Chapter Six
The Problem With Waiting
Daniel
I have never hated my own restraint more than I do tonight.
Which is impressive, considering restraint has been ruining my life since the moment I walked into Sweetique Bakery and found Holly Black covered in flour, glaring at me like a tiny, furious goddess of carbohydrates.
Now she’s naked in the grass beside me, warm from our run, smelling like moonlight, sugar, wolf, and need. And I’m trying to be noble.
Nobility is bullshit. My wolf agrees.
He paces beneath my skin, restless and irritated, occasionally throwing mental furniture around because I stopped when Holly got scared. Not because he disagrees with stopping. My wolf wants her safe. Wants her whole. Wants her choosing us with every breath.
He also wants to lick every inch of her and bite anyone who has ever made her flinch. We are all managing complex feelings tonight.
Holly’s head rests against my chest, her hair spread over my skin, her fingers tracing lazy nonsense patterns over my ribs. Every touch is light. Almost absent. Like she does not realize she’s carving herself into me one small stroke at a time.
I stare up at the moon and pray for strength. The moon does not answer. Probably because it’s too busy laughing.
“For the record,” Holly murmurs, “I’m still emotionally processing the sneeze.”
I close my eyes. “It was pollen.”
“It was precious.”
“It was not precious.”
“You made a tiny sound.”
“I’m a wolf. A big, ferocious beast.”
“You’re a very large wolf who sneezed like a kitten.”
I lift my head and glare down at her. “You’re incredibly rude for a woman using me as a mattress.”
She smiles against my chest, and my heart does something disgusting.
I’m not built for this. For softness. For lying under the moon with a woman who can make me want to laugh and groan in the same breath. Want has always been simple before. Physical. Brief. Easy to walk away from.
Holly is none of those things.
She’s complicated in the way a locked door is complicated when you know there’s something precious on the other side. She’s sharp edges and warm hands. Fear and courage. Sarcasm and sugar. A survivor who insists she’s fine while carrying a wound deep enough to bleed through every joke.
And for some reason I still don’t understand, she’s here with me. Not claimed. Not bound. Just here. Choosing to stay.
That should be enough. And it is. But it also isn’t.
My body is hard enough to ache, and there’s no hiding it with her half-draped over me. Holly is pretending not to notice, which is sweet, generous, and absolutely a lie.
Her fingers pause near my hip, and my breath catches. She notices that too.
Her head lifts. Her brown eyes find mine in the moonlight, darker now, softer. The laughter fades, leaving something heavier behind.
“Holly,” I warn.
“I know.”
“That phrase is becoming concerning.”
Her lips curve. “You say that a lot.”
“Because I’m usually concerned.”
“About me?”
“About my sanity.”
She laughs, but it’s breathier this time. Her gaze drops to my mouth, and just like that, the clearing disappears. There’s no creek. No trees. No cool air. Only her.
Only the heat of her skin and the bond humming between us like a live wire. She shifts, and her thigh brushes my cock.
I bite back a groan so hard my jaw aches, and Holly’s eyes widen. Not with fear. With power, a little spark I want to see more of. Not terror. Not shame. Not the shadow of whatever bastard taught her wanting made her weak.
Power.
She did that to me. She knows it. And for the first time tonight, she looks pleased by it.
“You’re very affected,” she whispers.
I huff out a strained laugh. “Sweetheart, affected is what happens when a sad movie comes on, or someone cancels dinner plans. I’m currently one deep breath away from begging.”
Her pupils flare. Good, let her know. Let her see that wanting her does not make me dangerous unless I stop listening. Let her understand that desire is not the enemy.
Her hand settles on my chest, right over my heart. “You’d beg?”
“For you?” My voice drops before I can stop it. “Yes.”
The scent of her arousal sharpens. Fuck. I grip the grass at my sides. Holly watches my hands, then looks back at my face. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Not touching me.”
“Because we stopped. Because I’m not sure if you want me to.”
“I’m lying on top of you naked.”
“One of my favorite developments, honestly.” Her mouth twitches. “But that isn’t the same as yes,” I add.
The humor fades from her face, but not in a bad way. She goes still, thoughtful, like the words have to travel through old scar tissue before they can settle.
Then she sits up.
The loss of her body against mine is immediate and awful.
I nearly reach for her before I remember myself.
She kneels beside me in the grass, moonlight sliding over the soft curves of her breasts, her stomach, her thighs.
Her hair tumbles over one shoulder, wild from the run, and her cheeks are flushed.
She’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Not delicate. Not broken. Fucking spectacular. My wolf goes quiet inside me. Reverent.
