His other hand finds my hip. The grip from the clearing — possessive, bruising. My body leans into it when it should be pulling away.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” I say. Rougher than I want it. Lower.
“It doesn’t have to.”
“That’s right. It doesn’t.”
Neither of us believes it. But the heat isn’t interested in truth. The heat is interested in his hand on my hip and his breath on my neck. In the fact that my wolf walked me here in my sleep, and I’m standing in the dark with his arms around me. The decision I made three hours ago is dust.
I made a decision. She didn’t care.
Maybe I don’t either.
“Fine,” I say, exasperated. “Just — get it over with.”
I grab a fistful of his hair and drag his mouth down to mine.
It isn’t a kiss.
It’s teeth. It’s fury. It’s the taste of him flooding my mouth after wanting nothing else. His arms lock around me, and my legs are around his waist before I’ve decided to climb him. The growl he makes against my mouth is the sound from the clearing — deep, possessive, alpha — and my wolf answers it with a cry that isn’t human and isn’t sorry.
I stop fighting it.
Chapter 16
Garrett
Her mouth is on mine, and I stop thinking. Not slowly. A blackout. Everything I am — the alpha, the compound, the Syndicate, the corridor, the guilt — gone. Replaced by the taste of her and the heat of her body climbing mine. The wet slide of her against my cock and the sound she makes into my mouth, rough and desperate and nothing like the controlled woman who held a knife to my skin.
She bites my lip. Hard. Blood. I growl, and the growl vibrates through both of us. She grinds against my shaft, and the slick friction nearly drops me.
I take her down.
On her back in the moss, me on top of her. She pulls me with her — won’t let go of my hair, her legs locked around my waist, her tongue in my mouth. She tastes like the woman from the clearing who bared her neck for my mark. Like fury and want and a wolf who’s been starving.
I pull back. Look at her.
She’s spread beneath me in the moonlight. Dark hair tangled in moss. Gray eyes gone black with blown pupils. Her chest heaving. The flush on her skin runs from her jaw to her navel, and she’s breathing in rough, open-mouthed pants. She looks like she wants to kill me and fuck me in equal measure.
“Don’t just stare at me,” she snarls.
I take her breast in my hand. Not gentle — I’m past gentle. I squeeze, and she arches into my palm and makes a sound she tries to bite back.
No. I want that sound. I want every sound she’s got.
I drop my mouth to her nipple. Teeth first. I bite and pull, and she gasps. Her hands fly to the back of my head and press me closer. Her hips buck up, and the wet streak of her across my abs makes my cock throb hard enough to hurt.
“More,” she pants. “Harder.”
I bite harder. She cries out. Her fingers twist in my hair, and the sting goes straight to my balls. I’m leaking against her thigh before I’ve even gotten inside her.
I kiss down her stomach. Her muscles jump under my mouth. Trembling. Her claws are out. I can see them, extended past her fingertips, raking the moss as her hands fist and open and fist again. The wolf seeping through. Good. The wolf is honest in ways the woman won’t be.
I reach between her thighs.
She’s drenched. My fingers slide through swollen folds, and the heat of her is staggering, slick and molten. She jerks at the contact, her thighs clamping around my hand.
“Oh fuck!” The words punch out of her. She rolls her hips against my fingers, chasing pressure. The sounds she’s making have gone animal. Rough, guttural panting. My cock is pressed flat against my stomach, aching, throbbing in time with her breath.