Chapter 22
Aspen
The drive home was all adrenaline and hot-wired nerves.
I gripped Papa’s hand the entire way, my body still vibrating from the dinner at Pearl’s and the way I’d gone nuclear on his mother.
Part of me was mortified; part of me wanted to strut down Main Street with a flag that read Suck It, Mrs. Rice.
The mate bond buzzed like a live wire, equal parts pride and the simmering aftershock of rage, and it made my skin so sensitive I could hardly sit still in my seat.
I kept glancing over at Papa, searching his face for cracks.
He played it stoic, all squared jaw and straight-ahead stare, but I could see the lines around his mouth, the way his knuckles whitened on the wheel.
Every time we hit a dip in the road, the headlights would slice across his scars—the ridged one that creased his brow, the fainter silver slash along his cheek—and I’d catch his mother’s words echoing in my head.
The only things my son truly had to offer were a very hefty trust fund and bank account.
It was an incredibly cruel thing to say, and now I burned to undo whatever damage she’d done.
When we pulled up the drive, Oscar wriggled in my bag, still in his smart daywear, and whispered, “I’d call that a successful mission, Miss.
But perhaps the sir could use a… tonic?” He eyed Papa with concern, and I wanted to scoop both of them up and force-feed them honey and warm bread until everything felt better.
I didn’t get the sense that he was upset with me for what I’d said.
His love and appreciation poured down our bond.
But the evening had taken its toll; opened old wounds, and that was something I could not abide.
Inside, the house was dark but warm. Papa flicked on the lamp in the entry, threw his keys on the table, and let out a long, careful breath.
I peeled off my coat and boots and waited for him to say something, but he didn’t, just went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water.
The silence was new; not the easy, shared silence we’d built, but a heavy, lopsided one.
He turned his back as he drank, shoulders hunched.
I padded in after him, crossing the kitchen tiles on quiet feet covered in tights, and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind. I pressed my cheek between his shoulder blades and held on.
He set down the glass as he turned towards me, blanketing me in his arms.
I leaned my head back and looked at his face.
“Hey, you know that everything she said tonight was the expression of a woman who is so out of touch with her own son, she resorted to being cruel, right? Maybe she’s held resentment toward you because you rejected the family business.
Or, it’s possible she’s a haint who simply puts too much stock in a person’s physical beauty.
Which, by the way, she’s missed yours by a mile.
” I told him as I stood on tiptoes and gave him a small kiss.
I continued. “Nothing she said tonight matters diddly squat to me, my love. I don’t care about her or what she thinks.
She seemed bitter and unhappy. I actually pity people like her.
Look at you. You’ve been directly to hell and back, and all I’ve ever heard people say about you is what a calming spirit you have.
You bring peace to people’s chaos. And there she sat, a woman who has everything, and she couldn’t even be happy for her son who has found a mate who adores him?
No, she’d rather try to do a gotcha and mention your trust fund, like I’m a gold digger. ”
He let out a low laugh, the kind that made my ribcage vibrate. “I know, Sunshine. I just… It’s been years since I’ve seen her like that. I thought maybe if I brought you, it’d be different.”
“I’m glad you brought me,” I said, tightening my grip. “I wouldn’t change a thing. You know, I’m just glad my magic didn’t kick in. She might have walked out of Pearl’s with donkey ears, cuz she certainly acted like a jackass.”
He let out a big laugh and squeezed me tight. “Oh, Sunshine. You have a way of reminding me how good my life is. I’m so thankful to the Creator that he sent you to me.”
“I love you, scars and all. Especially the scars.”
He looked down at me. The light caught the furrow between his brows, and I wanted to smooth it with my thumb. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
I smiled. “I’d show you, but Oscar is watching.”
Oscar made a very dignified sound of retreat and poofed out of sight, leaving us alone.
“And for what it’s worth, I don’t think she really meant the mean things she said. I can’t believe a mother would want to hurt her child like that.” I was still trying to figure out how that was possible.
He huffed out another small laugh. “My father has needed to spank her ass and get her in line for years. That way, she wouldn’t feel so out of control. I think that would solve most of her issues, and she wouldn’t crush her son’s spirit the way she does.”