“I want you to touch me,” she says, and my mouth goes dry.
“Where?” I ask, because I may die tonight, but at least I will die doing one thing right.
Her breath shivers out. She takes my hand and brings it to her waist. That first place she allowed me after our kiss in the bakery. It hits me harder than if she put my hand somewhere more intimate.
Trust always does.
My palm spreads over her skin. She’s warm. Soft. Alive beneath my touch. My thumb moves once, slowly, over her hipbone, and her lashes flutter.
“You’re shaking,” I murmur.
“So are you.” She’s right. I am.
I sit up carefully, bringing us closer but still letting her keep the position above me. Her knees bracket my thighs. My hand stays on her waist. Hers rests against my chest.
“What do you want tonight, Holly?”
Her lips part. Her scent turns anxious at the edges, and I brace for her to pull back. To joke. To hide. She does none of those things.
“I want to go home,” she says. My heart sinks for half a second. Then she swallows and adds, “With you.”
Oh. My wolf lifts his head, and I go perfectly still.
Holly’s cheeks are pink, but she keeps her eyes on mine. “Not for claiming. Not yet.”
“Okay.”
“But I want...” She exhales, frustrated. “I hate words.”
“I’ve noticed you prefer threats.”
“They’re more efficient.”
“They are.”
She glares at me, but there’s no heat in it. Not that kind, anyway.
I cup her cheek with my free hand. “Tell me the inefficient way.”
Her eyes soften. “I want you,” she whispers. “Daniel. Not the bond. Not the wolf. Not because fate says I should. I want you. I’m scared, and I might panic, and I may threaten you with kitchenware tomorrow because feelings are disgusting, but I want you tonight.”
Every part of me burns. I lean in slowly, giving her room. “Then I’m yours tonight.” Her breath catches. “And tomorrow,” I add against her mouth. “And every day you decide you want me after that.”
She kisses me first, and it’s not soft. I’m grateful because I’m done with soft for a minute.
I pull her against me, finally letting my hands learn the shape of her without pretending I’m anything close to unaffected.
She melts into my lap with a moan that shoots straight through me.
My fingers spread over her back, her waist, the curve of her ass, and she gasps into my mouth when I grip her tighter.
“Still okay?” I ask.
She nips my lower lip. “If you ask me that every ten seconds, I’m going to bite you.”
“You already did. As a wolf.”
“I can do it as a woman too.”
I groan. “Don’t say things like that unless you want me to embarrass myself in this grass.”
Her laugh breaks against my mouth, and I decide, right there, that this is how I want her. Laughing. Wanting. Powerful enough to tease me while I shake apart under her hands.
We find our clothes by scent and moonlight, which should be simple, but Holly’s robe has somehow gotten caught in a bush. She yanks it free with a curse.
“The bush is slut-shaming me,” she mutters, and I bark out a laugh.
She points at me. “Don’t side with the bush.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
I pull on my jeans with difficulty, mostly because my cock is extremely aware of the plan and very offended by denim. Holly notices. Her gaze drops, then flicks away quickly, cheeks blazing.
I grin.
“Don’t,” she says.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You thought something smug.”
“I’m a simple man. You looked at my dick. I’m allowed a moment.”
She makes a strangled sound. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No,” she says, tying her robe with aggressive little motions. “But I’m deeply annoyed by how much I don’t.”
We walk back to town hand in hand. That small contact feels more intimate than it should. Her fingers are laced with mine, and every now and then, she tightens her grip like she’s checking that I’m still there. I always squeeze back.
The bakery is dark when we reach it. Holly unlocks the back door, and we slip inside. The kitchen smells like sugar and yeast and home. I have no right to think that word in relation to this place, but it comes anyway.
Home.
Holly turns on one soft light above the prep table, then looks at me. The quiet changes. In the forest, the moon and wolf run carried us. Here, surrounded by counters and ovens and the life she built after surviving hell, the choice feels sharper.
She unties her robe, and my breath leaves me.
“Holly.”
Her chin lifts, but her hands tremble. “Don’t make me be brave alone.”
The words break something in me. I cross the space slowly. Not rushing. Not pouncing. Even though my body screams for both. When I reach her, I cup her face and kiss her with every ounce of restraint I have left.
Not to tame her. Not to claim her. Just to make sure she knows she’s not alone. She clutches at me, hands sliding over my chest, nails scraping lightly. I groan into her mouth and lift her onto the prep table. She gasps, then laughs against my lips.
“This better be sanitized.”
“I watched you clean it twice.”
“Good. Hygiene matters.”