Chapter 28 – IVY #3
A few minutes later, he sets his container on the coffee table, and I hear fabric rustling before he taps my shoulder. Three times, like we'd agreed.
"Can I turn around now?" I ask, double checking.
He gives another soft rumble and taps me again.
Turning slowly, I give him plenty of time to make sure his mask is securely in place. When I face him again, he looks much the same as before, the black fabric covering the lower half of his face, his blue eyes watching me carefully.
But there's a difference now. A subtle shift in his posture, in the set of his shoulders. As if trusting me for once has eased something inside him. I curl into his side, and after a moment's hesitation, he drapes a huge arm around my shoulders and pulls me a little closer.
The movie keeps playing, but I'm not paying much attention. The warm weight of his arm around me, the steady rise and fall of his chest… it feels like sanctuary. Not the loft itself, but him. Like something I didn't even know I was missing until I found it.
I find myself studying his profile as he watches the movie.
The strong line of his jaw beneath the mask, the deep blue of his eyes, the shadow of his dark lashes against his skin.
His attention seems focused on the screen, but I can tell by the slight tension in his shoulders that he's hyperaware of me watching him.
My body feels heavy with exhaustion suddenly, bone-deep weariness hitting me all at once. I stifle a yawn, the chaos of a way too chaotic day catching up with me all at once. Wraith seems to notice, his head tilting slightly toward me in concern. His hand moves between us.
T-I-R-E-D?
"A little," I admit. "It's been a long day."
S-H-O-U-L-D... S-L-E-E-P.
I nod groggily. "Yeah, probably."
He rises from the couch and gestures toward the bed, then points to the couch, indicating that I should take the bed while he lays down here.
Just like before.
But something has changed between us tonight.
And the thought of sleeping alone, of putting that distance between us after everything we've shared…
I don't want to do that.
"Actually," I say in a quieter voice than intended, "would you... would you mind sleeping with me? It's just kind of chilly, and..."
God, what a lame excuse. The truth is simpler—I don't want to be alone.
Specifically, I want to be with Wraith. I want the comfort of his presence, the security of his strong arms around me.
I want to fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the way I did when the suppressant shot hit me so hard.
Wraith stares at me, those blue eyes widening slightly in surprise before doubt bleeds in, as if he thinks I've lost my mind. For a moment, I think he's going to refuse, to insist on keeping that careful distance between us. Then, slowly, he nods.
Moving toward the bed, my legs feel suddenly unsteady. The suppressant is still working its way through my system, making me lightheaded and slightly dizzy. Or maybe that's just the effect Wraith has on me, the way my pulse quickens whenever he's near.
He'd probably think it's because I'm afraid.
But that's not it at all.
I slip under the covers, the sheets cool against my skin. Wraith hesitates at the edge of the bed, his massive frame looming over me. His hands move in the dim light, pointing to me, then fingerspelling.
You S-U-R-E?
"I'm sure," I say softly, patting the space beside me. "Please."
He sits on the edge of the bed carefully, as if afraid he might break it if he moves too quickly. The mattress dips beneath him as he slowly stretches out beside me, keeping a respectful distance between our bodies.
Turning onto my side, I face him. In the soft light from the TV, his blue eyes seem to glow, watching me with that intense focus that makes my skin tingle.
I shift a little closer.
His eyes widen slightly. For a moment, he doesn't move, and I wonder if I've pushed too far, asked for too much. Then, with aching slowness, he cautiously lifts his arm, creating a space for me to move into.
I don't hesitate. I slide closer, fitting myself against his side, my head coming to rest on his broad chest. His arm settles around me, heavy and warm, holding me with a gentleness that belies his tremendous strength.
His heart thunders beneath my ear, a rapid, powerful rhythm that tells me more than words ever could about what this means to him. About how much this simple act of trust and intimacy affects him.
"This is nice," I whisper, letting my eyes drift closed. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his body seeping into mine, the comforting weight of his arm around me…
I could get used to this.
Scent match or not.
A soft rumble vibrates through his chest, an agreement that doesn't need words.
We lie like that for a while, the movie playing forgotten in the background. Wraith's heartbeat gradually slows to a steadier rhythm, his breathing deepening. I can feel him relaxing by degrees, allowing himself to enjoy this closeness, this connection.
My own body responds in kind, the lingering effects of the suppressant shot making me hyperaware of every point of contact between us. The heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. The weight of his arm around my shoulders. The way his woodsy scent fills my lungs with each breath.
It would be so easy to fall asleep like this, cradled in his warmth and strength. But there's something else building inside me, a restless energy that makes it impossible to fully relax. A need the suppressant can't quite suppress.
