Текст книги "Mate"

Автор книги: Ali Hazelwood

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

I plop down between Koen and the armrest, disregarding the way my thigh brushes against his. Tension swells in the room, heavy with discomfort, but I ignore it and gently press my knee against Koen’s thick quad to get him to stop manspreading.

He doesn’t budge, so I push harder.

He ignores me.

Until Saul tells me, “We’re not sure you were really a cult child, babe. And just to be clear, we would never think any less of you because of the circumstances of your– ”

“I know.” I smile. Reassuring, hopefully. “But the sooner we eliminate the threat, the better for the pack. And since we can’t find the cult, using me as bait might be the most . . .”

All the seconds stand at once, like they all received a simultaneous message from an alien mothership. I watch them do those weird, drawn-out nods in Koen’s direction, then quickly file out of the cabin. When I glance at Koen, I notice that he’s glowering and realize what dismissed them.

“Well.” I glance at the mugs. “That was a lot of work for nothing.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Not according to multiple physicians.”

His expression darkens further.

“Sorry. I was on the phone with Misery. Still in morbid humor mode.” It would make sense, now that there are more seats, for one of us to move away. We don’t, and Koen’s gaze stays on me, the platonic ideal of the concept of a scowl.

“Feel free to stop acting with reckless disregard for your life.”

“Aw. Thank you. Anything else I’m allowed to do, Alpha?”

His hand comes up to snatch my chin. “You could be fucking good, for once.”

“I can try?” I smile. My lower lip pushes against his thumb. “Why didn’t you tell me immediately that you suspect that I might be a child of the cult?”

Slowly, keeping his eyes on my mouth, he lets go of me.

“Let me guess: because you didn’t want to needlessly upset me in case it didn’t turn out to be true.” I sprawl against the backrest. “Withholding information to avoid hurting people. Reminds me of something someone was recently criticized for doing– ”

His palm slides to my neck. Tightens in a threatening curve at my nape.

I laugh, unfazed. “It’s okay, Koen. I forgive you.”

“Aw. Thank you,” he says, parroting me. But his expression is somber. “Remember your interview? Those people outside of the studio?”

“Not really. What– ” I gasp. “The man with the sign. Yelling something about . . . reborn flesh?”

He nods. “His talking points hit a little too close. I asked Amanda to track him, but it was Human territory, in the middle of a crowd. She couldn’t shift and she lost him.”

“I see. How many children were there in the cult?”

Koen presses his lips together, clearly worried, and my entire body hurts with how much I care for him. I would give a year of my life, a year I don’t even have, to press a kiss against the corner of his lips. Lower, where the stubble is quickly regrowing. I would do illegal, maybe even unethical things, in exchange for the right to bury my nose in the crook of his throat, where the scent of him is densest. “Several. A handful were Weres, and they were taken in by Northwest families. But Humans reproduce more easily, and over two dozen minors survived the cult. We partnered with Human services, kept tabs as much as we could, but we didn’t have access to their records.”

That’s how it went, then. Dozens of orphans, just like me. I wonder if they kept their memories. If we used to be friends. Where are they now?

This is too much. I can’t process it, not tonight. “I should go to sleep,” I say.

“Okay. Which room?”

“Um, mine?”

“Okay. We’ll sleep there.”

“We?”

“We.”

My eyebrow lifts. “Uh– oh. Celibacy Threat Alert.”

His look withers me, and every garden on the continent. “I’m going to stay in human form and monitor your temperature. We’ll catch your fevers early, and they won’t get as bad as they did last night.”

I open my mouth to say, I don’t want to put you out. I can take care of myself. It’s fine.

But maybe it’s not. Maybe I can take care of myself, but I don’t mind some help. Maybe he wants to be put out.

Maybe this is equally for him and for me.

So what I settle on is “Thank you.” I let my head roll back on the cushion. Meet his shoulder. Don’t bother hiding the way I’m burying my nose in the soft, worn flannel. He doesn’t mind: I can practically taste his satisfaction and relief at not having to fight me on this. It’s a sweet, joyful flavor against the roof of my mouth. “You know, your room might be better.”

“Why?”

“Comfier bed. Tub.” I blink a few times. Leave my eyes closed. “Smells like you.”

He grumbles something low that I can’t make out. Before I can ask him to repeat himself, I’m already sound asleep.

CHAPTER 23

Well, fuck.

MY FIRST THOUGHT WHEN SOMEBODY SHAKES ME AWAKE IN the middle of the night is that Koen was right.

