Maisie
Mrs. Chastain had a way about her. You were either so comfortable, you were spilling your deepest, darkest secrets to her, or you were being ordered around and whacked at the back of the head.
The Lycans were in the latter group, and I gaped as she transformed four scary looking Lycans into her serving boys in under an hour. Well, make that five, considering, Mr. Chastain was in the kitchen with them, wearing an apron.
I didn't think I could've been more attracted to them than I was right now.
They were all wearing aprons.
Shirtless. Aprons. Sweaty. Dicing vegetables. Smeared in flour. Dirty.
It was a recipe for disaster.
I shook my head free of images assaulting my mind of being knotted on that kitchen counter. Goddess have mercy, but I could no longer control my thoughts. What was this? Some perverse level of Stockholm? My mind was no longer wholly mine, occupied at every point of the day with sex, heat, pleasure, heat, bodies, mindless fucking.
