Chapter 44
Conrí
I never expected the bright pink bra.
It caught me entirely off guard—lace, the straps sitting against her shoulders like they’d been painted there. I registered all of it in approximately half a second before my brain moved on to the next problem.
The skirt had to go. I needed to see more of her.
I stood at the edge of the bed.
Her eyes were on my crotch.
I couldn’t blame her. My underwear was doing absolutely nothing to conceal the tortured state I was in. I’d been in that state since the lift and had been managing it with steadily diminishing success for the past hour. I peeled them off carefully and held them out to her.
She took them from me.
Looked around.
Then folded them with complete seriousness—corners tucked, edges aligned—and placed them neatly amongst the rest of my clothing.
I watched this happen.
I said nothing.
Hurry up, Kael snapped. Can’t you see she’s in pain?
I could see. I knew the moment another cramp arrived because she curled into her layered nest and pressed her palm flat against her belly, her breath going shallow and controlled the way it did when she was managing something without asking for help.
I was stubborn. Every cell in my body needed her—only her, had only ever been her—but I needed the words first. Her words. Her choice, stated clearly, because once she gave them to me I could give her everything. There would not be a single doubt left in her mind.
Not once she took my knot.
“Are you coming in or not?” Nika snapped.
I was fairly certain she would have stamped her foot again if the cramp hadn’t stolen the energy for it.
“Is that an invitation?” I said carefully. “Because once I’m in your nest, I’m not leaving until we’re both thoroughly satisfied.”
Her eyes travelled down my body. Slowly. Unhurried. The way you looked at something you were committing to memory—every detail, every line, taking her time about it in a way that was doing nothing constructive for my self-control.
Her eyes drooped. Her lips parted. Her head tilted as she scented the air between us.
Her scent deepened.
She was absolutely drenched and still making me wait, the obstinate, magnificent, infuriating woman.
I held myself at the edge of the bed through what I can only describe as an act of extraordinary will.
“I wholeheartedly invite you,” she muttered.
I didn’t move for a second.
Her fingers raked through her chestnut hair until some of the strands fell forward over the pink bra. Her chest and neck were flushed—a heated, paler rose against the lace.
I eased myself onto the bed. She shifted to make room without being asked.
The moment I was close enough she raised her arms and I moved to capture her lips. Soft. Wet. My hands found the small of her back and I made quick work of the waistband, tearing it cleanly from the seam.
She didn’t notice. She was too occupied trying to press herself against me.
I was in control now.
The skirt went somewhere behind me. The bra I handled carefully—unhooked, not damaged. I wanted to see it on her again.
Her hands found my shoulders. Her lips pressed harder, hungry, and I pushed my tongue between her parted lips. She hissed and pulled me down by the neck, her hips rising to meet me.
The damp lace dragged along my knot before she settled back, her head drooping, breaking contact as she panted. The heat of her breath moved across my wet lips. I stared at her exposed throat.
Her guard was down.
The heat locked into place.
My rut was sure to follow.
I hooked my thumb beneath the last of it and pulled it free. The cerise scrap of lace. I held like a trophy before I pressed the slick-coated material to my face. We breathed it in. Her scent. Unique to us alone.
Our mate had chosen. She’d been brave enough to trust us and it was ours to give her everything she needed.
I pressed her shoulder and pushed her onto her back, towering above her until all I could see were those silver eyes. Her hands moved along my chest and came to rest on my shoulders.
My eyes dropped.
The room was warm and dim around us—her flat, her colours, her scent layered into every surface. And at the centre of all of it, her.
Bountiful. Plump. Those sweetly curved mounds begging to be worshipped. I marvelled at the dusky peaks, darker than the surrounding skin.
I dropped down and dragged my tongue across her areola. Covered it. Lashed it with the tip of my tongue.
“Conrí,” she moaned, arching her back to offer me everything.
I circled slowly before glancing up at her furrowed brow.
“Call me Alpha tonight,” I murmured against her skin.
Her nails dug into my shoulders. She didn’t reject me.
I rewarded her—took the pert nipple into my mouth and sucked, felt her entire body respond to it.
Her limbs shifted until she’d hooked them around mine, her thighs falling open, lowering herself so she could feel what would end her pain.
What would satiate her the way no one else could. What had always been meant for her.
I shifted to her neglected nipple while her hips moved beneath me—desperate, searching, coating my entire length with her slick. Begging for relief without words.
I took her nipple between my teeth.
“Alpha,” she panted.
I released her.
“My bad girl,” I murmured.
The reverence in it was real. Every syllable of it.
I felt her tense beneath me as another cramp took hold—her body caught between pain and need, the two of them pulling in the same direction now.
When she whimpered I knew.
She was ready.