Which is not something I necessarily love to acknowledge.

“Come on, killer.” A large, calloused hand pushes back the damp strands of my hair. The touch is warm and firm, should probably feel like too much, but I don’t mind it at all. In fact, when it moves away, I let out a small whimper. “Bath’s ready.”

I make myself murmur something unintelligible that’s half exhaustion, half gratitude. Opening my eyes takes more effort than a graduate degree. I wait for my body to inform me that yes, a lawn mower did just finish joyriding all over us and we do feel like utter shit, as per our regular programming.

Except, we don’t.

Yup. Koen really was right. Watch me drown myself in the tub to avoid admitting it.

I sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “C’mere,” Koen tells me.

His arms close around me and carry me into the bathroom. He’s bare-chested, wearing gray sweats and nothing else– ready for skinny dipping. He sets me on the bathroom counter and pulls my leggings down my thighs, somehow managing not to touch me in a single inappropriate spot. He leaves my T– shirt on. Then he picks me up again and slowly lowers me into the tub. My toe brushes against the surface, and—

“No,” I say.

It’s a soft command, but Koen stops without hesitation.

“It’s too cold,” I explain calmly. Because I feel so calm right now. Why am I usually so full of doubt? I know what I need. I know how to get it. Always have. “I don’t want to be cold.”

Koen misunderstands. Gently sets me back on the counter. “Let me add some warm water to– ”

“No,” I repeat, jumping to my feet. I feel weird. Like I’m both speaking and observing myself speak. Awake, but sleeping. The best part is, I’m not just not in pain. I’m actually . . .

I feel . . .

I feel fucking amazing. And I think I . . .

I step toward Koen, drawn by his heat, the texture of skin, his phenomenal scent. I don’t need cold water, because I have him. I didn’t know anyone could be so perfect, but here we are. I want to touch him, so much so, I’m not sure it’s allowed. There has to be a limit to how much we crave. Can’t approach infinity, or it’ll stretch us too thin.

I move closer and closer. The cotton of my shirt abrades my hard nipples all wrong, so I yank it off and toss it as far as I can. It lands in the tub, and I swallow a smile.

Oops.

“Better,” I say.

Koen freezes. His eyes, already suspicious, narrow on me. But he doesn’t– Look, Koen– even glance down– Come on, Koen– at my naked body– I want you to look. He doesn’t ask stupid questions– What are you doing? Are you okay? What is happening?– and I’m grateful for it. He just lets me loop my arms around his waist and place an open-mouthed kiss around his rib cage.

His breath hitches. He’s so strong. And I just . . . I like him. His moods. The way he steals my jokes. How full and happy I feel with him. Why have we not done this yet? Sure, reasons, but they seem so irrelevant, when there is this needy heat pulsating inside me. He’s rock hard, too. He wants me. Half of the time, he doesn’t even bother hiding it.

“Serena.”

There has never been anyone like him. I could live a thousand more years, and there will never be.

“I need you to tell me what is happening to you.”

I hum against the spot between his pecs. Part my lips and lick it, ignoring the soft, raspy curse he lets out. The way his hand combs through the hair at my nape, first pressing my head to him, then pulling it back.

His eyes are nothing but pupil. “Are you warm?”

I think about it. Nod. “In a nice way.” A deep inhale. “You smell so good.”

“What else?” He takes one of my wrists and lifts it to his face. Inhales deeply, as if searching for a lost trail. The brush of his nose against my skin feels better than the best sex I’ve had in my life. “Headaches? Nausea? Dizziness?”

I chuckle. “I am not, at the moment, experiencing every single prescription drug’s side effect.” However, my breasts do ache. I writhe against Koen’s chest, and I’m not sure it looks dignified, but it feels sensational. The friction. The low growl in his throat. “Maybe you and I could . . .”

Okay. Fine. This is about sex. Me, and Koen, and sex. I rub my thighs together, because my lower belly feels like a bowstring, pulled tighter and tighter, warmer and warmer, a pool of liquid heat—

Koen mutters something that sounds like shit and spins me around.

My palms meet the counter, on both sides of the sink.

I glance up. See, reflected in what’s left of the mirror, my flushed face and glassy eyes. I try to tilt the curve of my ass against his thighs. If I were taller, I could feel his . . .

“You can . . .” Fuck me. Even as overwhelmingly aroused, as dripping wet as I am, I can’t bring myself to say it. I try again. “We can do whatever you like, I . . .” Will do whatever you ask me to. For you. Don’t you believe it? Try me. Teach me how to deal with all of this.

