Chapter 27
twenty-seven
brIAR
My lashes float down, following my masked alpha’s command.
Or request, really.
Because the burning entreaty in his gold gaze was far too desperate to signal demand. And he called me moonbeam. Which is somehow the cutest and most devastatingly romantic thing I’ve ever heard.
Dane waits, his burned, built body so still. When I’ve shut my eyes, his purr deepens. Vibrating against my peaked breasts, stimulating the stiff nipples that graze his chest.
My breath catches. His rough palm cups my cheek, a warm touch tracing the curve of my lower lip before I feel him shift, looming closer.
Curiosity gets the best of me. I manage to keep my eyes closed, but my fingers float up to his uncovered jaw, feeling the hard angle. Caressing the short facial hair there.
Dane stills. For a moment, I worry I’ve crossed a line. But then his cock twitches against the inside of my thigh and he rests his forehead on mine.
The big alpha’s scent-mark is slow and deliberate, this time. Unmistakable.
My throat tightens, bittersweet soaking my soul. I want to open my eyes and look at him. I want to shove him away and run from whatever this blossoming connection is. I want to dive into it and let it swallow me.
God, why?
How?
A second later, it doesn’t matter.
Dane’s mouth grazes mine. A slow brush, at first, but then he settles. Pressing firmly. Letting me feel the prickle of his short beard, the soft, dry warmth of his lips. Giving me time to adjust and learn. Just like he did when we had sex.
His fingers tense, pulling me closer. When I gasp, his tongue glides against mine. The slow, slick sensation lights my body up. Nerves sing in my stomach, flutters curling into my squelching core and stretching to my pebbled nipples.
Dane gives a masculine hum over his purr. His approval heats my blood as he delves his tongue deeper, rubbing our lips together in ways that feel illegal. My Omega whines, and I let the sound spill into the alpha’s mouth.
That earns me another rasped groan. Dane’s free hand palms my ass, petting the seam between my thighs. More wetness gathers there, and he snarls, abruptly breaking our kiss.
I keep my eyes shut, but it’s a struggle. Panting, he curses, dropping his forehead to mine with more force. Hot, desperate breaths feather my lips.
“Just do it,” he finally croaks, quietly desolate. “I keep hoping the thought of you seeing my face will get easier. But the more we—it keeps getting worse. So look now. Run now. While I can still keep myself from chasing you.”
My heart twists, sending a scratchy lump to my throat. “Dane—”
I feel him shake his head. “No. Please. Just… fucking look. See what a goddamn mess I am so we can go back to whatever the fuck we were before we—”
Had sex? Slept next to each other? Tried to heal the cracks our touch starvation had carved into us?
God, we really have done all of that, haven’t we? Me and this big man. This beast.
Dane might not be beautiful, but he isn’t a monster like the others, either. Is it really possible that his face will scare me so much I forget that?
He wants to find out. And I suppose he’s right—we need to know now. Before this ache where my heart should be gets any harder to ignore.
Holding my breath, I set my palm on top of his calloused hand. His fingers flex against my scalp when I clutch on to him, needing an anchor. Without another word, I open my eyes.
His face blurs and I blink. When it comes into focus, I feel my empty lungs shudder.
He wasn’t exaggerating. The right side of his face does look completely different.
If his left side is a strong, masculine monument, then the right is a ruin. Craggy and uneven. Pocked and scorched.
A large scar curls up toward his gold eye, stretching along his jaw in a solid, dark-pink arc. The slice of cheekbone above his dark beard is mottled, the skin patchy, outlined by an uneven, raised ripple.
His facial hair is clearly intended to cover the worst of the damage. It papers over a lot of it, I’m sure, but I still see the permanent splotches. Swirls and lines. Patches where they tried to stitch melted flesh back in place or cover it altogether.
Oxygen spins into my chest as I blink a second time, working to absorb his entire face as one. It takes a moment. Like gazing up at a half-moon and retraining your brain to see the side wreathed in shadows as part of the whole.
But I do. And I like it.
He looks tough as hell. And under his scarred skin, his features are still strong. Ruggedly handsome, with a wide, even bone structure.
The sheer size of his bulging jaw and straight nose lend an undeniably attractive air of manliness. I lift my hand from his, carefully resting it on his cheek.
Dane’s body convulses. He exhales hard, a hunted look leaking into his warm irises even as his cock kicks between us.
I back off right away, quickly removing my palm. But he grunts, low and sharp. “No.” I watch his perfectly etched lips form words for the first time. Those bottomless gold-brown eyes spear mine. Burning. “I want it to be you.”
I want it to be you.
My soul cracks open, pain and promises pouring from the darkest parts of me. I drop my chin as my eyes water, but nod, skimming my fingers along his scars as I repeat the two simple words he uttered when I had the same request.
“Come here.”
Dane shudders when I press our lips together, purposefully sinking my gaze into his. He releases a harsh breath, disbelief blooming around his pupils when I trail a kiss up to his scarred cheek… and scent-mark him there.
I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m sure it shows. But Dane’s hands clasp me tighter than ever, as if he’s suddenly afraid I’ll float away. Or dissolve like a mirage.
