18. Jp #2
That question hangs between us like something fragile and heavy all at once.
What do I tell her?
That I was worried?
That I can’t stop thinking about her?
That I want her so goddamn badly it hurts?
Instead, I go with the safest truth I’ve got.
“Because you were determined to die of exposure,” I mutter, trying to sound annoyed instead of desperate.
She laughs, a sound that’s all light and warmth despite the shiver wracking her frame.
“Hmmm, that’s not exactly accurate,” she teases, her voice vibrating with a bit of humor—and a whole lot of cold.
I grab another towel and step toward her without thinking, wrapping it around her shoulders. My hands settle on her upper arms, firm and steady, but I hesitate. The urge to pull her in is a roar in my blood—just as strong as the instinct to push her away.
I release her instead. Even though every part of me aches to keep her close.
Sterling stays still for a second longer than necessary, her brows knitting as she looks down at her arms—where my hands were.
Then her gaze lifts, cautious but steady. “JP…why’d you really bring me here?”
Her voice is soft, but it slices right through me.
Sighing, I drop down onto the bench at the small dinette, needing a little space to breathe, to pull myself together.
I stretch my legs out in front of me, letting the quiet hum of the cabin and the gentle creak of the boat begin to work their way into my chest, slowly unwinding the knot that’s been there since the second I saw her.
The air is warmer now, thick with her scent and the lingering traces of mine. It’s grounding and dangerous all at once.
Draping my arm over the back of the bench, I tilt my head back and close my eyes. I don’t know what the hell to tell her. Every answer feels like a risk. Every truth feels too sharp.
But my Alpha doesn’t want to lie. Not to her.
Because even though we haven’t kissed, even though I’ve barely touched her…I can already feel it—that pull. That match.
And I’m drunk on the idea of what it would be like to give in.
I’m quiet for so long that I don’t even realize she’s moved until I feel her slide into the space beside me, her warmth brushing against my side.
“You don’t have to answer,” she says softly.
She’s sitting so close I can feel the heat radiating off her, and it makes it hard to breathe.
I just stare at her, devouring her with my eyes until my chest aches from holding back. From not grabbing her, not kissing her, not giving in to every primal instinct screaming that she’s mine. I should shove this feeling down like I always do—like I’ve trained myself to do.
But I know women. And I see the shift in her face, the exact moment she decides to kiss me.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I rasp, my voice low and rough. “What were you even doing out running anyways? You should’ve stayed home. Stayed dry. Out of the rain. ” I ask, hoping to change the subject back to her.
“Maybe,” she answers, but her eyes flicker, her scent curling around us—soft, sweet, and damn near intoxicating.
The conversation from last night slams into me—Sterling and a heat. The idea barrels through my brain and goes straight to my cock.
Fuck.
I won’t survive it. Not if I’m near her when it happens.
I should push her away. Keep her where she’s safe—where she stays a fantasy, not a memory I’ll never be able to forget. Because if this becomes real, I’ll never come back from it.
But then she reaches out, placing her hand over my chest—right over my heart—and I know I won’t.
“But I think you like that I am.” Sterling scoots closer, and her back brushes my arm on the bench.
Her scent spikes again—richer now, warmer, laced with something deep and unmistakably Omega.
And fuck?—
I freeze. Because I don’t know what the universe is doing. I don’t know what game it’s playing. But for just this once, I don’t want to fight it.
She leans in, lifts her head, slow and uncertain, and presses her lips to mine.
It’s clumsy. Honest. Awkward.
And it fucking melts me.
I’m about to pull away, about to pat myself on the back for my ungodly restraint, when I feel her tongue stroke my lips, then tentatively tangle with mine.
The sounds she makes—it’s absolute heaven. It’s the soft, breathy sound of her pleasure.
With a growl, I drop my arm around her waist and pull her in, taking over. I crush my mouth to hers, and she melts against me like she’s been waiting for this—aching for this—just as much as I have.
Her lips are soft and warm and slick with want, and I take. Fuck, I take everything.
She gasps into my mouth, and I swallow the sound like a man starved, my tongue sliding against hers—coaxing, demanding, claiming.
I tilt her chin higher, kiss her deeper, drag my teeth over her plush lower lip and groan when she whimpers, when she shudders in my arms.
