Chapter 21 Reid #2
I moved around her, slow and steady, as if any sudden motion might snap us both back to wherever we were before the drive.
I kicked off my boots, set them side by side, then shed my shirt, dragging it over my head with a deliberate roughness.
I rolled my shoulders, tension coming off in layers.
She didn’t move except for a pulse at the base of her throat, quick and shallow.
I waited to see if she’d say anything. She didn’t, so I pushed the blanket aside on the bed, sat down, and patted the space next to me.
She came over. Her boots were off now, too, feet bare, and the sound of her steps on the wooden floor seemed impossibly loud.
She sat. Still didn’t speak.
We didn’t touch at first. Just sat there, not even looking at each other, breathing in the crackle of the fire and the faint pulse of cicadas building somewhere beyond the window.
After a minute, I reached up and undid the first button on her shirt.
I waited, in case she wanted to stop me.
She didn’t. I kept going, one button at a time, until her shirt hung open, showing a thin tank underneath, clinging to her skin.
The smell of her, salt and sunblock, and the faint citrus edge of her shampoo, filled up the space between us.
I leaned in, close enough to feel her exhale, and brushed my mouth over the line of her jaw.
She shivered and turned to meet me, and we just hovered there, forehead to forehead, until she moved first. She kissed me.
Not with hesitation, but with hunger. She bit my lower lip, dragged her teeth, then let it go.
I made a sound, deep in my throat, and that seemed to satisfy her.
I found the hem of her tank and pulled it up over her head.
She let me, raising her arms and shaking her hair free as the shirt came off.
Underneath, she was slick with sweat and adrenaline.
I ran my hand down her spine, followed the line to where the waistband of her jeans cut into the curve of her hip.
She went for my belt, fingers sure and a little rough. She got it loose, then unzipped my jeans, never breaking eye contact. She shoved them down, hard enough that I almost toppled off the cot, and then she laughed, quick and sharp.
I stood, peeled off the rest, and then pulled her up too, hands on her hips, thumbs hooked just inside the denim. She wriggled out, legs bare, and for a second we stood there, looking at each other.
She put her hands on my chest, fingers tracing across it. She kissed me, soft, and then bit, not soft at all. I caught her chin in my hand, tilted her head back, and kissed her again, this time slowly, letting it build.
She wrapped her arms around my neck, nails digging into the muscle at the base of my skull. I felt the heat of her, pressed against me, the way her breath caught each time I squeezed her waist or ground my thigh between hers.
I pushed her back onto the bed, and she went, sprawled across the rumpled wool blanket, mouth open, hair wild.
She crooked a finger at me, so I crawled up after her as she spread her legs, foot braced against the bedframe, and ran her hand between her thighs, slow, teasing herself.
She met my gaze, daring me to look away.
I watched, helpless, as she circled her clit, slick and swollen, then slid two fingers inside and shuddered.
I reached down, caught her wrist, and replaced her fingers with mine.
She was so wet it was obscene. I slid in, then out, curling my fingers just so, and she bucked under me, a sharp gasp escaping. I thumbed her clit, and she grabbed my forearm with both hands, using me for leverage.
She let me work her for a minute, but then she wanted more, I could feel it in the way she ground her hips up. I pulled my hand away, grabbed a condom from the box on the shelf, and she ripped it open before I could. She rolled it down my cock, then gave it a squeeze for good luck.
“Come on,” she said, voice raw.
I lined up, pressed my head to her, and pushed in, slowly, enjoying the feel of her pussy enveloping around me. She bit my shoulder, making me growl against her throat.
I fucked her with slow, deep strokes, watching the way her eyes fluttered, the way her mouth twisted when I hit the right spot. She wrapped her legs around my waist and pulled me in harder, faster.
We moved together, the old bed creaking, sweat slicking our bodies until every inch of us was stuck together. She kissed me, biting my lip hard. I kissed her back, roughly, and then shifted, grabbing her ass and lifting her hips so I could go even deeper.
