16. Morgan #2
I should probably take it off now the hunters have gone. Pretty sure I’m breaking all sorts of biker code by wearing it. As I go to shrug out of it, he darts out a hand to stop me.
“Don’t,” he whispers, and I still. “I like seeing you in it.”
I tilt my head, trying to read him, but it’s hard.
I don’t know him well enough to know what he’s thinking without asking.
But I’d like to. That realisation isn’t exactly new, but I’d resigned myself to it never happening.
“Why?” I ask, voice equally soft. I glance at the window, conscious that anyone outside could hear us, but Lynx shakes his head.
“The hunters are gone.”
Thank fuck for that.
I run a finger along the edge of the leather, then over the prospect badge. “I haven’t earned this.” The memories of the first day I came here are unwelcome, but they pop into my head regardless. “In fact,” I say, knocking his hand off me, “you laughed in my face when I first asked for it.”
Lynx pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “You know why,” he says softly.
“Do I?” I thought I did, but then he made his big declaration in the forest, and now I don’t know what to think. “Is it because I’m human or because I’m your mate?” Just saying it aloud sends a shiver through me.
“Both.”
I’m not proud of the way that word crushes me. It’s not like he hasn’t told me that repeatedly since I discovered shifters exist. But rejection hits me hard all over again.
I still have some pride though, so I step back, successfully shrugging out of the stupid fucking cut, and sling it on the chair.
I do it so forcibly, it slides straight off onto the floor.
I’m petty enough to be pleased.
“Morgan,” Lynx tries, but I ignore him and turn to the door.
I make it two paces before he’s in front of me, and I startle, almost falling over in my haste to backtrack. “ Jesus fuck, ” I hiss, clutching my chest.
“Sorry.” He doesn’t look it.
He looks wrecked . I’m so surprised by the sudden change in him that I don’t react quickly enough when he reaches out and cradles my jaw in shaking hands.
And then it feels so good, I don’t want to move.
“I know I have no right to ask this,” he says, voice rougher than I’ve heard it. “I’ve given you every reason to tell me to fuck off.” His thumbs stroke gentle patterns on my cheeks, and it’s so at odds with the desperate look in his eyes, I can’t think straight.
“Ask me what?” I manage, heart beating wildly now.
“I need to touch you,” he whispers.
“You are.”
“I need more .” He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against mine.
“Their scent is all over. In this room, on you...” A rumbly growl fills the air between us, and I probably shouldn’t find that as hot as I do.
“He fucking touched you.” The last sentence comes out slightly slurred, and I know if I look, his teeth won’t be fully human.
All it does is make my blood burn hotter.
“What do you need?” I’m already tilting my head to the side as I ask the question, like my body instinctively knows.
Lynx dips his head, sharp teeth scraping over the bare skin I’ve offered him.
The place where Fox touched me .
My breath hitches at the sting as he nips my throat, and I moan when he soothes it with his tongue. It’s the most erotic sensation, and my cock strains against my underwear, desperate to join in.
I wonder if he can sense it.
If he knows how much I want his mouth over every fucking inch of me. The next words he utters convince me he’s a mind reader.
“Need to taste you everywhere.”
“Yes.” It’s the only logical response to a statement like that.
I don’t notice the claws until they slice through the material of my T-shirt, leaving me bare. Lynx ducks his head, trailing hot open-mouthed kisses along my collarbone, my chest. I stumble back until I hit the edge of the table and then hold on for dear life as he drops to his knees.
He groans when he reaches my belly, and I flush with embarrassment as I remember what he did in the forest. “No, wait.”
He looks up at me with heavy-lidded eyes. “What’s wrong?”
I gesture to my stomach. “I need to shower.”
“Why?”
Is he really going to make me spell it out?
No, even worse, he presses his face to my belly and inhales .
“ Mine ,” he growls, and it goes straight to my cock.
Never thought I’d be a fan of a possessive arsehole, but apparently I am. Maybe it’s the way he gently strokes the exposed skin on my hips, or the soft kisses he presses along my happy trail. Whatever it is, it’s working for me.
He shoves my jeans and boxers down my thighs, but I grip his hair before he goes any further and tug until he looks up at me.
“Human teeth,” I order, and he grins, showing me his very not -human fangs.
I watch, both fascinated and a little horrified as they change before my eyes, long canines, sliding back into his gums. I have a second to wonder if it hurts as much as it looks like it should and then his mouth is around my cock, cutting off every single thought in my head.
My fingers are still tangled in his hair, and I hold on tight as he takes me apart with every long slide into that hot, wet warmth and every sweep of his tongue along my length. White-hot pleasure curls up my spine, and at this rate it’s going to be over embarrassingly quickly.
And I don’t even care.
Can’t when it feels so toe-curlingly good.
