Chapter 22 #2
I shifted my weight, posting as high as his knot would allow, and sank onto his lap with my full body weight. The desirous ache in me amplified, spreading from my veins to my bones, to the rest of my body.
“Please, Branson.” My voice didn’t shake. It didn’t quiver. There was no hesitation in it. No doubt. “I want you to do it. I want you to bite me.” I looked him dead in the eye and smiled at the shadows I saw there. “I don’t want this to end.”
“You don’t want this to end?” he echoed blankly.
“No. I don’t want this to end. I want to be yours.”
The images flitting through my mind are shocking on their own, but what’s even more shocking is that I can feel the strength of my intention. I’d wanted what I was asking for. My yearning for it had throbbed. And not in my hole…in my chest.
An emptiness, a loneliness I wasn’t familiar with took command of my voice. “I don’t want anyone but you touching my body, Alpha. Not ever.” Branson growled so loudly when I said that his abs contracted and the sound skipped up my spine. “I want to belong to you.”
Again, when I spoke, my words rang true.
My thoughts became things. Things I meant.
“I want you to be my alpha always, not just for now. I want to go into heat again and again, and I want you to be the one who takes care of me. I want you to fuck me and knot me and own me. And when you’ve done all that”—I leaned forward and spoke directly into his ear—“I want you to pump me full of your babies.”
He whined loudly, eyes slamming shut as he shivered from head to toe. I soothed him gently, my jaw grazing his lips.
I’d been pleased with myself. I remember that distinctly now. Proud of myself and pleased with what I’d said because I’d been certain it was a request no alpha could deny an omega in heat.
His head was heavy in my hands, a solid weight, as I guided it downward. He kissed my neck lightly, moaning when his lips stamped my scent gland.
He looked up at me one last time, dull eyes searching mine. “Are you sure?” he slurred.
“I’m sure,” I replied.
There was a deep sigh of breath. A warm caress of lips. A light scrape of facial hair over my skin.
Then a sharp pinch as his teeth sank into my flesh.
The pain was exquisite. Otherworldly and intense.
A brilliant, bright bruise. An eyewatering sting.
It pierced my skin, sinking in deep, deeper, before heating and changing.
I cried out loudly, but instead of pushing him away like a sane person would do, I clamped my hands tightly around his neck and held him in place as I began to writhe in his arms.
“Harder,” I begged, as magic seeped into my veins. “Harder, please, alpha.”
Branson didn’t hesitate. He bit down harder and injected his venom directly into my bloodstream.
I yank my hand off the sofa, stepping away like I’ve touched something hot, and the images that have been assaulting me gradually dissipate.
I follow Branson to his truck, mute and in a deep state of shock. He opens the passenger door for me, and I get in without a word. The engine roars to life, and I watch as the cabin shrinks in the sideview mirror.
We bump along the narrow dirt track as a wonderland of snow-coated trees glitter where the winter sun hits them.
It’s beautiful, or at least it would be if I could think of one single thing other than that fuck on the sofa.
To say I’m appalled by myself would be the greatest understatement of all time.
I’m shocked shitless. Not just by what happened, but by how much that version of me wanted it.
The way I looked when I asked for it, the way I sounded absolutely certain.
It’s unbelievable.
What’s more unbelievable is that the man sitting in this truck with me has spent the last God knows how many days letting me blame him for what happened.
I feel awful. I’ve been a total dick, all holier than thou, merrily accusing him of doing something without even entertaining the possibility that I might be responsible for what happened.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, overly aware that the bond is spewing a constant stream of sickly browns and greens.
“Are you okay, Lucy?” asks Branson.
“Hmm,” I say, pinching my lips tightly together. It’s the best I can do. It’s not a yes or a no, and I don’t trust the bond not to flare blinding white. I’ve already been such a terrible asshole. The last thing I want is for Branson to think he’s mated a habitual liar on top of everything else.
I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead of me, but I feel Branson’s eyes on me. The bond between us quivers from his side, a light flutter I feel in my belly.
He’s worried about me.
To distract him, I turn up the volume on the center console and sing along loudly. The trouble is, I don’t know the lyrics of the song that’s playing, or even the title, so I’m left tunelessly echoing the words a few seconds after I hear them.
It’s not my finest work by a long shot.
Branson shoots me a concerned look, and though I manage to avoid looking directly at him, something about his demeanor reminds me of the night I told him off for biting me and tried to make him sleep on the floor.
Oh Jesus. He cried that night. I was so horrible to him, I made him cry—for something I did.
The bond pulses, streaming out more crappy colors. It makes me feel worse than I already do. Branson and I are bonded, so I know he can feel the emotions I pour into the bond, just as I feel his.
“Please tell me why you’re so upset,” he says, digging the heel of his hand into the meat over his chest and rubbing it as if it’s causing him pain.
A fresh wave of feeling washes over me. This time it’s shame as well as guilt. “Do you remember marking me?”
He looks at me for a beat. His jaw tenses microscopically. Then he nods.
“Why didn’t you tell me I asked you to bite me?” I ask softly.
Branson expels a quiet breath, slows the truck, and pulls over.
He kills the ignition and turns to face me.
His handsome features are drawn, hard and concerned.
“I didn’t tell you because you were out of it, and it was my job to take care of you.
I shouldn’t have bitten you, no matter what you asked for. ”
“You were out of it too.”
He looks down at the steering wheel, and a lock of dusty-blond hair falls into his face. “I know. And I shouldn’t have let myself go like that. I am the alpha. I should have stayed in control.”
“I begged you to do it.”
“It’s on me, Lucy.”
“How can you say that? I literally asked you to pump me full of your babies.”
The corners of his lips tense and a hot gush of arousal courses through the bond.
“Lucy, it’s on me because I wanted you long before you went into heat.
” His voice is as soft and vulnerable as his words are.
They land in my lap and become so heavy that I find it impossible to maintain eye contact.
He reaches out, tracing my jaw and tilting my chin so I have no option but to look at him.
“It’s because I’ve wanted you in a way that makes it hard for me to know whether I knew that biting you was the wrong thing to do… and did it anyway.”
I attempt to reply several times, but no sound comes out. I’m not sure what to say. Morally, it would be incredibly wrong of him to have bitten me if he knew what he was doing, but honestly, having an alpha like Branson calmly tell me how much he wants me is doing it for me big time.
Eventually, he drops his hand from my chin, starts the truck, and puts it in Drive. When he takes off, he leaves his right hand resting on the shifter.
It’s big, his hand. Long fingers, thick meaty palms.
I think about what I want to do. I think about the pros and cons. There’s nothing impulsive about it.
Then I take his hand in mine, lacing my fingers between his, and say, “Let’s call us even.”