Chapter Twelve #4
What happened next was too quick for me to comprehend.
I blinked, and suddenly Caine was in front of me, squaring up to the Alpha, a menacing rumble echoing in his throat.
My glass had shattered on the floor. I’d dropped it when he’d swept me protectively behind him.
Everyone had stopped. The family who the Alpha belonged to were behind him, while the Devereux pack had formed around their leader, their hands on the guns in their belts.
What the fuck?
“You touched my omega,” Caine snarled.
“It was clearly a mistake,” the stranger bit back. His eyes were glassy; he wasn’t exactly sober. Would Caine kill him for this? Going by the murderous gleam in his eye, I believed it may be a possibility.
“Caine—”
“Hush,” Lyle instructed under his breath from beside me, and I bit into my tongue. I didn’t want blood shed because of me, but the look on Lyle’s face suggested my saying anything more would likely make the situation worse.
“Forgive my son,” another Alpha said, the one at the front of the group opposing Caine.
She was older, and had a wilted rose tattoo on her neck—the same symbol as the guy Caine was ready to fight.
“He forgets himself. No harm was meant. Allow me to take him home and punish him myself for this transgression.”
I felt all my breath seize in my lungs. Caine didn’t look particularly forgiving, and his pheromones were so intense, so intimidating, they almost had me dropping to my knees.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck . . .
“Get him out of here,” he barked, shoving the drunk Alpha toward his pack. “This will be your only warning.”
The leader bowed her head. “I am grateful for your leniency, Alpha Devereux.”
Their entire family deferred to Caine before leaving, and I dreaded to think what punishment the young Alpha would get, even for something so insignificant. The guests returned to the festivities, and the Devereuxes relaxed their defensive stance, holstering their weapons again.
Aaron whooped. “What’s a wedding without a little scuffle, huh?” He laughed. “Shame it didn’t come to that.”
“It’s neutral ground,” Malia reminded him, her tone flat. “There can’t be bloodshed.”
“He touched him,” Caine visibly seethed. “That was a disrespect I could not stand. I should have painted the floor with his intestines.”
Christ.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t form a thought. Caine looked one second away from stalking after them and carrying out his suggestion.
There was a touch on my arm, and I spun to see Lyle was closer than before. His voice was a low whisper as he said, “You better get him to your bed before he makes a spectacle.”
“What?” I frowned, not getting what he was implying.
“He’s in rut,” he clarified, and my eyes widened.
I glanced back at Caine, properly looking at him.
The darkness in his eye, the fracture in his control, and I was flooded with visions of the last few hours.
How he’d acted more protective, more antsy if other Alphas got too close; how tactile he’d become, scenting me every damn chance he got. Touching me, feeding me.
As if sensing my attention, his gaze locked on mine, and the hunger I saw there had my insides clenching.
“Shit.”
By the grace of all that was holy, we managed to get to the house fully clothed.
Not for Caine’s lack of trying. More than once, he’d attempted to unburden me of my suit in the back of the car.
As soon as George had closed the door, he’d pounced, hauling me under him on the back seat before blanketing me with his body.
He’d pinned me there with his bulk, tearing at the buttons on my shirt to get his lips and teeth on my scent gland.
I’d shoved at his unmovable chest, only protesting because I didn’t want to be fucked with his driver and bodyguard within earshot.
He’d snarled against my skin, his hips grinding down with purpose, grazing his hard, clothed cock over mine.
My body betrayed me. It had felt so good, so rough and primitive, and for a split second, I’d debated if it would be just as mortifying letting him rut against me until we were both coming in our pants.
The answer was a resounding yes.
I’d sunk my teeth into his shoulder, hard enough to stun him, my refusal crystal clear.
He’d blinked and sat up, his jaw popping as he shook his head to wipe the fog.
He’d leaned against the door, his fist pressed firmly to his mouth, the fingers of his other hand fastened on his trouser leg, grasping for control.
I’d tucked myself into the opposite corner, wrangling my breathing and willing away my arousal.
The truce had lasted barely twenty minutes before he reached over and dragged me into his lap, diving into my neck again.
His hands had roved over my arse, my hips, my belly, before paying particular attention to my pecs, kneading them in his palms. I’d moaned, despite my reservations, my back bowing.
