Imprints (Dominant Wolves, Submissive Mates 1)

“Well,” Grant began by crossing his arms and looking at Jock in the eye, “I wasn’t gonna say anything ’bout this, but since you mentioned it, I best tell ya.”

Jock felt his nostrils flare. Why did he have a sneaking suspicion Grant planned on pointing fingers in his direction?

Grant rolled his bottom lip over his top as if he were in deep concentration. “Fact is, Jock, I think Carla likes polishing the pearl on her own-some.”

“Her lonesome?”

“That, too,” Grant said, sighing. “Ya gotta stop and consider this. Why does she need a man if she’s able to do just fine on her own?”

Jock felt his skin heat. Did Grant know something Jock didn’t? Had he seen her pleasuring herself when Jock had only had the opportunity to watch her bathe? “What do you mean?”

Grant shoved one leg forward and twisted his boot back and forth, studying the toe as if he had kicked somebody’s ass and still had the blood and guts on his leather to prove it. “Look around here at this place. She does all right for a single woman. Why does she need a man when she earns her keep without one?”

“For the same reason those whores back in Carson City needed a man. You think good women don’t enjoy sex?”

“It’s been a while since we’ve visited Carson City,” Grant said, stars practically forming in his eyes.

“You know what I meant. Women don’t need to work in saloons, strike poses at the piano, and charge for it in order to enjoy spreading their legs for a man.”

Grant snickered. “I know all about good women enjoying sex.” He paused and glared at the cabin door. “But after what I’ve seen Carla do—well—I ain’t one hundred percent certain she’s a good, decent woman.”

“Explain.”

“Let me backtrack first,” Grant said, poking his index finger high in the air. “She is definitely good. Fact is, she is so damned good she doesn’t need a man around to do what she can easily do all by herself.”

A spark of curiosity tickled Jock’s nape. “What are you saying?”

“Exactly what I said.” Grant pointed at the barn and lowered his head as if he were about to reveal something he should keep to himself. “Jock, Carla keeps stuff up there in that loft that I’ve never seen a painted lady use.”

Jock’s body went rigid. “Like what?”

“You’ll have to go see for yourself. I’d be plumb embarrassed to make a mention of it.”

“You brought it up,” Jock reminded him.

A broad smile popped up on Grant’s face. A few beads of sweat peppered his brow. “Here’s the straight of it—I got a wee bit different theory about why that Wyoming Wood Pack came here lookin’ for Carla and their goals don’t have a thing to do with what you’re thinkin’. They didn’t come here because you marked a territory. Nope, siree. They came here lookin’ for Carla because they’d heard her a-hollerin’ and a-carryin’ on.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Carla? She recently purchased a bunch of rope. She has a board she’s made into a paddle. I’ve seen a few of ’em as a matter of fact. Then—and this is the best of the news I’m sharin’ with ya—she uses this real smooth stone and sticks it up her privates.”

Grant crossed his arms and tucked his hands at his armpits. His brows furrowed and his lips formed a tight line. He nodded and carried on like he was sitting on the biggest secret in the West.

Jock remained quiet and still, expecting Grant to continue his story, if for no other reason than to exaggerate to the fullest. Or outright lie.

“I’ve seen her with my own eyes or I’d never believe it.”

“What else?” Jock asked, assuming there must’ve been more.

“Well, she does this ceremonial thing with candles.”

“Candles?”

Grant glanced over his left shoulder and then his right, acting downright suspicious then. “Wax.”

“She dribbles candle wax on her body??

?