“Due anytime now,” Dante said.
“She going to make it?” he asked. The mother of Finn’s first child, the result of a hookup and failed birth control, had died when baby Oscar was born. Her cause of death had been a mystery—the Others or due to the abnormal pregnancy. If it was the latter, there was reason to worry about Jessa’s life.
Dante shrugged. “Sure as hell hope so. Finn’s losing his shit as it is.”
Olivia yawned, drawing his attention. She was worn out—she had every right to be. She was facing the biggest change of her life. Throw in new scents, new sensations, new threats—her nerves had to be shot. Him acting like a moody asshole wasn’t helping.
If he were the sort of guy that apologized for being a dick, this would be the time.
“You look tired.” Dante led them to the waiting plane. “It takes a couple of hours to get to the Montana refuge. You can sleep.”
The plane’s interior was chrome and leather, soft lighting, every modern convenience. The exact opposite of where he’d spent the last three months. Now the hiss of the air, the thrum of the plane beneath his feet, the shift in the air, plucked at his senses. He’d rather shift—trek through the woods and let his neglected senses take over for a while. He gritted his teeth, the space closing in on him.
Olivia’s presence grounded him. She looked as dazed and lost as he felt, but the slight smile she shot him, soft and trembling, made him wonder why he was fighting this. Not just her, but his wolf.
When they landed, he’d run until his wolf collapsed.
...
Olivia sat on the edge of a long sofa. Her fingers plucked the edge of the cushion, tracing the seam of the buttery leather fabric. It smelled clean. Not clean like the fresh night air or the towering pines. But sterilized. As the door of the cabin closed the air seemed to thicken, weighing her down—making her clammy.
“There’s a bedroom,” Dante offered. “Or a bathroom, if you want a shower?”
A shower. On a plane. Because Finn was rich. And, apparently, rich people had showers on their airplanes. She glanced at Mal, her mind flooded with images of him naked, covered in soap suds, and glorious.
Clear her head, that’s what she needed to do. Focus on drowning out the white noise so she could sift through the emotional minefield in her head.
After being alone with Mal for so long, the confined space and extra bodies pressed in on her until she almost missed the snow, the dilapidated cabin, and the endless trees she’d found comfort in. She should focus on that—the quiet black night of the forest. Not the mad beat of her pulse reverberating through her spine and neck, making her head throb. She blinked, pressing a hand to her temple. She was vaguely aware of Dante and Mal talking, of Gentry’s southern drawl over the intercom, but to her it was white noise. A deafening, whirring buzz that challenged her focus.
“Here.” Mal’s offer of a glass of water startled her but she took the glass and nodded her thanks. He sat by her, his hand wrapping around hers and soothing the fight rising within her. “Olivia.” His voice was low. “Look at me.”
She blinked and frowned and stared at the ceiling, but eventually she had to look at him. He was too beautiful. Light brown eyes burned into hers. His jaw locked, lips pressed flat—as if he was holding something back. Everything about him was restrained.
“We’ll talk when we get there,” he said to Dante, pulling her to her feet. “Right now, might be best if we got some sleep.”
It didn’t take long for them to find the bedroom. But once inside the lavish room, she stared in astonishment. No more chains or dark basements, bloody snow or truck-stop showers. It seemed ridiculous they were here. How had she ended up with strangers who were werewolves, headed toward some wolf refuge owned by the billionaire with a fancy plane. Who happened to be the Alpha of the pack. Their werewolf pack.
Her lungs emptied, each fingertip going tingly, while cold sweat ran down her spine. All of this was wrong and completely illogical. But the voice in her head—her wolf—didn’t want her to worry. Her wolf? The door shut behind her, but she didn’t turn to face Mal. How could she? She was on the verge of an emotional implosion.
His hands landed on her shoulders, causing a full body shiver. “Sleep?” The word brushed her ear.
Sleep? She shook her head, too worked up to think about sleep. Her brain was too busy short-circuiting to sleep. She’d rather fight, argue, anything to let out some of her unexplained aggression. “Stop trying to control me, Mal.”