My shirt was untucked, and he’d tried sneaking his fingers into the waistband of my trousers, aiming to shove his hand down the back.
I’d grabbed his wrist, telling him no again, and he’d stopped.
But he wouldn’t let me climb out of his lap.
We’d stayed like that until we made it to the driveway, my closeness and weight seemingly enough to stave off his greed. He’d followed me up the steps, plastered to my back, and pausing every few paces to nip at my earlobes or palm my dick.
He was sucking another mark onto my nape, his stubble rubbing the skin raw, as the front door closed behind us. “Caine, not here,” I said, though I still arched, giving him more access. “Bedroom.”
He growled impatiently, and before I could blink, he had me scooped into his arms bridal style and was striding through the house with determination.
He was carrying me in the direction of his office, up the stairs two at a time.
Though once he reached the top, he didn’t head down the labyrinth of corners and hallways as I’d expected, he stopped at the door closest to us and kicked the damn thing open.
The wood smashed against the wall.
“Fuck sake,” I hissed. “I could have reached down and opened it.”
He wasn’t listening, too busy hauling his prey to his den.
He set me down on the bed, and I didn’t even have time to inspect his bedroom before he was ripping his tie away and prowling on top of me.
He pinned me again, his knee slotting between my spread legs.
One of his arms bracketed my head as he canted my arse with the other, encouraging me to roll my hips.
I obeyed—only because my dick was aching.
His mouth latched onto my jaw, his teeth grazing, his tongue laving over the sting—spots he must have missed.
I let my head loll onto the pillow, my breathing unsteady as I lost myself to the sensation of grinding against his thigh.
The friction was harsh, a little grating because of our trousers, but combined with the pressure on my arse and the prickle on my skin, it wouldn’t take much more to make me come.
Except, Caine switched to the opposite side of my neck, and my eyes were drawn to the light in the hallway, curbing the sweet build-up in my stomach.
My hips stilled, and I pulled lightly at his hair.
“Close the door,” I said, but he didn’t even acknowledge me—he was a dick in both states, apparently.
Sighing, I yanked harder, creating a gap between his mouth and my skin. “Close. The. Door.”
A frustrated sound whipped out of him and he wrenched himself away, storming to the other side of the room and flinging the door shut with impudent force. The noise made me flinch, even though I’d expected it.
I sent him an unimpressed stare. “Really?”
He smirked, unrestrained, and the sight of it had my hole clenching.
He advanced slower, a sense of ease settling over him.
He unbuttoned his shirt with every step, and I watched intently, my mouth dry as he peeled the fabric off his broad shoulders and exposed himself to my inspection.
The miles of stark tattoos over tanned skin, spanning from his jawline, over both arms, across his torso, and right down to his waistband, promising more under his trousers.
The raised pink scars, cutting through the solid black, and those muscles. Fuck, he was so hot.
I hated it so much.
“Undress,” he instructed, his voice a low, calculated purr.
“Oh, now you want me to undress myself?” I countered, cocking my eyebrow in challenge. “You seemed pretty determined to do it yourself earlier.”
“And you told me no,” he said with a teasing lilt. “So . . . do it for me.”
I couldn’t deny witnessing the shift in his demeanour was incredibly satisfying.
He wasn’t as stiff or concerned with keeping up his composure.
He wasn’t as frenzied as before, though there was still a feral glint in his eye.
He probably felt less agitated in his need to mount and claim now we were in his domain.
Away from the crowd.
I could refuse—be difficult as was my usual style.
We’d agreed to spend our heats and ruts together, but there was nothing stated in the fine print about putting on a show or participating in his pursuit.
My only obligation was to lie back and let him knot me, to give him relief as he would for me when the roles were reversed.
It would be the smarter choice. It would make it easier to stay detached, a reminder to myself that a genuine mating wasn’t on the cards for me and this was only on paper.
But there was a fixation in the way he stared at me.
I felt desired, powerful, and I wanted to revel in it.
I could grit my teeth, present my arse, and get it over with, but my body was starving to be touched, and coaxing out more of those primitive instincts, urging him to hunt and mark his territory, was too tempting.