Chapter Nine #2
“My turn,” Sloane growled, but his hand on himself was almost secondary to the way he watched Jamie, eyes tracking every tremor, every gasp.
Jamie reached down, fingers wrapping around Sloane’s cock alongside his own hand. The dual sensation made Sloane’s breath catch, his hips stuttering.
“Jamie—”
“Want to feel you,” Jamie whispered, thumb finding that sensitive spot just under the head that made Sloane’s whole body jerk. “Want to watch you come apart too.”
That did it. Sloane came with a sound that was almost a howl, spilling cum hot across their joined hands, body shaking with the force of it. Jamie worked him through it, marveling at the way Sloane’s face went slack with pleasure, all that control finally, completely shattered.
Afterward, they lay tangled together, sticky and sated. Sloane reached for something—his discarded shirt—and carefully cleaned them both, movements gentle and thorough. The tenderness of it made Jamie’s throat tight.
“You okay?” Sloane asked, pulling Jamie against him, arm wrapped secure around his waist.
“Processing,” Jamie admitted. “The wolf thing. This. Everything.”
“Take your time.” Sloane pressed a kiss to Jamie’s shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The certainty in those words settled something in Jamie’s ribs. Maybe his life had just gotten exponentially more complicated. Maybe dating a werewolf—was that what they were doing? Dating?—would bring challenges he couldn’t even imagine yet.
But lying here, held safe in Sloane’s arms, Jamie found he didn’t care.
“So,” he said after a moment, “are there others? Other wolves?”
“Yeah.” Sloane’s thumb traced lazy patterns on Jamie’s hip. “My whole family, actually.”
“Your whole—” Jamie twisted to look at him. “That brother you mentioned? The one who plays classic rock too loud?”
“Wolf.”
“Oh my god.” Jamie flopped back against the pillows. “I need a handbook. A guide. So You’re Dating a Werewolf: What to Expect When You’re Not Expecting Supernatural Shenanigans.”
Sloane’s laugh rumbled through his torso, vibrating against Jamie’s back. “I’ll answer any questions you have.”
“Any questions?” Jamie’s mind immediately supplied about fifty, ranging from practical to ridiculous. “Like, do you shed? Do I need to invest in lint rollers? What about full moons? Is that a thing or just Hollywood?”
“No shedding unless I’m in wolf form. Full moons don’t affect us. We can shift whenever we want. And Hollywood gets almost everything wrong.”
“Almost everything?”
“We do have enhanced senses. And strength. And we’re very protective of what’s ours.”
That last part carried weight, meaning a promise Jamie wasn’t quite ready to examine. But his body responded anyway, warmth pooling in his belly despite having just come.
“What else?” Jamie asked, needing to keep talking before his brain started overthinking again.
“We run hot.” Sloane demonstrated by pressing closer, and, yes, his skin did feel warmer than normal. “We heal fast. And we can smell emotions.”
Jamie went rigid. “You can what?”
“Smell emotions. Fear, anger, arousal...” Sloane nosed at Jamie’s neck, inhaling. “You smell incredible when you’re turned on, by the way. Like citrus and honey and something uniquely you.”
“That’s deeply unfair.” Jamie’s face burned. “You’ve been able to tell every time I’ve been attracted to you?”
“Since the moment we met.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
No, Jamie didn’t. It was the opposite. He’d fallen hard for Sloane.
* * * *
“Mate,” Sloane murmured against Jamie’s shoulder.
“Huh?”
“Not boyfriend. We’re mates.”
Jamie didn’t get it. Was Sloane saying they were just friends?
As if reading his mind, Sloane said, “Mates, pumpkin. Two people who are destined to be together.”
Destined? The word tangled in Jamie's thoughts, heavy with meaning he couldn’t quite grasp. William had claimed ownership too, but that had been possession born of jealousy, control wrapped in pretty words. Chad before him had done the same—promises that turned to chains.
But Sloane’s voice carried something different. Not demand, just fact. Like stating the sky was blue or water was wet.
“Mates,” Jamie repeated, testing the word. It tasted strange on his tongue, ancient and binding. “Like wolves mate for life?”
“Like that, yes.” Sloane’s hand splayed across Jamie's stomach, warm and solid. “But more. Deeper.”
More than forever seemed impossible to comprehend.
Jamie's relationships had shelf lives measured in months, sometimes weeks.
The longest had been William at eight months, and look how that had ended.
Now Sloane offered him something that transcended human understanding, and Jamie's brain kept buffering, unable to process the download.