“Olivia.” He turned her, tilted her head back. His gaze searched her face, a furrow forming between his thick brows. “You—”
“I frustrate you, I know. I’m a nuisance. I’m spiraling out of control, and you don’t know what to do with me,” she whispered, watching the play of emotions on his face. “Honestly, I don’t know what to do with me, either.”
“You amaze me,” he finished. His hand cupped her cheek. There was warmth in his gaze, a heavy, delicious warmth that erased the jagged edges from her hurt and temper.
Her heart thumped. He cared about her, she knew it. Her wolf, vague and unfocused as the voice was, knew it, too. Things seemed to click into place. “But you’re going to leave me with him—with Finn—aren’t you?” she asked. That was why she was afraid. That was what was wrong. She couldn’t do this without him.
He frowned. “I’m going to do what’s best for you.” His hands slid down her shoulders and released her.
She shivered. “That’s not an answer,” she whispered, her gaze falling to his lips. It was the only answer she was going to get.
He steered her to the bed. “We’ll talk later. Now, sleep.” He yawned and kicked off his boots. She watched him stretch, immediately distracted by the angles and edges of his torso. Was it normal to have so many abs, or was that a werewolf thing?
He dropped his pants and sat, naked, to pat the bed beside him.
She stared. He was naked. He was totally naked. And this was the first time they’d been alone without the fear of being ambushed or mauled. She could stare at him, set aside her frustration, for the few hours they had together before landing. This was their time, a time to get acquainted without the rest of the world pressing in on them. Looking at him was easy, but the looking turned to wanting and difficulty breathing and hot, aching hunger—
“Olivia.” There was a hint of warning in his voice. A hint. “Sleep.”
“Like actual sleep?” She sounded like a disappointed child. “But you’re naked,” she mumbled.
He grinned. “It’s how I sleep.”
Fine. “Then that’s how I sleep, too.”
His eyes narrowed, the muscle in his jaw clenching tight. He wasn’t stopping her.
Hands trembling, she tugged her hoodie over her head and dropped it on the floor. She kicked off her boots, avoiding his gaze when one of them stuck, almost tripping her. The sweatpants were loose—tugging the knot free made shimmying out of them easy. The white Truckers Do It on The Road T-shirt was long enough to cover her, but they both knew she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
His hands fisted in the comforter.
She’d reached for the hem when his hands tugged her close between his legs. The heat of his muscular thighs against her bare skin was glorious. She closed her eyes, hands braced on his shoulders.
“You’re going to make me do something I’ll regret.” The anguish in his voice drew her attention. He was sad, so sad.
“Mal?” She cupped his face, resting her forehead against his. “No regrets.” It was hard to say the words out loud, but she had no choice. “Distract me. Make me feel good, alive. Please. My body is hungry for you—”
He moved swiftly, his big hand tangling in her hair and pulling her down to him. His lips were brutal and desperate as they sealed with hers. And she loved it. Her mouth parted, and she was stunned by the shock of lust that wrapped around her. His tongue against hers. His other hand sliding up, stroking behind her knees, lightly caressing up her thighs.
He growled, rolling them and tugging her beneath him.
Breathe. Her lungs ached. Never in her life had she been so consumed with sensation. And it was oh-so-good. His back under her hands, muscles and heat. His lips devoured hers, moving on to her neck, soft, hungry, relentless. Mal’s scent was the ultimate aphrodisiac. Breathing him in made her body throb and ache in the best way possible. His chest pressed against hers. Her shirt was in the way—she wanted his skin again her, wanted no space between them.
He must have been thinking the same thing. Her shirt was across the floor in seconds. Mal sat back, staring down at her, wild-eyed and breathless. He groaned, his hands running down her sides, along her hips, and back up her stomach. One hand cupped her breast, stroking over the skin, plucking the tip gently as his gaze locked with hers.
She arched into his touch, unable to sever the hold he had on her. In his eyes was truth. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.
She thought he said, “Mirrors,” before rolling away from her.