But Koen commands “Stay still” and does something very weird.

Swipes the hair away from the back of my neck.

Angles my head down an inch or two.

Bends to run the flat of his tongue against the first few vertebrae of my spine.

And I fucking die.

“Oh my God.” The sound I let out is indecent. So outrageously shameless, I have to close my eyes and pretend it wasn’t mine. It’s just– nothing has ever felt as good as being licked by Koen, there. Even if the act was clearly not meant to be seductive. In fact, it was more akin to someone tasting a dish to check if they added the right amount of salt.

And there must be something wrong with the flavor profile. Because he mutters a low, deep, soulful, “Fuck.”

His tone is like a wrecking ball hitting my belly. It jolts me awake, clears my head some, and . . . What the hell am I doing, coming on to Koen like this? Am I out of my mind?

I must be. “Is it happening? Am I dying?”

He exhales a soundless laugh that’s as clear a no as anything.

I turn around in his arms. Find his cheeks dark with blood. “What, then?”

“You’ll be okay,” he promises, breathing nearly as fast as me. “It’s going to pass. Are you in pain?”

I’m far past lying. I look him in the eye and admit, “No, but I’m afraid that if you don’t . . . touch me right now, I’m going to start crying. And if that doesn’t work, I’m going to beg. And if that doesn’t work, I’m going to– to break into a million pieces and beg you some more, and I’ll do anything if– ”

He groans and gathers me. Presses me tight to him for a short, blissful moment. But the heat builds up quickly inside me, and when I start squirming against the hard part of him poking into my stomach, he pulls back and says carefully, “I have to leave, Serena.”

“What?”

“You have no understanding of what’s going on.”

Panic climbs up my throat. “And you do?”

“Yes, killer. I do.” He tries to step around me, but the heat in my belly simmers, and . . . I can’t let him. “I’m not going to hurt you.” His hand is curled around my waist. So close to where I want it. Up a few inches. Down some.

And yet he doesn’t move it. I may be about to tear up. “If you don’t want me, just be honest about it.”

His eyes close. “Serena.” He sounds like he’s in physical pain.

“Because I want to– ”

“This has fuck all to do with wanting. You’re not in the position to decide– ”

“That’s not for you to say, and– ” Whatever clarity broke through earlier, it’s rapidly dissipating. Something warm and syrupy builds up inside my abdomen, making me want to crawl out of my skin. Everything’s too tight. Too empty. “Whatever this is, it’s getting worse. And I dream about you all the time, and– ” I hold his eyes and take his hand to drag it between my legs, certain that if he feels me there, the mess I’ve made of myself, the steady, dripping arousal, then he’ll get it. But my movements are sloppy and uncoordinated.

What the hell am I doing? Am I out of my mind? I can’t make Koen touch me. I don’t want to make anyone touch me.

Except, and I know this with bone-deep certainty, I need someone to touch me.

“I get it. You don’t have to . . . Is there anyone else who could help me with . . .”

It’s a stupid question, and the second I articulate it, I realize that the simple idea of someone else touching me makes me want to tear the flesh off my bones. But going by Koen’s deep, guttural, displeased grunt, he doesn’t know that.

“You’re not going to– fuck it.” He carries me to bed, sits on the edge of the mattress, and pulls me down between his spread legs, facing away from him. Almost in his lap. When I try to grind backward, chasing his erection, he stops me with a hold that immobilizes my arms at my sides. It’s a little like a straitjacket, made of thick muscles and scent. Exactly what I need. I got you, it tells me. I no longer have to control myself, because he’s doing that for me. I have permission to beg and thrash in his arms.

“That,” he growls in my ear, “is not the kind of stunt you pull with an Alpha. Not when you’re on the brink of a Heat.”

“I’m sorry.” I’m on the verge of tears. The guilt is like a thousand needles in my chest. “I wouldn’t. It’s just– ”

“I know.” He kisses the ball of my shoulder, just a brush of his lips. “I’m going to help you. But you need to do as I say. Okay?”

My nod is frenzied. “As long as you touch me. As long as you– ”

He nips the spot he just kissed. A hint of teeth. Warning. “Not how it works, killer. You do what I say, no conditions.”

Sure. Okay. I’m too desperate to put up a fight. There’s nothing inside me– nothing but the need to come. I don’t feel embarrassed when he asks, “When you touch yourself, what do you do?”

