34. Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Four
Cole
I should have sent her away the moment I caught her watching. Should have maintained the distance that keeps us both safe. But her scent had been filling the gym, sugared lilac and vetiver wrapped around me like stolen promises, and I couldn't stop from speaking. From engaging. From letting her closer than I should. Her scent has been driving me crazy all morning, teasing at the edges of my consciousness as she moved through the penthouse with that damn phone.
If Adrian or Zane were here, I would have escaped to my office, which is what I’ve done every day she’s been here. Adrian thinks it's cowardice. I call it self-preservation. Especially after the shower where she’d been getting herself off and her aroused scent almost drove me into rut.
She affects every fucking cell in my body. My skin prickles with awareness of her presence, every instinct screaming to mark her. Still, the guilt over Lily sits heavy in my chest. That pain will never fade, but when Mira asks so sweetly for help, something in me switches. It’s impossible to deny her. Especially in this.
If she wants to learn how to defend herself, then I’m all fucking for it.
I pull my thoughts from the memory of her crumpled in a ball in that apartment one step from being condemned. If I can give her anything, it will be a mean right hook.
Her chin notches up in defiance at my teasing, and my cock swells. The gesture is pure Mira, that flash of fire beneath her fear that makes me proud. I shift my stance, trying to hide my body's reaction to her presence, grateful for the loose gym shorts. I can’t let her understand how she affects me; how every scent-infused molecule in the air makes my knot throb.
This is such a fucking bad idea. Having her this close is torture. Pure fucking torture.
I deserve every second of it.
The training gloves look ridiculous on her delicate hands, and something possessive stirs in my chest. I shouldn't be teaching her to fight. I should be making sure she never needs to defend herself. I should be hunting down whatever demons haunt her, eliminating any threat to her safety, but I want to see just how perfectly she fits against me here in the scent-laden gym..
She approaches with spitting green eyes, all fear and defiance and omega seduction, and I want to throw her on the mat, rip those rags off her and sink my cock into her willing body.
But that’s the point.
I want her willing . Bare. Screaming.
With Mira, I want it all .
“Show me what you've got,” I growl, gesturing to the bag. The words come out rougher than intended, my voice already wrecked from her proximity. “Let me see your technique.”
She squares up, and fuck, everything about her stance is wrong. Her fist is tucked wrong, her weight poorly distributed, her balance off. One hit like that and she'd break her thumb.
“Stop.” I move behind her, and the moment I'm close enough, her scent hits me as hard as my fist striking the bag. Her sweet scent wraps around notes of arousal that makes my cock throb. I ignore it. “Your technique will get you hurt.” My hands hover over her shoulders, not quite touching. The heat from her body radiates against my palms. “May I?”
She nods, and who am I kidding? I'm lost. Totally, utterly lost.
My hands settle on her shoulders, positioning her body in front of mine. She fits against me exactly like I knew she would, small and perfect and dangerous. I take her wrist and guide her arm. Her perfect backside bounces against my thigh. Every point of contact burns like fire, like redemption, like punishment. Her scent fills my lungs, making my knot pulse painfully. Focus. She needs to learn this. Needs to be able to defend herself. Even if having her this close is pure torture.
“Like this,” I murmur, my voice dropping to a growl. “Keep your thumb outside your fist. Rotate from your hips.”
She throws a few punches, but I can tell her mind isn't on the lesson. I can smell her arousal, sweet and tempting, mixing with my own desperate ache. The combination is intoxicating, making it hard to remember why I shouldn't just spin her around and claim her mouth.
And her cunt.
“Come on, Little Mouse,” I taunt, trying to spark that fire I glimpse in her. “Hit like you mean it. Like it's someone you hate.”
She whirls around, eyes flashing with something darker than anger. “This is stupid.” She starts to walk away, and something in me panics. I don’t want her to leave even when I’ve taunted her into it .
“What happens if you're attacked and you can’t fight back?” The words burst out before I can stop them, rough with concern and need. “What then?”
She stops, tension visible in every line of her body. The fear in her scent spikes, telling me I've hit a nerve. “I'm not going to be attacked by a punching bag,” she snaps. “This is useless.”
“Hit me then,” I say, and her eyes widen. She takes a step back, but I catch the thickening of her scent. Interest stirs in my chest at her reaction, which is fear and desire and determination all mixed together.
