Chapter 8 #3
My body was betraying me, leaning slightly toward him even as my mind screamed at me to move away.
I was half-listening to their conversation, half-freaking out, just trying to make it through this lunch without doing something stupid.
Finally, they finished discussing whatever pack issue they’d been talking about, and Tina clapped her hands together. “Oh! Emily, I should take you on a tour of the town after this. Show you around properly.”
“That’s a great idea,” Ryder said immediately, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
Of course he thinks it’s a great idea, I thought sourly.
But Ryder didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. He kept talking with his mom, asking me questions about my work, about my apartment in the city, about whether I’d kept in touch with anyone from high school.
I tried to be polite, giving one or two-word answers, hoping he’d get the hint that I didn’t want to be here with him any longer. But Ryder just smiled, completely unfazed.
And then I felt it—his hand on my thigh under the table.
I jumped slightly, and his fingers squeezed gently, sending tingles racing up my leg. I reached down and pushed his hand away, but within seconds, it was back, warm and possessive against my jeans.
I pushed it away again. He put it back.
This happened three more times before I finally gave up.
Tina was starting to give us suspicious looks, clearly noticing something was going on under the table, and I didn’t want to give her any ideas.
So I let his hand stay there, trying to ignore the way my body was responding to his touch, and the heat pooling low in my belly.
This is torture, I thought desperately. Absolute torture.
Finally—finally—Tina finished eating. Gosh, she’d taken forever, and I was pretty sure she’d been eating slowly on purpose.
“Well,” she said, standing and stretching. “I need to use the bathroom before we head out. Emily, I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, already pushing back my chair.
But Tina was already gone, closing the door behind her and leaving me alone with Ryder.
I stood up quickly, my heart pounding. “I should go—”
But Ryder was faster. He caught my wrist, his fingers wrapping around it gently but firmly, and pulled me back.
“Let me go, Ryder,” I said, trying to sound firm even though my voice was shaking.
Instead of letting go, he pulled me closer, and then—oh god—he was sniffing me. Actually sniffing me, his nose pressed against my neck, inhaling deeply.
“But you smell so good,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin.
“Eww, stop sniffing me,” I said, but it came out breathless, not at all convincing.
“Nope. Never.”
And then he was dragging his nose along my neck, up to my jaw, and I couldn’t control my response. I shuddered, my knees going weak, and a moan escaped my lips before I could stop it.
No, no, no, I thought frantically. Don’t respond. Don’t give in.
But my body had other ideas. When Ryder’s lips found that spot on my neck—the marking spot, I realized dimly—and he started sucking and licking, I completely lost it. My hands came up to grip his shoulders, and I was grinding against him, another moan escaping my throat.
This was insane. We were in his mother’s office. Anyone could walk in. But I couldn’t make myself care, couldn’t make myself stop.
Ryder left my neck and captured my lips with his, kissing me with a hunger that made my head spin. I kissed him back, all my reservations melting away under the onslaught of sensation. His hands were everywhere—my waist, my back, tangling in my hair.
Then he was lifting me, setting me on the edge of the table, and stepping between my legs. I wrapped them around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer, and when he ground against me, the friction was so perfect I nearly cried out.
“Ryder,” I gasped against his mouth, not sure if I was begging him to stop or to never stop.
His hands slid under my shirt, and the tingles where his skin met mine were almost unbearable. When his hands cupped my breasts, I arched into his touch, moaning into his mouth.
I was so close. So impossibly close to—
Someone cleared their throat.
Ryder froze. I froze.
Slowly, Ryder turned his head, and I looked past his shoulder to see Greg—Ryder’s father, the former Alpha—standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.
Horror crashed over me like a tidal wave.
“Oh my god,” I breathed.
I shoved Ryder away with strength I didn’t know I had and practically threw myself off the table. My shirt was askew, my hair was a mess, my lips were swollen, and I was pretty sure my face was the color of a tomato.
I couldn’t look at Greg. Couldn’t look at Ryder. Couldn’t process what had just happened.
So I did the only thing I could think of.
I ran.
I bolted past Greg, mumbling something that might have been an apology, and fled down the hallway. I could hear Ryder calling my name behind me, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.
I ran down the stairs, through the main hall, and out the front door, not caring who saw me or what they thought.
All I could think was: What the hell is wrong with me?