She lets me. Welcomes it. Gives just as much as she takes.
Her kiss started innocent—curious and soft. Mine is fucking consuming.
I can’t bring her close enough. Not with our mouths. Not with our bodies.
Fucking scent matches.
This can be just kissing.
I want to fuck her—God, I do.
But I can’t. I won’t do that to her. Not unless I’m going to mate her. Bond her. Sex would be too fucking complicated. Too fucking messy.
But a kiss?
Yeah.
I can give myself that much.
Just that.
I tell myself all of this while I’m pulling her onto my lap. She immediately straddles me and I feel her hot core pressed against my cock through our clothes, and a guttural, low growl rises out of my chest.
“Fuck, you feel good.” And as if she can’t help herself, she rubs herself against me. I grab her hips to still her, holding her still, feeling her heat through the soaked fabric of our clothes.
She gasps, her fingers digging into my shoulders. “JP, please don’t push me away again.”
Her voice is breathless, barely more than a whisper—but it’s enough.
Enough to break me.
Enough to tear down whatever walls I had left.
She arches into me, arms winding around the back of my neck, pulling me closer like she needs this just as desperately as I do.
Her center lines up perfectly with the hard ridge of my cock, and when I grind into her—slow, instinctual—she moans.
The sound tears through me like a live wire, sharp and devastating.
“Please,” I rasp, my mouth grazing the soft skin of her throat. “Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me to fuck off. Please.”
I’ve never begged for a woman to push me away.
But I am now.
Because if she doesn’t, I won’t stop. And we both know it. I’m drowning in her sweet cinnamon scent and?—
Instead, she tilts her head back, her breath coming in sharp little gasps, her pulse pounding beneath my lips. She opens her legs wider, leaving nothing to the imagination: how good she’d feel riding my cock, giving me a look that is unsure and all sex.
Sterling’s offering herself up. Her shorts are soaked but they don’t prevent me from touching her. I drop my hands to her knees and slowly drag my hands up her thighs to her hips, trying to desperately regain some of my composure.
My thumbs graze her clit through her shorts.
I know that if I just let my finger slip inside her shorts, under her underwear, her pussy would be fucking dripping with slick.
My mouth waters. I have to grit my teeth to not tear the fucking things off her and sink my dick so far into her, locking her on my knot.
I grip her hips tightly—tightly enough I’m sure it’s hurting her.
“Fuck,” I bark.
Her breath hitches, her head drops back, a barely contained whimper on her lips.
The sound makes me feel powerful. Mine , my alpha roars. I can’t fucking do this.
“Sterling, we?—”
Her scent is everywhere, thick, intoxicating, dragging at every last ounce of my control.
I can’t fucking think.
I slowly pull my hands away from her hips and her sweet slick pussy. I’m so hard it hurts; my knot is more swollen than it ever has been. I want to bury myself so deep in her she’ll never want to come up for air.
And then she’ll have my fucking heart on silver platter. But I can’t…I just can’t. I can’t let anyone in that much again.
“Sterling, we shouldn’t do this.”
“Why? It doesn’t have to mean anything. Just two consenting adults?” And then she gives me a look—so open, so vulnerable—I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do with it. But I know one thing for damn sure: between us, it could never be just sex.
“Fuck,” I mutter, my voice low, rough, dangerous. I run my hand through my hair. “I’m sorry…I can’t, I’m so fucking sorry.”
I wish she could understand. But I know in the sudden bittering in her scent she doesn’t. She makes quick work of getting off me and trying to get around the table and tight space to the door.
“Wait…” I stand and step forward, just once, just enough, and she stiffens, a barely-there whimper catching in her throat.
She freezes, her gaze snapping back to mine, devastation on her face. Her storm-gray eyes are wide, pupils blown, mouth still parted like she’s struggling to breathe.
“Don’t. Just don’t,” she stammers, shaking her head, stumbling back like she needs space. “I have to go.”
Something in my chest twists.
Her scent flares again, confusion, fear, something deeper, something that has my instincts roaring to pull her in, hold her down, make her stay.
I clench my jaw, dragging a hand over my face, my body still tight and wound up with need.
My fingers flex at my sides, torn between dragging her back and forcing myself to let her leave.
I let her go and hate myself for it.