“You're right,” I continue, moving into her space. Her sweet scent floods my senses, making my head spin. “If you're attacked, it won't be by a punching bag. So hit me. Experience what it's like to connect with something that fights back.” I tap my shoulder, forcing myself to focus on the lesson rather than how badly I want to pull her against me. “Right here, Little Mouse. Show me what you've got.”
She hesitates, and I can't help pushing. I want that fire that lives beneath her fear. “Unless you're scared? Unless you really are a Little Mouse?” The taunt hits its mark. Her eyes flash, her scent sharpens with anger. Good. Anger is better than fear. Anger might keep her alive.
The glove lightly touches my shoulder, hardly strong enough to deter anyone intent on causing her harm. The idea of someone attacking her and her being so defenseless ignites my alpha instincts. Images of her running, hiding, fighting for her life flood my mind, making my protective instincts surge.
“Better,” I growl, “but you're just using your arm. Put your whole body into it. Step forward, let your weight drive the punch.” I demonstrate the movement slowly, hyper aware of how her eyes track my body. “Like this. Use your smaller size to your advantage. Momentum matters more than bulk.”
She hesitates again, and fuck, I shouldn't love that defiance in her eyes. Shouldn't want to push until she breaks through her own restraint. Shouldn't be this turned on by teaching her to fight. But every flash of spirit, every hint of the strength she possesses, makes my cock throb harder .
“Come on, Little Mouse. Hit me like you mean it. Like I'm whatever you're running from.”
Something dark flashes across her face, and this time when she punches, I feel it. The force, the fury, the fear behind it. All her pent-up emotion channeled into one strike. My alpha rejoices even as my cock hardens further. Her scent spikes with a combination of triumph and arousal that makes my knot pulse.
That's my girl.
She throws another punch, then another. Each one stronger than the last. I let her work it out, recognizing the thirst to expel whatever demons drive her. Her scent shifts, anger threading through fear, determination through pain. The sugared lilac turns brittle and sour.
Then something snaps.
The change is instant. Her face contorts with fury and desperation as she launches punch after punch. No technique, no control, just raw emotion pouring out of her small frame. Tears start streaming down her face, but she doesn't stop. Her scent turns acrid. She’s lost in her head with memories I can't see but I can smell them in her terror.
The scream that tears from her throat shreds my heart. It's not just pained. Not just angry. It’s agonized . She's sobbing now, still throwing punches, lost in whatever horror plays behind her eyes. The sound will haunt my dreams.
“Mira,” I try to catch her hands, but she's beyond hearing. “Sweetness, stop. You'll hurt yourself.” The endearment slips out without permission, but she's too far gone to notice. Too lost in whatever nightmare has claimed her.
She's going to damage her hands, even with the gloves. Going to break against me like she's trying to break whatever haunts her. My alpha howls to fix whatever's broken inside her. I do the only thing I can think of, the one thing I've been fighting not to do since she walked into the gym. I catch her face between my hands and crush my mouth to hers.
Her taste explodes across my tongue, salt from tears, sweetness from her essence, and something uniquely Mira that makes me roar. God help me, but I can't let her go. Not now. Not when she's breaking apart in my arms. Not when she tastes like everything I've been denying.
Not when she feels like coming home.
I kiss her as an intervention. A desperate, necessary way to break through her spiral, but then she makes this small sound against my mouth, something between a whimper and surrender, and everything shifts. Her body melts into mine, hands still trapped between us in those ridiculous gloves. The taste of her tears mingles with omega sweetness as her lips part beneath mine, and fuck, she's perfect.
My hands slide from her face to her neck, her pulse racing under my thumbs. The trust in that simple exposure of her throat makes my alpha howl. She's so fucking responsive, every touch drawing new sounds from her throat, each one more addictive than the last.
I should stop. Should pull back. Should maintain the distance that keeps us both safe, but she rises on her tiptoes, pressing her perfect breasts against my chest and my control shatters.
I don’t know if I’m kissing her to drive out her demons or mine. All I know is I can’t get enough of her. One taste is all it’s taken to drive away any semblance of the control I’ve fought to keep, as though it never existed.
My tongue traces her bottom lip, and she opens for me beautifully, eagerly. The first real taste of her makes my cock throb painfully, my knot swelling so hard I think the skin on my dick is going to split. Her small hands press against my bare chest, and even through the gloves, her touch burns. Marks me. Claims me in ways I shouldn't allow but fuck it, she’s mine. Sweet venom floods my mouth and I’m gone.
