Chapter 7
EMME
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. My thighs are trembling, slick with spit and sugar and whatever part of my soul he just devoured.
West’s mouth glistens. His beard is damp. His eyes glow so silver he might as well be halfway shifted. He licks his lips, slow and filthy, like he’s tasting me all over again just from memory.
“This…” I gasp, voice still wrecked, hips twitching toward him, “this is what I meant when I said I wanted to go out with a sugary bang.”
He growls.
The sound zings through me like lightning, straight to the dripping mess between my legs. My body reacts, tightening, aching for more.
His hands are on me before I can blink. One hand is in my hair, the other under my thigh, dragging me from where I’d writhed away toward the back of the counter and right to the edge again.
My ass is right at the lip, legs dangling, spread wide open for him.
He lifts my chin with fingers sticky from the sugar still clinging to his skin, tilting my face so I’m looking right into his molten silver eyes.
The sound of his pants unzipping makes me shiver. Then I feel the thick, hot head of his cock drag along my folds, parting me with just enough pressure to make my toes curl.
“Fuck,” I whisper, back arching. I dart my tongue out and lick his lips, moaning when I get that hit of sugar and salt.
West’s jaw tightens. He exhales a sharp breath through his nose like he’s barely holding himself together.
“What are you waiting for, old man?”
He slams into me in one world ending thrust that buries his cock to the hilt.
I cry out, nails clawing at his shoulders, legs wrapping around his hips. He’s thick, hard, and stretching me so wide it hurts in the best goddamn way.
The sugar bag spills beside us as he thrusts into me, dusting his knuckles and my stomach with a fresh layer of sparkle.
His hand finds my breast again. Flour and sugar grinds into sweat as he teases my nipple with his thumb, then leans down and sucks it into his mouth.
The slide of his tongue and the rough scrape of his beard against my sensitive skin makes my muscles flutter around him.
“Mine,” he snarls, slamming into me so hard the counter groans beneath us.
I claw at his shoulders, hips rolling to meet every thrust, desperate to feel it all, to keep him deep, to keep him. “Yes,” I moan, so loud it echoes off the cabin walls, dizzy and full and practically feral. “Only yours.”
His hand slides between us, fingers swiping through the mess of sugar and slick at my clit. He rubs in tight circles, the pleasure inside me building, tightening, cresting, until it breaks. My body seizes and my vision sparks as my pussy clenches around him like a vice.
“Sweet little fox,” he growls, pressing his forehead to mine, hips still driving through the aftershocks. “So fucking glad I found you out in the cold and claimed you for myself.”
His hips stutter, rhythm breaking, and he pulls out just in time.
He grits his teeth, and his cock jerks against my inner thigh.
His release hits my skin in hot, thick ropes as he wraps his arm around me.
West’s breath is a storm against my neck as he leans in, lips dragging across my shoulder, whispering something I can’t make out over the thunder of my pulse in my ears.
He tucks my head under his chin and holds me there, cradled tight against his chest like he’s trying to slow the wild thrum of his heart by anchoring it to mine. And something about the fact that I did that, that I’m the reason he’s trembling and breathless and undone makes my whole chest ache.
West presses a kiss to the top of my head and slides his hands down my sides in warm, soothing strokes that linger like he doesn’t want to let go.
“Don’t move,” he mutters, voice hoarse, a little dazed. “Let me take care of you.”
He tugs his jeans back on and reaches for the towel hanging from the oven handle, turns on the faucet, and tests the water with his wrist until it runs warm.
When he comes back, he’s gentler than I thought possible.
Each focused pass of the cloth is soft as he wipes between my thighs, across my belly, across my chest. As he works, he brushes tiny kisses over my cheeks, my nose, my lips.
“I can’t feel my legs,” I mumble, heart still galloping.
He laughs. “Means I did something right.”
I swat playfully at his chest but leave my hand there, drawing lazy circles through the flour that’s still dusting his dark hair. He leans into it, and maybe he needs the contact just as much as I do.
He kisses the top of my head, nose buried in my hair. “You hungry?” he whispers.
“Mmhhmm.” It’s all I can manage as my eyelids drift closed.
“Let me feed you,” he says quietly. “Something savory this time.”
I laugh as he scoops me up and carries me to the couch, his heartbeat steady against my ear.
He lowers me onto the cushions and pulls the nearest blanket around me, tucking the edges in with careful hands, as if keeping me warm has suddenly become the most important thing in the world.
As if keeping me has suddenly become important.
He lingers, smoothing a stray curl away from my face, then leans down and kisses me. His hand cups my cheek, thumb tracing slow circles along my jaw that make the rest of the room fall away.
It happens before I can stop it. Something opens in me, soft and wild, blooming through the cracks I’ve spent the past year sealing shut.
It roots itself deep into the quiet part of me that no longer trusts anyone to stay.
And I know, with a sudden, breathless certainty, that this is how it starts. This is how I find my mate.