“I don’t– not in months.” I had more pressing issues, even though I can’t remember what they were. How was anything ever more deserving of my attention than this? “I’m sorry, I– ”

“Hush. It’s okay.” He licks a spot on the hollow of my throat, sending a live current down my spine. “I said I’m going to help you, didn’t I?”

The help I need involves him bending me over and fucking me into the mattress, so I let out a whiny whimper when he takes my hand, braids our fingers together, and moves them to my lower stomach, where the elastic of my panties sticks to skin.

It feels wrong, that they’re the only thing I’m still wearing, especially when Koen seems hell-bent on not touching me anywhere else.

And then my stomach drops. Because I realize that he’s not going to touch me there, either.

“You’re going to use your fingers,” he instructs slowly, letting go of my hand. His lips are hot against the arch of my ear. “And you’re going to make yourself come.”

“What? But I– ”

His teeth close around the fleshy part of my neck, just this side of too hard.

I yelp. Squirm against his chest. Moan in frustration. Plead wordlessly.

“Tell me, killer.” He nuzzles me. “What makes you think that this is a negotiation?”

“Please, use your fingers. Why don’t you want to– ”

“You need to shut the fuck up about what you think I want. This is a mess, and you’re not in any condition to make any asks. You promised to do what I say.” A kiss on my cheek. “Is this who you are? Someone who breaks her promises?”

I shake my head, feverish, panting.

“Good girl. Fingers,” he orders. “Now.”

I shove my hand down my underwear with no grace. “Oh my God.” It’s just . . . so much. Way too much. “Why am I so wet?”

“It’s normal,” he says. “You’re going to need it.”

“F– for what?”

He exhales against my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Just touch yourself.”

I rub myself clumsily, slipping through my folds. I’ve done this enough times in my life, it should be easy. But it’s like there’s a balloon swelling inside me, and it won’t pop. My hips buck impatiently, and I circle, I rock, I grind, and . . . I nearly burst into tears.

“Slowly,” Koen orders roughly. “Can you go slower?”

I can. God, I can. And it’s already so much better. His scent is suddenly pleased with me, and I revel in it. Let my head fall back against his shoulder.

“Do you need something inside you? To come?”

I shake my head. Not usually. Right now, though, I want it.

“Okay.” He inhales deep, like I smell as good to him as he does to me. “You’re doing so good, killer.”

“Yeah?” I whimper.

“Yeah, baby.” His laughter is soft. Wound up. “I’m trying to come up with a list of things I wouldn’t do just to be allowed to eat your cunt right now, and I can’t think of a single item.”

“Why don’t you, then?” I whine.

“’Cause you’ve never asked me to before. And no, now doesn’t count. Open your legs wider. A little more. Yeah.” The last word is exhaled. A little choked. Like he’s savoring. Adding a file to his visual library. “I have no right to it, but fuck, I just want to see enough to imagine what’s happening.” His tongue runs a broad stroke across a spot on the side of my throat, and a fraction of a second later I’m on the verge of coming.

“W– why does that feel so good?”

“What?”

“When you touch me– there.”

“Where?” He briefly lets go of me. Moves my hair over my shoulder again, baring my back. “Here?” This time, he scrapes his teeth against the skin between my shoulder blades, and my head shatters into a thousand pieces.

I arch like a sail, breathless, speechless. Nod frantically as my fingers speed up under the cotton of my soaked panties, and—

“I didn’t say you could go faster,” he chides with a brief tap of his fingers over the fabric.

I grit my teeth and stop. Resume with slow circles that are somehow too much and not enough. My entire body is glowing.

“These are your glands, Serena. Did no one show you?”

“No.”

“Might be for the best. I’d have to stop what I’m doing and go kill them.” Another graze of his teeth. All my muscles clench, and I’m afraid I’ll pass out. “There are five places in your skin where your scent is stronger and your hormones are thickest.”

“Five?”

“The inside of your wrists.” He brings my left hand to his mouth and nips the area at the base of my palm, making me shudder. “Each side of your throat.” He sucks on the right for far longer than would be necessary for a simple demonstration. By the end, I’m trembling so bad, my fingers can barely stay on my clit. “And then there’s the back of your neck.” Another slow, savoring lick. My eyes roll back in my head.

“’S good,” I slur. “This one’s . . . good.”

The chuff of his laughter makes me even shakier. “This one is special. It’s where I would bite you, Serena. High up, where clothes couldn’t hide it. And then I’d lick my bite every day to remind you.” He sucks on it, and the pleasure is so intense, I have to twist away, overwhelmed. “If you knew the things I think about every time your neck is bare, you’d walk around in a fucking cape.”