He didn’t go far.
The exquisite stroke of his tongue against her knee had her moaning in earnest. His hands parted her legs as he kissed and licked the bend in her knees and up the soft skin of her inner thighs.
Her hands fisted in the blanket, waiting—hoping—uncertain. But then his fingers brushed through the fine thatch of hair between her legs, parting her sensitive flesh to stroke the most intimate part of her body. She was throbbing, aching. And his touch was divine.
He growled, his finger stroking against the tight nub again and again.
Her body bowed, responding without thought to his caress. When his finger slid inside her, she moaned again. This was Mal, joined with her physically—even in such a small way. On the inside, in her heart and mind, she’d accepted he was a part of her. An essential part. One she would fight to hold on to—no matter how hard he resisted.
Chapter Eleven
Watching Olivia writhe beneath him was hot as hell. Her nipples jutted up, begging for his mouth. He gave her what she wanted, what he wanted. He ran his nose along the swell of her full breast, his tongue teasing the puckered tips until she was gasping. She was so beautiful, so abandoned. Her lips parted, her ragged breath filling the room as he sucked her nipple into his mouth. She tasted so damn good. He took his time, learning what made her whimper—what pleased her most.
All the while, his finger was buried inside of her. Where he belonged.
His wolf was pacing, crazed with the need to claim her. She wanted this, the wolf insisted. She wanted to be his mate.
Mal kissed his way down her side, sucking hard enough to leave a mark on her creamy skin. His wolf would have to be satisfied with marking her skin. He went lower, tracing the arch of her hipbone, nuzzling the juncture of hip and thigh and easing her legs wide. Seeing Olivia so hungry for him, so exposed, almost shook his resistance. He wouldn’t bury himself inside her, wouldn’t please the wolf, no matter how much he ached for it. Instead, he slid another finger inside of her. She clenched around him, the breath powering out her chest and leaving him trembling. His dick so hard he knew he’d be hurting if he didn’t find some release.
His mouth latched on to her upper thigh, his teeth grazing the skin. When she reached down, her hands tangling in his hair, he smiled. She might not know what she was asking for, but he did.
His tongue skimmed over the tight bundle of nerves, driving her crazy. So good, like honey, pure honey. He wanted more. Every time he sank his fingers into her, his dick throbbed. She was tight and wet and ready for him. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t leave her—touching her was all that mattered.
She is ours.
He tried to shut the wolf out, to lose himself in the taste and feel of Olivia. But the knowledge that no one else had touched her this way was powerful. A surge of possessiveness gripped him, shaking him to the core. No one but him. Ever.
Not yet. He’d promised himself she would never be their mate. He couldn’t allow it. She deserved better.
Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling his head closer.
He worshipped her, frantic to claim her in some small way. His tongue worked her over, pulling moans from the back of her throat. His fingers, tightly enveloped within her, stroked deep—drawing little gasps of pleasure. It was his mouth that made her fall apart beneath him. Nipping and sucking her clit, his tongue drinking in the taste of her as her body clenched and shook with the strength of her release. She grew soft and limp, her hands sliding from his hair.
Laying between her legs, his cheek resting on her thigh, it was hard to ignore his rock-hard dick and raging hunger. He ran his fingers over her, watched as her body clenched. The urge to bury himself deep, to finish what he started, wasn’t easing. Better to remove himself from the situation than lose his control.
She wrapped her legs around his waist. He growled, his hands on either side of her face, holding himself above her. So close—so fucking close he could feel her heat.
Olivia smiled at him. “Wow.” She was all smiles. “Really. Wow.”
All he could do was grunt as he tried like hell not to think about arching into her.
Her smile faded. “Are you mad?” she whispered.
He wasn’t sure how to answer that. Staring down at her, all flushed and rosy and shuddering with aftershocks, wasn’t helping. God, he wanted her. No, he wasn’t mad. But admitting he was horny as hell, on the verge of losing it all over her stomach, probably wasn’t a good idea. She was too caught up in her orgasm to realize what she did to him. For him, right now, she was all silk curves and smiling invitation. An invitation he couldn’t accept. His, “No,” was a snarl.
