Sixty-Eight

Isobelle

I finished getting ready, then took a moment to compose myself. Madame Bennett had awakened thanks to the active werewolf gene. Someone needed to keep those wayward quadruplets in check, and my wolf side wanted to snap at their tails and remind them who she was — who I was. Their mate. Their equal. I twisted the doorknob, peeping through the crack between the wood. Bare bodies scurried past my line of sight in a blur. A distinct sign they heard me approaching. I took two deep breaths before striding out through the bedroom door. The musky essence of arousal filled my airways, feeding my confidence.

I'm a strong, confident woman who takes no prisoners.

“Turn around and place your hands on the table!” My sharp command stopped them all in their tracks.

Each set of startled eyes devoured my outfit choice as I sashayed my hips with an air of grace, tapping the long, sleek crop in the palm of my gloved hand, my black patent leather heels clicking on the wooden floor in sync.

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