She came first, loud and sudden, arching up off the bed with a moan that probably carried all the way to the bunkhouse. I kept going, chasing mine, and when I finished, it was with a shudder that wracked my whole body.
I collapsed on top of her, panting, and she held me there, arms wrapped tight, fingers digging into my shoulders.
We stayed like that, tangled and sweating, for a long time. She turned, pressed her face into my neck, and whispered, “Thank you.”
“For what?” I asked, half asleep.
“For making me forget everything else.”
I kissed her hair. “You’re welcome.”
We drifted, letting the world outside vanish.
I woke before she did. The sun was barely up, burning through the cloud cover and painting everything in the cabin the color of old honey.
She’d rolled off me sometime in the night, but we were still tangled together under the blanket, her hand curled around my bicep, legs knotted with mine.
The urge to stay put was strong. But the other urge, the old, hardwired duty, was stronger.
I eased out from under her, careful not to wake her, and pulled on yesterday's jeans and a cleaner shirt.
I left a note on the table, “Back in an hour. Eggs and coffee in the fridge. – R.”
The main house was quiet, the kitchen empty except for the tick of the grandfather clock and the faint smell of yeast from dough left to rise overnight. I found Calder out back on the porch, nursing a cup of coffee. “I need to talk to you.”
He nodded, and led the way to the tack room, away from anyone who might be listening.
There, surrounded by the smell of leather and kerosene, I told him. “She’s mine. I’m sure of it.”
He didn’t react, not in any way that mattered. But he leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “How sure?”
“More than I’ve ever been about anything,” I said. “It’s my wolf. It’s me. It’s both.”
He nodded, absorbing it. “What do you know about the bond, when it’s not two wolves?”
“Nothing,” I admitted. “Not even a rumor.”
He looked at the ground, thinking. “Midge told me once that it can happen. Not common, but not impossible. Sometimes the wolf chooses before the man even knows it. When it’s human, it’s the same rules. Permanent. Final. Not something you can undo, not even if you want to.”
I said nothing. There was no point. He wasn’t telling me to back out. He was telling me the consequences.
He went on, “You take her, she’s yours. You can’t unmake it. And if she dies—” I knew what that meant.
“I go, too,” I said.
He nodded. “Not always right away, but it’s never more than a season. It’s in the bond.”
I thought about that. “I don’t care,” I said, and meant it to the core of my being.
He studied me. “Does she know?”
“Not yet. I’ll tell her today.”
He pushed off the wall and stepped close. “You sure she can handle it?”
“She’s stronger than anyone I’ve met,” I said. “You don’t have to like her. You just have to trust me.”
He put a hand on my shoulder. “I trust you, Reid. Always have. Do what you have to,” he said. “You gonna tell her the rest?”
I nodded. He meant some of the less savory things we’d had to do as a pack over the years. “She deserves it.”
He let me go. I walked out, squinting against the glare of the new day, the sweat already breaking on my brow.
By the time I got back to the cabin, she was up, sitting on the porch, reading the label on the jar of preserves she’d bought yesterday. She didn’t look up when I sat beside her, just handed the jar over.
I took it. “You sleep okay?”
She smiled, tired but honest. “Best I have in years.”
I turned the jar in my hand, looking at the ingredients, pretending to study it while I found the words.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I said.
She closed her book, set it on the step, and faced me.
I took her hand, felt the bones of it, the quick pulse in her wrist. “I’m yours,” I said. “In a way that isn’t normal, not even for me.”
She swallowed, not scared, but listening.
I told her everything. About the bond. About what it meant, what it cost, the parts a person couldn’t come back from.
She didn’t say anything for a long time.
Finally she looked at me, and for once, all the shields were down. “I’m in,” she said. “Whatever it is.” A pause. “My name’s not Cardin,” she said. “It’s Benson. Jennie Benson. Since we’re being honest.”
With a laugh, I kissed her, and she held on, tight.