Still staring steadily, I hunt for words. “If my opinion counts for anything… I like your face better like this.” I add a smirk, hoping to ease the deep grooves bracketing his mouth. “Although the mask is fun in a kinky way.”
My little flirt does the trick. Pure shock replaces the pain on his features. I watch them ripple, mesmerized by how much I can see now that he’s here with me, unmasked, in the daylight.
“Are—” He shakes his head, visibly forcing a stern scowl. “Briar, you don’t have to—”
Quick as a flash, I tackle him onto his back. I only manage it because he’s so distracted, but a surge of victory still thrums through my middle when I land on his center, straddling his bulky body.
His loose, overlong hair tickles my wrists as I plant my hands on either side of his head and bend low, putting us face-to-face. “I know I don’t have to,” I whisper. “I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to, remember? That was the deal?”
Unmistakable lust flares in his richly colored eyes. “Yeah,” he rasps. “It was.”
“Alright, then.” I try to sound tough, but my bones liquefy when he restarts his rusty purr.
The vibration of it presses into my soaked panties, stimulating my slick core.
When I wobble, he makes a soft noise and clasps one hand at my waist, holding me steady.
The other guides my forehead down to rest on his.
I nose at his cheek and he catches my gaze, understanding saturating his. Without saying a word, he clamps his massive hand around my hip and guides my body down. I hear the snap of his waistband before his hot, hard length slaps my backside.
This time is quicker and dirtier. Dane doesn’t even let me take my panties off—he just thumbs them aside and impales me.
All my carnal need from last night floods in, tingles swarming the space between my hips as my pussy melts around his girth.
It barely stings at all—a pleasant sort of soreness that dissipates by the third plunge.
Within seconds, I’m riding him with a ferocity that might be embarrassing…
if the big man weren’t staring up at me like some favored goddess.
“Is it good?” he rumbles. “Do you hurt?”
“It’s—” I break off on a moan. “Dane, harder! Please!”
My internal muscles squelch at the lust burning in his eyes. His lips fall slack, and I can’t resist bending over him for a slow, licking kiss.
“Briar,” he gasps into my mouth, bucking underneath me. “Fuck, little girl. You make me want to wreck this sweet pussy.”
I’m about to dare him to do it, but thick fingers find my aching clit, rubbing it in fast flutters that send me sailing into a climax before I can stop myself.
Dane groans, his head tipping back while he savors the feel of my body clutching his shaft.
The second I finish, he lifts me and comes right between my thighs, painting me with his release.
We both pant for breath as I collapse on top of him. His calloused hands start out rough, clutching me close, but soon smooth into comforting strokes up my back. Without a word, he removes the torn shirt I’m wearing like a vest and cleans between my spread legs, purring for me.
My eyelids start to feel heavy, but a different kind of rumble suddenly joins the one shaking his lungs. I chuckle before I can help myself. “Hey, big man? What’s your favorite breakfast?”
Dane shifts under me. I know he’s still hard, but the rest of him feels looser, somehow. The thick bar of his muscled arm melts along my spine as he brushes my hair over my shoulder.
“Breakfast?” he mutters, distracted by the slight indentation he clocks at the base of my throat. Evidence of Rhys’s belt.
God, what is my life?
I distract myself by sitting up, grinning wider when I note the confusion on my big man’s face. “Your stomach is growling almost as loud as your purr.”
Dane gives one of his quiet smirks, snatching my hand and skimming his nose at the side of my wrist. Nuzzling me? Or trying to get a deeper read of my scent?
“I don’t know,” he replies, and for a second I worry he’s read my mind. Then he says, “A breakfast sandwich, I guess. Extra cheese.”
I thump on his solid, ink-covered shoulder to punctuate my point. “I would have guessed a dozen raw eggs.”
Dane gazes up at me. I know I have carnal appreciation all over my face. He skims his eyes over my exposed breasts, their visibly aroused nipples. The wet spot at the front of my panties. And, I swear, the big man blushes.
“What about you?” he asks, all gruff and adorable. “You should eat something.”
I should also probably find another shirt. And my own room.
Instead I fall onto the mattress beside him with a sigh.
I don’t tell him I’d been reduced to eating toast for most of my meals by the time Cillian swooped in, avoiding my father’s dubious “health shakes.” The food in this house has been a revelation—hot meals, full of different textures and flavors.
Dane watches me fidget with his sheets, biting the corner of my lip. He moves with his usual silent grace, his reach barely detectable until a phone appears in his hand.
It rings through the speaker, and Coggins picks up, sounding positively startled. “Mr. Dane?”
I slap a palm over my snort. Clearly, the butler has never received a phone call from this alpha in his life.
“Yeah,” Dane grumbles, his exposed cheeks darkening. “I need breakfast in my room. French toast, eggs Benedict, Belgian waffles, chocolate chip pancakes, and two of those breakfast sandwiches Mrs. Porter makes me. Tea and coffee, too. Uh. Please.”
Oh God. Oh no.
Is Dane… cute?
“Absolutely, sir. Right away!” their butler crows, genuinely delighted.
Dane catches me covering a grin with the edge of his duvet and rolls his eyes. But now that he’s removed his mask, I see the way his lips quirk as he adds, “Bring two forks.”