“No?” she echoed, her fingertips running down his sides.
Goddammit. Her touch sent a shudder down his spine, causing him to jerk away from her—pressing his painful hard-on against her thigh. She froze, her eyes going round as her gaze traveled across his chest and down his stomach to examine his erection. When her gaze met his, her breathing was unsteady.
The unexpected feel of her fingers stroking him was heavenly torture. He pressed his eyes shut and groaned, arms stiffening, braced over her, too stunned to move. Not that he wanted to move. Hell no. This could work—this was what he needed. Her fingers closed around his shaft, sliding up, tracing the sensitive tip, and gliding down again. Arching into her hand was the natural thing. She understood, her grip tightening ever so slightly as she slid from root to tip, over and over. Her lips fastened onto his chest, her tongue stroked his nipple, and all the while her hand was leading him to surrender. His breathing grew frenzied, his thrust matching the rhythm of her stroke. His eyes popped open, boring into hers while her hand kept working.
“Mal,” she whispered. Her cheeks flushed pink, her red tongue darting out to lick her lower lip.
He came hard and fast—lost and found in a way he knew he’d pay for later. His blood roared, pure pleasure shooting through his veins and holding him rigid in her grip. It went on and on, draining him of his tension and anger. The calm that followed was unexpected.
She was smiling, looking far too pleased with herself. Her hand hovered over her abdomen, one finger tracking through the evidence of his release across her belly. All he could do was stare, his erection returning with a vengeance. She was incredible. Sexy, eager, generous—his.
“I do this to you?” she asked.
He nodded, once.
“You don’t like it?” she asked, her brows arching high.
He nodded again, smoothing a curl from her forehead. Like wasn’t the right word. Terrified worked.
She frowned. “Is this a normal human thing? Or is the craving a wolf thing?”
“I don’t know.” He was still a little breathless. But her question made him panic.
Her nose wrinkled. “Oh.”
Relief washed over him, and his wolf. Because he was a stupid ass. “I’ll be back,” he grumbled, pushing off the bed and crossing to the bathroom.
He f
ound a washcloth and ran it under warm water, then returned. She lay in the middle of the bed, eyes closed, arms stretched over her head, legs parted. Pure sensual abandonment, and one helluva temptation. He glanced down at his cock rising to attention, and sighed.
“Mal,” she said, far too eager. “I-I don’t need mirrors.”
He sat on the side of the bed, wiping off the smooth plane of her stomach and all evidence of his weakness. “You need sleep,” he murmured. He carried the washcloth back into the bathroom and rinsed it in the sink, avoiding his own reflection in the mirror. How could he stay mad at Finn for breaking his word to them when he couldn’t even follow through on a promise he’d made to himself? He rubbed a hand across his face, instantly distracted by the lingering scent of Olivia on his fingers.
Her scent.
He turned, staring into the bedroom. Olivia was already asleep, curled onto her side. And even though he knew there were things to discuss, this was where he wanted to be. He slid between the sheets and fitted her tight against him. She stretched slightly, her back arching against his chest, the delectable curve of her ass tilting toward his more than willing erection. He buried his nose in her hair, pressed his hand against her belly, and let himself imagine what it would be like to have Olivia as mate.
...
Olivia didn’t want to wake up. She was warm and relaxed, Mal’s breath stirring the air above her ear. He was sound asleep, his body twitching occasionally. How long had it been since he’d slept? Her nightmare situation had lasted no time at all compared to the three months he’d spent in that place.
She closed her eyes, relishing the calm.
It was time to wrap her head around what was about to happen. Meeting Finn and the rest of the pack would change everything. Again. As much as she wanted to believe Mal wouldn’t leave her—especially now that they’d shared whatever this was—her stomach churned all the same. And instead of pushing the issue and getting a direct answer, she’d let this happen. And, oh my goodness, had she happened. She sighed, a full-body shudder reminding her of the pure bliss Mal had introduced her to.
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