Mine .
Mine.
I walk her backward until she hits the wall, caging her with my body. She’s so fucking perfect, small but strong, soft but fierce. When I nip her bottom lip, she mewls, the sound going straight to my groin. Her slick scent spikes sharply, making my mouth water with the need to taste her everywhere. To map every inch of her skin with my tongue, to learn what other sounds I can draw from her throat.
“Sweetness,” I growl against her mouth, and she shivers. The way she responds to my voice, to my touch, makes my alpha preen with satisfaction. “You have no idea what you do to me.” My hands span her waist, fitting perfectly in my grip.
“I need...” She whimpers against my mouth, and the sound nearly breaks me. Her gloved hands clutch at my shoulders, desperate for anchor.
“Take it,” I growl, nipping at her bottom lip. “Take everything. I'll give it all to you. Everything .” My gloved hands slide to her thighs and, hell on earth, I want to rip off the offending leather, slide my palms along her thighs, but there’s no time. “Wrap your legs around me.”
When I lift her, the heat of her core presses against my cock, and fuck, it's exquisite torture. Her small body clings to mine like she was made for this, made for me.
“Use me. Take what you need.” The words come out darker than intended, rough with promise.
My hips pin her in place and as I grind against her, her head falls back with a gasp that exposes her throat. The scent of her slick soaks through her jeans, making my mouth water, my knot pulse. Her arousal is complex, sweet omega essence layered with desperate longing. Something that calls to my alpha on a cellular level. Something that makes me forget everything except pleasuring this omega.
My scent-matched omega mate.
I’m a fucking idiot.
Finding the perfect angle, I press my cock hard against her core, using my abdomen to create the right pressure. The friction draws the most beautiful sound from her throat, half moan, half sob. Her legs tighten around my waist, pulling me closer, seeking more.
Her mouth falls open, eyes glassy with approaching pleasure. Lost in sensation, in the rhythm I create between us. Her scent spikes sharper, sweeter. She's close. So fucking close. The way she moves against me, chasing her pleasure, makes me want to tear these clothes away and bury myself inside her.
“That's it, Omega,” I growl against her throat, her pulse racing under my lips. “Let go for me. Show me how good this is for you.”
Her hands clutch harder at my shoulders. She's so responsive, so perfect, so fucking beautiful as she comes apart in my arms. Her body goes rigid before she melts against me. She pants against my throat, eyes closed, completely lost in her pleasure. I love watching her like this, all surrender and trust, her body boneless in my arms. My cock still throbs painfully, knot aching, but I don't care.
This is worth any discomfort. The way she fits against me, the perfect weight of her in my arms, the trust she's showing breaks down every wall I've built.
I've been such a fucking fool, thinking I could maintain any defense against her. One taste and I'm lost. One moment of her surrender and I'll never be able to let her go. My alpha recognizes what my human side has been fighting… she's ours . Has been since we found her. Will be until I draw my last breath.
This is everything. I want to keep her, protect her.
Love her.
I want forever with this omega.
Slowly, awareness returns to her face. I smile, unable to help myself. “So good, Sweetness. You did so well.” The words come out tender, possessive, full of promises I vow to keep.
I don’t expect the horror that floods her features as awareness returns to her expression. Her scent turns sharp. She struggles in my grip, and I let her down, immediately missing her warmth the moment she's gone.
Her hand presses against her abdomen, a flash of pain crossing her face before she masks it. Her eyes swim with unshed tears. “I'm so sorry, Cole.”
Before I can respond, before I can tell her how perfect she is, how much I need her, how fucking sorry I am that I treated her with anything less than she deserves, she runs from the gym .
The scent of her distress lingers, mixing with the remnants of her pleasure. Everything in me screams to chase her, to gather her close, to never let her go again.
What just happened?
And how do I fix this when I've only just realized I can't live without her? That flash of pain was something beyond emotional distress, beyond regret. She needs me how she’s always needed me and I was too stubborn to see it.
I’m an idiot, treating Mira as though she’s anything less than perfection. I always see things too late, and this is the biggest mistake of my life.
Mira doesn't take away what happened to Lily. She never will and I should never have expected her to. Adrian and Zane are going to have a field day with me, and I’ll take it because I deserve everything they’re going to throw at me. Mira is too special for any of my crap, not only because she’s our gods-damned scent-matched mate, but because she only deserves the best. Something I haven’t shown her.
Something I need to rectify.