“This is something that works for wolves?” I asked, surprised and somehow tingly all over, remembering him giving me a taste of the flogger on my skin.
His smile was sly. “It works for more than just wolves, Sunshine. But yes, alpha wolves especially. Bronc isn’t the only alpha in our pack, but he is the Alpha of our pack.
All the officers of the pack and MC are alphas in our own right.
We choose to yield to Bronc. He has the right to discipline us if we step out of line.
It keeps our pack strong. We choose to submit to him because we honor the dynamic.
It’s the way our homes run as well. Wolves know this, and I haven’t talked to you about this, but it’s how I’d like our home to run as well.
When you called me Alpha last night, it filled my heart with pride. ”
I’d never considered myself particularly feminist in my beliefs. I didn’t like labels such as that. I always just wanted to be respected and treated equally as a man would be in business. But when I’d called him Alpha last night, I’d meant it.
“I’d never thought about it, but I like the idea of a mate who respects, cherishes, and only wants what’s best for me.
Everything else flows from there, I think.
And I trust you to provide what I need. I can feel your love through our bond, so I have no reason to fear.
But now I want to erase any bad feelings that may linger from what happened at dinner. ”
I took his hand and led him, slow and deliberate, down the hallway through our bedroom to the en suite bath.
The tile was chilly on my feet, but I didn’t care.
I flicked on the vanity lights—soft, gold, forgiving—and turned the shower and let the water warm.
The steam started to fog up the mirror almost instantly.
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, but there was no menace in it.
He just looked tired, not physically, but soul-deep.
I stepped up to him and, with gentle hands, started to undo the buttons on his shirt.
Each one came loose with a soft pop, my fingers brushing the skin beneath.
The scars ran in thick and thin lines across his chest, his shoulders, his stomach.
They looked brutal up close, old wounds, faded to white, but I found them beautiful, each one a story written in flesh and covered in tattoos.
He flinched when my fingertips traced a particularly gnarly one under his collarbone.
“I hate that one,” he admitted, voice soft.
I reached up and kissed it, slow and unhurried. “I love it. It means you survived.”
He shuddered, but let me keep going.
I worked the shirt off his arms and tossed it to the hamper.
Then I moved to his belt, unbuckled it, and eased his jeans down, careful of the zipper over the uneven scar on his hip.
He watched me the whole time, eyes never leaving my face, like he was waiting for me to show revulsion or even pity. I gave him neither.
When I reached his boxers, I hesitated—not because I was shy, but because I wanted him to see that every part of him was precious to me.
I peeled them down, knelt on the cold tile, and wrapped my arms around his thighs, cheek pressed against the gentle swell of muscle.
His hands went to my hair, fingers stroking my scalp.
I looked up at him. “You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen.”
He made a noise in his throat, but didn’t argue.
I stood, cupped his face in both hands, and kissed him, long and slow. He tasted like salt and heat and the faint tang of beer. When I pulled away, his eyes were damp, just a little.
“Now,” I said, “get in the shower, and let me take care of you.”
He stepped into the steam, his giant frame nearly filling the space, and held the glass door open for me.
I stripped out of my dress and stepped in; the heat prickling my skin.
The water ran in rivulets over his scars, highlighting every contour.
I took a washcloth, lathered it with soap, and started at his shoulders, scrubbing gently.
I worked my way down, pausing at every scar to press a kiss or run my tongue along its length.
He didn’t say a word, just let his head tip back, eyes closed.
When I reached his lower stomach, I knelt again, letting the water cascade over my head and down my back. His cock was already hard, thick and beautiful, resting against his stomach. I looked up at him, seeking permission.
He nodded, so I took him in my mouth, slow at first, savoring the feel of him.
The water made everything slick and warm.
He groaned, hands bracing on the tile above my head, hips rocking forward.
I sucked him deeper, letting my tongue trace the vein that ran along the underside, one hand cupping his balls, the other gripping the back of his thigh.
He tasted like skin and salt, and I wanted to memorize every inch.
His voice was rough. “Sunshine, you don’t have to—”