“How do you know?” The question escaped before Jamie could stop it. “That I'm your… that we're…”
“My wolf knew the moment you walked into that bar.” Sloane’s lips brushed against Jamie's shoulder blade, sending heat cascading through his nervous system. “Your scent, your voice, everything about you called to me.”
Chemistry had always been Jamie's worst subject, but this transcended science. This was magic or fate or some cosmic joke where he'd stumbled into a supernatural romance novel. Except the warm body pressed against his back felt very real, very present, very much not fiction.
“What if I'm not?” Jamie's voice came out smaller than intended. “What if your wolf's wrong?”
Sloane’s arm tightened around him, not constraining but grounding. “He's not wrong. Neither am I.”
Such certainty should have terrified Jamie. Instead, something in his core settled, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. His body knew this truth even if his mind struggled to catch up. Every cell seemed to lean toward Sloane, magnetized by forces beyond comprehension.
“This is insane,” Jamie murmured, but even he heard the lack of conviction in his voice.
“Maybe.” Sloane’s mouth found that sensitive spot behind Jamie's ear, tongue tracing the shell. “Does it feel wrong?”
No. That was the problem. Nothing about this felt wrong. Not Sloane’s hands on his skin, not the absurd revelation about werewolves, not even this talk of mates and destiny. Jamie's instincts, usually so skittish after William's violence, purred contentedly in Sloane’s presence.
Rolling over required coordination Jamie's jellied muscles barely possessed, but he managed it, needing to see Sloane’s face. Those bluish-gray eyes held heat and patience and something deeper that made Jamie's breath catch.
“You really believe this,” Jamie said, not a question but recognition.
“I know this.” Sloane’s thumb traced Jamie's cheekbone, careful around the bruise that had darkened to purple-green. “But I’ll wait. However long you need to believe it too.”
Emotion clogged Jamie's throat, unexpected and overwhelming. After William's demands, Chad's manipulations, here was Sloane offering patience. Time. Choice, even when he clearly believed choice didn't exist.
“What if I never believe it?” Jamie asked, testing.
“Then I’ll spend forever proving it to you.” A promise that burrowed under Jamie's ribs and made a home there.
He surged forward, capturing Sloane’s mouth because words had become inadequate. The kiss started desperate but gentled into something sweeter, deeper. Sloane’s tongue slid against his, mapping every surface like he was memorizing the geography of Jamie's mouth.
Hands roamed without urgency now, learning curves and planes and sensitive spots that made breath stutter. Sloane’s fingers traced Jamie's ribs, counting each one, while Jamie explored the definition of Sloane’s abdomen, feeling muscles contract under his touch.
“Beautiful,” Sloane murmured against Jamie's mouth, the word reverent.
Heat bloomed across Jamie's skin, not just arousal but something more vulnerable. Being seen, truly seen, by someone who looked at him like he was precious rather than breakable.
Sloane’s mouth traveled lower, pressing kisses along Jamie's jaw, down his throat, pausing at his collarbone to suck gently.
Each touch was worship, devotion painted across Jamie's skin in sensation. When teeth grazed that junction where neck met shoulder, Jamie’s whole body jerked, electricity shooting straight to his cock.
“Sensitive there,” Sloane observed, voice rough with want.
Jamie could only nod, speech having abandoned him entirely. That spot throbbed with awareness, nerves singing, demanding more attention that Sloane seemed happy to provide.
Time became elastic, stretching and contracting around their exploration. Sloane’s mouth found Jamie’s nipple, tongue circling before teeth closed gently around it. Jamie arched, hands tangling in Sloane’s hair, holding him there while pleasure sparked through his nervous system.
“Want you,” Jamie managed, the words scraped raw from his throat.
“That how you want it, Jamie?” His words buzzed in Jamie’s ear, filthy and delicious. “Want it hard? Want me to fuck you like you deserve?”
“Yes.” A dozen images flashed through Jamie’s mind, each more explicit than the last. But underneath the lust was something softer, needier. “Want to feel you. All of you. Inside me.”
Sloane’s control visibly cracked, jaw clenching as his cock twitched against Jamie’s thigh.
Jamie was trembling, the hunger rolling through his bloodstream. Their hips jerked together, friction ratcheting up until it hurt, but Jamie didn’t care.
Sloane reached toward the nightstand, movements careful despite the tremor in his hands. The drawer slid open, revealing exactly what they needed. Preparation, Jamie realized. Sloane had hoped for this, planned for this possibility.
“On your back,” Sloane murmured, his voice dropped to that register that made Jamie’s toes curl.