Chapter 18
chapter
eighteen
Carajo .
Of all the women on God’s green Earth, I absolutely cannot afford to catch feelings for Bridget Fucking Woods.
I can’t like my fiancée .
That would be so stupid. Bordering on crazy.
And, well.
Fuckin’ lock me up, I guess .
Moonlight plays over Bridget’s creamy throat while she works on a swallow, ducking her head. And, damn. I do that. Dropping my chin to hide my face whenever I need to get my shit together.
Her gaze snags on a drawer. It rattles as she opens it, revealing an assortment of mismatched silverware. The pieces are clearly thrifted, not some trendy made-to-look-eclectic set.
No. She honest-to-God went to the flea market and bought random silverware.
It makes no sense. Neither does the rest of this house.
I know for a fact we wrote her a fat check last year.
And a portion of my salary disappears from my account every month like clockwork.
I’m no numbers guy, but the dollar figure is consistent and seems like more than enough to afford matching spoons.
Where the hell does it all go?
Does she have a Ferrari stashed somewhere? Or a yacht?
Is she some sort of degenerate gambler?
My gaze slides to the pink bookcases built into the wall behind her couch.
How much does one book cost? Fifteen bucks? Twenty? Multiplied by roughly… My eyes scan the over-stuffed shelves …infinity?
My head hurts.
I take the utensil she hands me, frowning at it before diving into my snack. “We would have sprung for some cutlery, you know,” I mumble around a mouthful. “Didn’t anyone tell you? We’re loaded.”
Bridget rolls her pretty blue eyes. “Yeah, yeah. We get it, Dante. You’re gorgeous and athletic and rich and have a huge dick.”
I pause with a spoonful of cookies and cream halfway to my mouth. Which drops open in shock before bouncing into a grin I can’t control. “Don’t think I said anything about that last one. Have you been checking out the merchandise, cupcake?”
Another woman might balk or blush, but Bridget laughs, cocking an auburn brow at me. “As if you haven’t been looking at my ass every time I turn around.”
“It happens to be exactly my type.” I shrug, talking around another bite of ice cream. “And someone mandated that I remain celibate for the next two months. I need spank bank inspo.”
Even that doesn’t throw her off. She chuckles some more, shaking her head. “You’re a true romantic, huh?”
She has no idea.
And she never will, I remind myself. Because, again , we are not catching feelings for our fake fiancée. We are not that guy.
I’m talking to my Alpha. And my cock. But these bastards don’t listen. Instead, my knot twitches, swelling along with the shaft pressed into my joggers.
Sons of bitches.
Don’t they know this woman is too good for us?
Jesse may be the sort of man she deserves. Or—as much as I hate to admit it—Adrian. But me? And the fucker snoring on her couch?
I spare my crotch an exasperated glance. When I raise my head, I find Bridget smirking, looking like a cross between the world’s cutest brat and some mythical red-haired siren.
“It literally hasn’t even been a week,” she deadpans.
Little does she know, I haven’t hooked up with anyone since Colt’s accident. Eight weeks is practically a record for me. Let alone the extra two months I’m about to pile on top of that.
My balls ache at the thought. And Bridget’s scent isn’t fucking helping.
I spent the better part of the evening trying to ignore the fact that it’s sweeter than I remembered. Richer and more luscious and just…
Good .
So damn good.
How did I not notice before?
Is it actually getting better every damn minute? Or do I just like her more each time she opens those pouty pink lips to mock me?
Maybe it’s both.
The neutralizer I wore as a courtesy must be fading fast. Either that or my scent is swelling around it. Either way, her pupils expand, thinning her blue irises.
Fuck. I just had to have a damn snack.
Now I can’t stop wondering if she tastes as sharp and sweet as she smells. And what we would be like together . Mangos and lemon, sugary, tart…
A low growl snags the bottom of my lungs, roughing up my voice. “You should go to bed.”
For the first time on record, Bridget looks thrown. She blinks in shock, but the motion only makes her eyes blearier. More delicious perfume leaks into the kitchen, its bitter edge darker than I want it to be.
But still so damn delicious.
Too damn delicious.
“Seriously,” I rumble. “Go.”
Her gaze blazes like the hottest part of a flame. “This is my house.”
Her defiance fires my blood. I bite down on another snarl. “That’s debatable. But you shouldn’t push me, querida . You wouldn’t like my Alpha if you met him.”
