring me in place.
“Going somewhere?” The voice was rough with sleep, a low rumble that vibrated against my spine.
I froze, the memories of the night before rushing back in a heated flood — the desperation, the claiming, the way Dallas had worshipped every inch of me. My face burned, but I forced myself to focus on the clock on the nightstand.
“Work,” I whispered, trying to pry his fingers loose from my hip. “I have a meeting with the restoration team at nine. I’m already late p>
Dallas didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled me flush against his chest and buried his face in the crook of my neck. His scent — cedar, rain, and pure, unadulterated Alpha — enveloped me, making my head swim.
T𝗁е 𝘣е𝘴𝗍 𝗋е𝖺𝗱i𝘯g eхp𝗲𝗿𝗶e𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗻
“Call in sick,” he mumbled against my skin, his lips grazing the sensitive spot below my ear.
“I can’t,” I laughed breathlessly, though my resolve was already melting. “I have a career to manage, Dallas. I can’t just call in sick p>
“You can do whatever you want.” He rolled over, pinning me beneath his massive frame. His dark eyes were heavy-lidded, swirling with the remnants of the night and the possessive edge of Ragnar. “Stay p>
The word wasn’t a request. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with static — a command teetering on the edge of the Alpha’s voice that compelled absolute obedience. My heart stuttered, a purely human response to the overwhelming power radiating from him.
Before I could argue — or worse, give in — the shrill ring of a cell phone shattered the tension.
Dallas groaned, a sound of pure annoyance, and flopped onto his back. He reached blindly for the nightstand and grabbed his phone without looking.
“What,” he barked, answering on speakerphone.
“Daddy?” Azalea’s voice came through the line, bright but edged with the practiced poise of a young woman navigating Pack politics. “Where are you? Grandpa said you didn’t come home last night. I need you to sign the approval for my Pack museum internship application — the deadline is today p>
Dallas rubbed a hand over his face, his eyes finding mine. He watched me with predatory stillness as I sat up and clutched the sheet to my chest.
“I’m at Adella’s,” he said simply.
“Adella’s?” Azalea paused, and I could practically hear the gears turning. “Is she there? Can I talk to her p>
A slow, lazy smirk spread across Dallas’s face. “No. Not right now p>
“Why not p>
“Because,” he drawled, his gaze locking onto mine and burning with intent, “she’s getting ready for work. I’ll bring the signed form by later p>
My breath hitched. I stared at him, eyes wide, and smacked his arm hard, mouthing, That’s it?
On the other end of the line, a beat of silence was followed by a resigned sigh. “Fine. But don’t forget. This internship is important p>
Dallas grunted an acknowledgment and ended the call, tossing the phone back onto the nightstand.