Chapter 5 #2
"Eagle Scout brother," she said, holding her hands out to the flames. "Survival skills aren't gendered."
I walked over to the kitchen area and checked the thermostat. "It's going to take a few hours for the ambient heat to rise. The floors are stone. They hold the cold."
I turned around. Riley was still by the fire, but she was shivering violently now. The adrenaline of the arrival was wearing off, leaving just the bone-deep chill of the mountains. She was hugging herself, rubbing her arms.
"I'm f-fine," she stuttered seeing me watch her. "Just need a m-minute."
I didn't say anything. I just walked over to the oversized leather couch in front of the hearth, grabbed the thick wool blanket draped over the back, and moved toward her.
"Stand up," I said.
She looked up at me, her eyes huge behind her glasses. "What?"
"Stand up, Mouse."
She scrambled to her feet.
I didn't ask for permission. I stepped into her space, enveloping her in my shadow. I wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, pulling it tight. But I didn't stop there.
I pulled her into me.
"Spike," she gasped, her hands coming up to rest flat against my chest. "What are you doing?"
"Sharing the wealth," I murmured.
I wrapped my arms around her—blanket and all—and crushed her to my chest. I was a furnace. My body temperature ran at a steady 102 degrees, typical for an Alpha. I was a living radiator.
She stiffened for a second, her instincts warring with her needs. Then, with a little whimper that went straight to my groin, she melted.
She buried her face in the crook of my neck. Her cold nose pressed against my skin. Her body aligned with mine, fitting into the hard planes of my chest and thighs as if she had been made for it.
"You're so warm," she whispered into my skin.
"And you're an icicle." I rubbed my hands up and down her back, generating friction through the wool blanket. "Better?"
"Mmm."
We stood there for a long time. The fire crackled and popped. The wind howled outside, battering the windows, but inside the circle of my arms, it was quiet.
Too quiet.
The silence shifted. It stopped being about survival and started being about awareness.
I could feel her breasts pressed against my torso. I could feel the curve of her hip under my hand. I could smell the honey scent of her arousal spiking, mixing with the woodsmoke.
She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at me.
Her glasses were crooked. Her lips were parted. Her eyes were dark, dilated, and searching.
"Spike," she breathed.
She didn't move away. She stayed there, trapped in my arms, looking at me like I was the only water in a desert.
"Don't look at me like that," I warned, my voice dropping to a low rumble.
"Like what?"
"Like you want to know what I taste like."
Her breath hitched. "I'm just cold."
"Liar."
I moved one hand from her back to her neck. My thumb brushed her jawline, tracing the pulse that was hammering there. My skin was rough, calloused; hers was silk.
"You're terrified," I whispered. "I can feel your heart beating. It's like a bird."
"I'm not scared of you," she said, a little defiance sparking in her eyes. "I'm scared of this. Of us."
"Good. You should be."
I leaned down. I gave her time to run. I gave her ten seconds to push me away, to remind me of the rules, to tell me about her thesis or the grade or the Coach.
She didn't move. She rose up on her tiptoes.
That was all the permission the Wolf needed.
I crashed my mouth down on hers.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was an ambush. It was hungry and possessive and overdue. I devoured her. I slanted my mouth over hers, forcing her lips apart, sweeping my tongue inside to taste the sweetness I had been obsessing over for days.
She tasted like coffee and peppermint and her.
Riley made a noise—a desperate, high-pitched moan—and threw her arms around my neck, tangling her fingers in my hair. She didn't pull away; she pulled me closer.
I groaned, the sound vibrating in my chest against hers. I walked her backward until her legs hit the heavy wooden dining table.
I lifted her.
With one arm, I hoisted her up onto the edge of the table. She wrapped her legs around my waist instantly, pulling me into the cradle of her hips.
The blanket fell to the floor.
"Spike," she gasped, breaking the kiss for air. Her lips were swollen, red, glistening. "We can't... the rules..."
"Fuck the rules," I growled, burying my face in the side of her neck. I nipped at the sensitive skin there, soothing the bite with a lick. "No one is here, Riley. No one can see us."
