It was nothing but an animal claiming, both of them still dressed, but his grunts were loud, and Claire knew that Maryanne, anyone, in the halls could hear them. And that, of course, was his point. Shepherd was loudly broadcasting that she was his. She wanted to be shamed, but found her body glorying in it, her mind already slipping into the haze. It was a quick pairing, especially satisfying when he spun her about just before she came. Face to face, the knot formed, her legs around his waist, his strength supporting her fully when so much pleasure bloomed.

“You didn’t say my name,” he panted, eyes like molten iron.

She said it, just so he would shut up and let her enjoy the aftereffects. “Shepherd.”

There was a smear of red lipstick on Claire’s mouth. Holding her still, Shepherd went to rub it off. His finger hesitated, changed course, and instead spread it around until her lips took on a rosy hue. “Was Ms. Cauley’s assessment correct? Are cosmetics something that you require?”

The man had just knotted, was still spilling, and he was asking stupid questions. Looking at him as if he were nuts, Claire scowled. “Nobody requires cosmetics.”

“I see no problem with the length of your hair, nor is it ragged,” he grumbled next, stroking in the exact same place Maryanne had, as if erasing the other Alpha’s touch.

Claire rolled her eyes to the heavens and leaned her head back to the wall.

His lips went to her cheek, her ear, her neck. “I have never heard you laugh in that manner.”

There was nothing she could say that would not be inflammatory, but it was clear he expected some sort of answer. “She’s funny. Always has been.”

Shepherd understood that it was less Maryanne’s comment, and more the fact that Claire absolutely agreed with her friend’s assessment. Svana had never found him wanting when it came to understanding her or her needs. She was easy to please, loved the gifts he brought her, and always thanked him profusely. Claire was disinterested in almost everything he had provided, never glanced twice at new clothing, jewels tucked into her drawer, or fine things he put in the room. He knew she enjoyed the food, though her pride kept her from expressing it… and she found pleasure in her paints. Nothing else had ever drawn a reaction.

He had hated every moment of the women’s conversation, save Maryanne’s wise reprimand to her friend. It was the only thing that might induce him to allow such a meeting again.

Stranger still, Claire had grown hostile, they had argued, and then it was over. No hard feelings on either side.