I give up trying to hold off my orgasm and give in to the fire racing through my veins, lighting me up inside until I come with a too-loud moan, which I’ll no doubt be embarrassed about later.
Much, much later.
For now, it’s all I can do to remain standing while my legs feel like jelly.
I’m vaguely aware of Lynx carefully tucking me back into my boxers and pulling them and my jeans back into place. My T-shirt is beyond help.
He stands and sets a hand at the base of my throat, fingers splayed like he needs to cover as much skin as he can. Then he tilts my head to the side and runs his nose up the side of my throat, before resting his head on my shoulder.
I have the strongest urge to wrap my arms around him.
So I do.
He sags against me like someone cut his strings. I grunt under the sudden weight of him but hold tight when he tries to pull back. “Stay,” I whisper, surprised when he does.
I close my eyes, and his outdoor, woodsy scent fills my nose.
He shuffles closer, moulding himself to my front and I’m suddenly very aware that I’m the only one who got off. And that’s hardly fair. “Give me a second and I’ll take care of that.”
Lynx’s soft chuckle tickles my neck. “I would love you to, but we’re about to run out of time.”
I don’t get chance to ask what he means because there’s a sharp rap on the door and a loud, “You finished?”
God, does everyone know what we just did?
Shifters, duh. Of course they do.
Where’s a hole in the floor when you need one?
Lynx opens his mouth to answer whoever’s at the door, Mal maybe, but I get there first.
“Give us a second,” I yell, then gently ease Lynx back so I can see his face.
“Still want me to fuck off for a month?” I lift my chin, act like I’m not desperate for his answer to be no this time.
I’ve got mental whiplash from the mixed signals he’s been giving me, and after what we just did. .. I just really want to stay.
That was way more intense than your run-of-the-mill blow job. I don’t understand how shifter bonds or mates work, all I know is that there isn’t one inch of me that wants to leave here. Not unless Lynx comes with me.
It seems like hours pass before Lynx lets out the mother of all sighs. “No,” he says finally and pulls me close again, kissing my temple. “I don’t want you to go anywhere.”
Satisfied with that answer for now, I yell, “You can come in now.”
Mal opens the door, screwing his nose up at whatever he smells when he walks inside. He takes one look at the pair of us and shakes his head. “I presume sending Morgan away is off the cards now?”
Lynx growls. “He’s not going anywhere.”
“Fuck’s sake, a simple yes would’ve done,” Mal grumbles. He walks in and sits on the edge of the table. “We’ve got bigger problems than that anyway.”
Oh shit.
I’d forgotten about that.
“Fuck. What now?” Lynx finally steps away from me to face Mal, one hand fisting his hair.
Without the warmth of his body, I’m cold suddenly. Not missing a beat, he peels off his long-sleeved T-shirt and hands it to me.
“Thank you.” I shrug out of my ruined T-shirt and slip his on. It’s soft, warm, and smells like him. It’s almost as good as having his arms around me.
Almost.
His gaze rakes over me, eyes flashing with heat, and I smirk. Note to self, Lynx likes it when I wear his clothes.
A lot.
“Lynx,” Mal snaps. “Fucking focus.”
Lynx bares his teeth but turns back to Mal. “What?”
“Nico saw the hunters out of his bedroom window. Thinks he recognises one of them from the fight ring.”
It takes a second for the words to sink in, and then Lynx freezes, his whole body unnaturally still. It’s unnerving, and I want to reach out and grip his shoulder, but something—maybe self-preservation finally kicking in—holds me back.
“Which one,” he asks—well, growls more like. I’m not surprised when he moves and I glimpse claws instead of fingertips and fangs instead of human teeth.
Mal doesn’t react, unbothered by the rage even I can feel pouring off Lynx. “One of the guys with Fox.”
“Motherfucker.” Lynx starts to pace.
We all look up as Callum walks in. “Good,” he says, eyeing me and Lynx. “You’re done.”
“Where are the others?” Lynx demands, stopping in the middle of the room.
“On their way back from following the hunters.” He glances at me, something in his eyes making my blood freeze in my veins. “Jet says they have a house on the outskirts of town.”
Oh god.
It can’t be.
I don’t know how, but deep in my gut I fucking know it’s my old house he’s talking about. “Where?” I whisper, praying I’m wrong.
Callum holds my gaze as he rattles off an address that’s all too familiar.
“Fuck.” My knees give out, and Lynx darts forward to catch me.
“Whose fucking house is that?” he demands, gently lowering me into a chair and kneeling in front of me, not letting me go.
I can’t answer because my mouth is bone dry.
“Morgan,” he urges, thumbs stroking the back of my hands.
I look up into eyes the colour of stormy skies and whisper the one word that changes everything. “Mine.”