"But—"
"Shh." I brought my hand up—my injured hand—and cupped her face. The bandage was rough against her skin, a reminder of my violence, but she leaned into it. "Let me take care of you. Let me warm you up."
I kissed her again, slower this time, deeper. My other hand—the good one—slid down her side, over the curve of her waist, to her thigh. I squeezed, enjoying the soft give of her flesh.
She was wearing those damn jeans.
"I hate these pants," I muttered against her mouth.
Riley laughed, a breathless, broken sound. "They're sturdy."
"They're in my way."
I moved my hand inward, sliding between her thighs. She gasped, her head falling back, exposing her throat.
"Spike..."
"Open for me," I commanded softly. "Be a good girl."
The praise hit her like a drug. I saw her eyes flutter shut, her body relaxing, surrendering. Her legs widened, allowing me to step closer, until there was no air between us.
I pressed my palm against the seam of her jeans, right over her center.
She bucked.
"Jesus," I hissed, feeling the heat radiating through the denim. "You're soaking wet."
"I can't help it," she whimpered, hiding her face in my shoulder. "It's biology. It's the bond."
"It's not just biology, Riley." I ground my hips against hers, letting her feel the hardness of my erection through my sweatpants. "Biology doesn't make you taste like this. Biology doesn't make me want to burn the world down just to hear you say my name."
I started to move my hand, rubbing circles against the thick fabric. It wasn't enough. I needed skin.
I reached for the button of her jeans.
Riley's hand shot out and covered mine.
"Wait," she breathed. She was trembling. "Spike, wait."
I froze. "What?"
"I... I haven't..." She swallowed hard, looking at me with vulnerability that stopped my heart. "I've never done this. With anyone."
I stared at her. The world seemed to stop spinning.
"You're a virgin?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
She nodded, biting her lip. "I'm a Latent. I told you. It's dangerous. I've always been too afraid that I'd break."
The realization hit me like a physical blow. She was untouched. She was pure. And she was letting me—the Butcher, the monster—put my hands on her.
The Wolf howled in triumph. Mine. First. Only.
But the man... the man was terrified.
I slowly pulled my hand away from her jeans. I rested my forehead against hers, closing my eyes, fighting for control. My breathing was ragged.
"Spike?" she whispered, sounding scared. "Did I ruin it?"
"Ruin it?" I let out a harsh laugh. "No, Mouse. You didn't ruin it. You just made the stakes infinitely higher."
I pulled back to look at her. I brushed her messy hair out of her face.
"I'm not going to take that from you on a kitchen table while you're wearing a parka," I said firmly. "Not like this. Not fast."
"I don't mind fast," she offered weakly.
"I do." I kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose. "When I claim you, Riley—and I am going to claim you—it’s going to be because you want me, not just because we're snowed in and horny. And I’m going to take my time. I’m going to make sure you know exactly who you belong to."
I stepped back, putting a foot of distance between us. It felt like a mile.
Riley looked dazed. She sat on the edge of the table, her legs still dangling, her lips ravaged.
"Okay," she squeaked.
"Okay." I ran a hand through my hair, wincing as my bandaged hand throbbed. "Now. I'm going to go get more wood for the fire. You are going to drink some water. And then..."
"Then?"
"Then you're going to quiz me on the Treaty of 1894," I said, my voice rough. "Because if I don't use my brain right now, I'm going to throw you over my shoulder, carry you up to that loft, and do things that will get us both expelled."
Riley slid off the table. Her legs were shaky. She adjusted her glasses.
"Treaty of 1894," she repeated, her voice gaining a little bit of strength. "Right. I can do that."
She looked at me one last time, a small, secret smile touching her lips.
"You're a good man, Spike Thorne," she whispered.
I turned away before she could see the guilt on my face.
"No, I'm not," I muttered as I headed for the door. "But for you, I'm trying."
I stepped out onto the porch into the blizzard. The cold air hit my flushed skin, stinging and sharp. I scooped up a handful of snow and rubbed it over my face, trying to cool the fire in my blood.
It didn't work.
I was in trouble. I was in deep, catastrophic trouble.
Because I didn't just want to sleep with the tutor.
I was falling in love with her. And that was the one thing the Butcher couldn't survive.