I say the words, but they feel wrong. Untrue. Because— fuck me —I have a feeling Bridget might love my deviant side.
As if on cue, she tosses her hair back and straightens her spine.
Beautiful.
Strong.
Sexy as fuck.
“I don’t speak ‘boy,’” she scoffs. “So, if you have something to tell me, you’re going to have to be a man about it and say what you mean.”
A surge of heat rolls through my body. I move on instinct, backing her pretty ass into the kitchen cabinets and gripping the counter beside each of her hips. Boxing her in. “Listen, cupcake—you couldn’t handle my kink.”
It feels like an empty taunt. Because, hell, is there anything this woman truly couldn’t handle?
But Bridget takes my provocation seriously. Outrage fills her pretty features, flaring in her gaze. “I think you’re full of shit.”
There are half a dozen things I could tell her. How I want to smother myself between her thighs. The way I’d watch her fiery eyes water while I stuff my dick down her throat.
But I need to shock her. Scare her off. Give her and me a chance to escape before this whole thing goes off the rails.
So I pluck up the darkest, most depraved thing I can think of. Something I’ve never done, but always salivated over.
“Do you know what free use means?”
Oh shit .
She does .
I see the spark that settles into her eyes. Her pupils get even bigger. Her perfume spikes again. Saliva wells in my mouth.
“No,” she lies.
My lips quirk. She’s going to make me explain .
Careful what you wish for, baby.
One more step and my torso presses into her softness. I love the way her body molds to mine, how the lower curve of her belly rubs the hard-on straining against it.
“It means I like to take what I want. Anytime, anywhere, any way—and when I tell my woman to bend over, she better show me her slick pussy and let me have it.”
Fuck . I meant to scare her off, but she’s so into this, the cutting edge of her tart lemon sweetness sharpens. Clawing my lungs from the inside out.
Her lips drop open as her chest heaves, those big creamy tits stuttering when she inhales me in return. Desire sparkles in her blown pupils.
“Anywhere?” she repeats.
I picture her bent over this kitchen island. Legs spread in my Escalade while I finger her in traffic. Pussy glistening under the stadium lights if I spread her along the bench in our dugout.
“Anywhere,” I husk.
A red brow arches. “Any time ?” she says next.
Prompting a whole other set of images. Interrupting her at school because I’m too horny to wait.
Slamming the front door of this little house and flattening her against it the second we walk in.
Shoving her thighs open to lick her cunt while she reads one of her bajillion books.
Waking her up in the middle of the night with my cock already buried inside her.
“Anytime,” I confirm.
She flicks her eyes over my face. Almost like she’s looking for a joke or a prank. Waiting for me to say “gotcha!”
Something about that scrapes at the inside of my ribcage. It burns, molten heat sliding down my torso and settling at the base of my cock. My hips automatically tilt forward, grinding my erection along her belly.
She perfumes—a deep burst of sugared freshness . Her body trembles, but her voice is the strong, confident one I know. “Why would anyone want that?”
My answering smile feels wolfish. I glance down to where I’m sure she’s wet under her dress. “You tell me, baby. You’re the one pressing those delectable thighs together. Creaming your panties for it.”
She tries to strangle the omega whine building in her chest, but I hear it. And my Alpha replies with a deep growl.
Fuck .
I can see the cliff we’re about to drive off.
But I’ve never had very good brakes.
“Maybe you like the thought of not being in control,” I murmur, my hands drifting to her hips. “Or maybe you’re into the spontaneity.”
Another thought occurs to me. And even before I say it out loud, I know I have the answer. My fingertips graze her sides before curling in her skirt. “Maybe you love the idea of me being so damn desperate for you, I can’t wait one more fucking second to get inside you.”
Bridget gazes up at me, her lips falling open further. And, for a second, two months here feels like a cheap joke. It’s nowhere near long enough for everything I want to do to her.
But, hell. Gotta start somewhere.
She tries to swallow an accidental moan. My fingertips ghost lower and find her bare thigh. Wetness glides between my skin and hers—a layer thick enough to spill over my knuckle.
Slick .
A lot of it.
I lean back, scanning her face. Flushed cheeks, wide pupils, pussy absolutely gushing …
Fuck me.
Did I send our omega into a heat-spike ?