“I do– I want to know. Tell me.”

“That would be unwise, killer. In fact, you shouldn’t let me near it at all. Near you.” One last kiss. He covers my back with the curtain of my hair and taps again at my hand– a silent order to continue touching myself.

I’m instantly on the verge of coming. I think I’ll slip over, but something pulls me back.

“What about– ah– what about me?”

“Hmm?”

“Where would I bite you, to show that you’re mine?”

Koen goes still at the question. And then, after processing it for entirely too long, he lets out a soft, explosive curse against my collarbone. “I hate it,” he breathes out.

“What?”

“How perfect you are. I spent the last twenty years hoping that if there was a mate for me out there, I’d never come across them. And then I found you, and, Serena . . . there isn’t one thing I would change about you. Or one single thing I regret about knowing you.”

Suddenly, tears are streaming red-hot down my cheeks. “You haven’t answered me,” I say, quickening the rhythm of my fingers.

Koen’s response is a bittersweet exhale against my cheek. “I think I’d have you bite me right under my jaw. People would glance at it and think that it’s obscene. But they’d immediately know who I belong to.”

His words hitch me higher, and it’s happening. I’m going to come. Koen’s hands are on my waist, palms so large, fingers so long, they easily cover me in warmth from hip to hip– and the hard shift of his muscles against my back– his stubble chafing my neck glands in that delicious soreness– and this unbearable tension that pulls me in all directions—

I stay there, teetering. On the edge of a cliff, in constant equilibrium.

I sob. The harder I grind, the more I ache. “I can’t– Why can’t I come, Koen? Why do I feel so . . .”

“Empty?”

I nod. How does he know?

“Okay, it’s okay. Put your fingers inside.”

“No– not big enough. Your fingers.”

He groans. “Hush. Do as I say, or I’m going to . . . yes. Good. Like that. I know what you need. Come here.” He cranes my neck backward. One of his large hands cups the back of my head, pressing my lips into his skin. “Keep touching yourself and lick the base of my throat.”

I do. Gingerly. And—

He exhales a groan.

I freeze.

Because . . . Oh.

Oh.

“Oh my God,” I moan against his flesh, but it comes out like a mumbled, shapeless noise. I’m starting to get the whole gland thing, because running my tongue over it is like tasting Koen’s scent. The most potent, most perfect narcotic exploding right into my bloodstream.

And I think he likes it, too. He encourages me with low, filthy praises, telling me how beautiful I am, how perfect, what an honor it is for him to be here, with me, how he wouldn’t want it any other way, how he would do unspeakable things to have it again. So I suck, and take more, even as I feel his muscles vibrate and the rope of his scent drawing tighter around me.

“Shit, you smell so good.” He sounds as shaken as I feel. “Fuck the covenant. I want to be so deep in your cunt, you’d be squirming to breathe– ”

That’s what does it– the picture he paints of him, buried inside me. Of a world in which he and I– we– are a possibility. My body clenches, my vision whites out, and the orgasm that follows is so sharp and sudden, I cannot tell the pleasure apart from the pain.

There might not be an after, not following this. And honestly, I don’t mind. I forget everything– my fingers, my pride, my pounding heart– and all I breathe is him.

Koen.

I’m not aware of being laid down on the bed, in his arms, pressed to him. My nerve endings are unresponsive for a while, but once I’m able, I turn around, luxuriating in the feeling of my bare chest against his, skin to skin, nearly close enough to—

The brain haze clears at once. What just happened hits me like a sucker punch. I’m nauseous. Spinning.

I practically forced Koen to—

He’s the Alpha of the Northwest, and he shouldn’t—

He can’t– but I—

“It’s okay.” He kisses my forehead. I try to push away, but his grip is unbreakable. “Serena. It’s fine.”

“But I– ”

“You didn’t.”

“Yes. I– ”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I– ”

“I can read your mind, remember?”

He can’t. He doesn’t. But I feel myself relax against him anyway, too tired to fight. And since we’re already so close, since he doesn’t seem to mind too much, I hike my leg up his hip, uncaring of the sticky cotton between my thighs. My knee meets the scalding length of his cock. For the first time in my life, I fully comprehend the meaning of the word throbbing.

I want to offer him some help with that. But . . . wouldn’t it just make things worse? “I’m sorry,” I say, and I am. I’m sorry for everything.

“That’s okay.” He sighs. Somehow, gathers me even closer. “I’ve never been less sorry about a thing.” Koen kisses me on the forehead. His hold never loosens, and we both fall asleep.