My hand rests on his chest, fingers splaying, feeling the solid wall of muscle beneath my palm and the fabric of his shirt. His breath hitches at the contact, but he doesn't pull away.
Emboldened, I let my fingers trail downward, tracing the ridges of his abs through his shirt. His muscles tense beneath my touch, another slight tremor running through him.
I pause, suddenly uncertain. "Is this okay?" I whisper, tilting my head to look up at him.
His eyes meet mine, darkening. He nods, a single, jerky movement that speaks of restraint, of careful control.
My hand continues its exploration, moving down the flat plane of his stomach, feeling the way his muscles jump and twitch beneath my touch.
There's something addictive about the power of it—the knowledge that I, small and vulnerable as I am, can affect this massive, powerful alpha with nothing more than the brush of my fingertips.
His arm tightens around me, drawing me closer against his side. I can feel the heat of him now, radiating through his clothes, warming my skin wherever we touch. His scent intensifies, taking on a darker, muskier note that makes my head spin.
My fingers find the hem of his shirt, hesitating at the boundary. This is another line we haven't crossed, another threshold we haven't stepped over. I glance up at him again, seeking permission.
His eyes are nearly black now, the blue reduced to a thin ring around dilated pupils. He watches me with an intensity that would be terrifying if he were any other alpha.
Slowly, carefully, I slip my hand beneath his shirt, my palm coming to rest on the bare skin of his stomach.
He's burning hot, his skin like satin over steel.
A shuddering breath escapes him, his chest rising sharply beneath my cheek.
His arm around me tightens fractionally, drawing me impossibly closer.
I let my hand wander, exploring the terrain of his body with gentle curiosity.
Each scar I encounter is a question I don't ask, a story he'll tell me when he's ready—if he's ever ready.
For now, I simply accept them as part of him, as integral to who he is as his blue eyes or his strong, gentle hands.
My fingers trace upward, following the line of his sternum, feeling the powerful thump of his heart beneath the webbing of scars. He flinches and tenses up again at first, his gaze flicking away from me, but he takes in a shuddering breath and holds it, stilling himself.
I spread my fingers wide, absorbing the heat and strength of him through this simple touch. His pulse picks up and a low growl rumbles through his chest, vibrating against my cheek.
Not a warning, but something else entirely. Something that makes my own pulse quicken in response.
The suppressant shot is still working—I can feel it in the artificial coolness of my blood, the dampened response of my body—but it's fighting a losing battle against the growing heat between my thighs, the tightening of my nipples, the flush spreading across my skin.
My hand drifts lower again, tracing the hard planes of his abdomen to the waistband of his sweatpants. His muscles tense again beneath my touch, his breathing growing more ragged.
A sudden, unwanted memory hits me hard enough to make my hands freeze. Wade's hands gripping my wrists too tight, his voice in my ear. “You belong to me, bitch.”
Wraith notices immediately, his body going still beneath my touch. His eyes find mine, questioning, concern etched in their blue depths. His rough hand comes up to touch my cheek, tucking my hair behind my ear. Gently.
Always so gentle.
Only for me.
His touch makes my inner omega purr in response.
The telltale warmth inside me is building, the gathering ache between my thighs that signals my heat approaching despite the medication. Usually, that realization would terrify me.
But here, with Wraith… the fear is there, but it's different. Smaller. Manageable. More a buzzing nervousness that's waking me up than anything serious. I feel vulnerable, but in a way I find myself actually enjoying.
I've spent months running, hiding, suppressing every natural instinct. Denying my omega nature to stay safe. Burning away Wade's mark had been excruciating, but necessary. Even now, it's prickling, a constant reminder that I belong to no one but myself.
Now, lying here with Wraith's massive frame carefully cradled around mine, I realize something. This is about far more than physical need. This is about reclaiming something that was stolen from me.
With Wraith, every touch is a question. Never a demand. Every moment of intimacy offered, not taken.
I'm not running from something this time.
I'm choosing something.
Someone.
"Wraith," I whisper.
He shifts slightly, gazing down at me with a question in his eyes.
"I..." I swallow hard, gathering my courage. "I need to ask you something."
He nods, waiting.
"The second suppressant shot... I don't want to take it. It was too hard on my system. Because of my burned mating mark, I think," I admit. "My heat is still coming, just slower."
A soft, distressed rumble vibrates through his chest, so low I feel rather than hear it. His throat works beneath his mask, a convulsive swallow. When his hand finally moves again, the signs come slow, halting.
W-H-A-T... D-O... Y-O-U... N-E-E-D?
I hesitate, not sure how to answer him.
What do I need? Safety. Security. Release from the building pressure inside me. But more than that, I need him.
His touch.
His strength.
His care.
"I need you," I whisper softly. "I want you to help me through my heat."