Chapter 33 #2
“Then stop getting in the chute.” Jules jerked against my hold, though she didn’t actually pull away. “Stop putting yourself under a thousand pounds of muscle just to see if you survive the buzzer. You think it makes it right? You think bleeding in the dirt pays him back?”
“It keeps me here.” I closed my eyes, unable to look at the pain I was causing her. “If I stop... if I admit the tab is closed...” My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. “I don’t know what’s left of me. I don’t know who I am if I’m not riding for him.”
“You’re Colt.” Her voice broke, shattering whatever defenses I had left. “You’re Colt, and you belong to me. To this pack. To the kids. You’re allowed to just be here.”
I opened my eyes. A tear spilled over her lower lashes, cutting a clean track down her cheek.
I had a feeling she’d cried more today than she ever had, and it landed hard behind my ribs, stealing my air before I could stop it.
I had spent three years making sure I never dragged anyone down into the dark with me, and here she was, standing entirely in my shadows, bleeding out for a man she never met and fighting for another who, no matter what she said, didn’t deserve it.
The argument drained out of me, leaving nothing solid behind.
I slid my hands up her arms to the soft curve of her neck. I bracketed her face, my calloused palms blanketing her jaw. Her skin burned, flushed with a mix of adrenaline and fear. My thumbs smoothed over the apples of her cheeks, catching the dampness there.
Her breath hitched, dark eyes widened, searching my face.
I looked at the woman tearing my carefully constructed purgatory down to the studs. The ghost of a grin—the one I usually smothered before it could fully form—finally broke the surface. It felt foreign and rusty on my mouth, but it was entirely hers.
“You wreck me, Darlin’.”
I leaned down and kissed her.
I didn’t rush it. Refused to steal it. I took my time, pressing my mouth to hers with a patience that cost me.
I stepped over the threshold I had been standing behind since the day she walked into my life.
Her lips parted on a soft, emotional little inhale, and I took it, swallowing the sound as I deepened the kiss.
She tasted like salt from her tears and fruity syrup.
Finally, she yielded, melting into me and kissing me back with wild defiance.
Her hands uncurled from my jacket and slid up my chest, her fingers digging into my shoulders, clinging to me the way I was to her.
For three years, I had denied myself everything that felt good. Every moment of ease, every reason to laugh, every impulse to let my pack in. This was the first thing I had wanted with uncompromising greed since Easton died.
I poured everything into it—the apology I couldn’t voice, the dread of what tomorrow would cost me, the brutal fact that she had effectively ruined my plans to rot in peace.
I kissed her until my pulse thrummed and my heart squeezed and my cock ached.
Until the cold emptiness in my chest was gone, burned out by this stunning, fiery, furious force of a woman.
Before the instinct to drag her out of the driveway and into my bed could override my common sense, I pulled back.
The separation tore a ragged whine from her throat. I rested my forehead against hers, keeping my hands cradling her jaw. We stood there in the gravel, both of us breathing hard, trading each other’s oxygen.
“I have to ride tomorrow.” My mouth stayed close to her skin, the words rough and quiet. “I can’t promise you it’s the last time. I’m not fixed, Julia. I don’t know how to stop yet.”
Her throat worked and her eyelashes fluttered against my cheek as she fought to hold herself together, but she didn’t argue. Deep down, I knew she understood the cost of what I had just given her, and instead of demanding more, she chose to stand with me on the fragile bridge we’d just built.
“Come back to me,” she whispered.
“Always.”
The house sat suffocatingly quiet by the time midnight rolled around. I stood in the dark hallway outside the Omega suite, the floorboards cold beneath my feet.
I unbuttoned my flannel shirt, slipping it off my shoulders.
I stood there half naked and more vulnerable than I’d ever been, holding the worn cotton in my hands.
It was soaked in my scent—a mixture of cold stone, dark tobacco, raw suede, and the sweeter notes of decadent dark chocolate.
I draped it over the doorhandle, arranging it carefully so it wouldn’t slip.
I didn’t knock, not wanting to wake her. I took three steps backward, melting into the shadows near the staircase, and waited, unable to pull myself away yet.
Two minutes passed. Then, the soft click of the latch echoed in the silence. The heavy wooden door cracked open, spilling a sliver of warm, golden light into the hall.
For a moment, she looked around as if she were confused about what drew her here.
Then she spotted it. Her small hand reached out, fingers curling into the fabric.
She pulled it from the handle and I watched her silhouette as she lifted it to her nose, breathing deeply before hugging it to her chest. She quietly shut the door, and I heard the soft pad of her bare feet retreating toward the bed.
I leaned against the wall, head tipped back, and waited.
It took less than thirty seconds. The sharp, panicked edge of her scent bleeding beneath the door slowly eased. The bitterness faded first, then the restless ache beneath it, until all that remained was the warm, addictive sweetness of her settling.
Because of me.
Because something of mine was in there with her now.
I pushed off the wall and headed for the stairs because tomorrow’s ride was still waiting for me, whether I slept or not.