Chapter 34
JAMIE
I’m pretty sure this is a dream.
Maybe that’s why I’m being so bold.
Or maybe Morgan just makes me a braver person.
Morgan and a lot of gin.
The only reason I didn’t throw up over the side of the yacht is that I’d already… taken care of that in the casino bathroom on the way out. And stolen a whole fistful of mints, the remainders of which still rustle in my pocket as Morgan leads me back out of the marina.
I’m sobering up, but I’m even dizzier than before, probably because my body doesn’t know where to put my blood. Every time Morgan speaks, the ground shifts beneath me.
Her jacket drapes around my shoulders, and it smells like her. Cedar and whiskey and leather. Her warmth lingers in the silk, and her arm wraps around me, keeping me close to her side.
I can’t tell if I’m shivering or trembling. I think it’s both. Everywhere my body isn’t touching her warmth, it’s bitter cold, prickling with gooseflesh.
I never meant to fall apart like this.
I can’t help it.
I can’t stop thinking the words that shift between question and revelation:
Morgan has always wanted me?
Morgan has always wanted me.
We reach the car, and I have no idea how far away the hotel is, how long I’m going to have to wait.
For what?
I don’t dare imagine.
For a cold shower, I remind myself. For a chance to reset and not embarrass myself. I can’t imagine Morgan wants someone as clingy and desperate as I’m feeling. I’m on the edge of begging her to strip me right here.
It’s my own fault. After I thought Morgan was done with me, I kind of forgot about… being proactive. The alcohol in my system might be the only reason that I merely have a semi.
Morgan climbs into the car and holds out a hand to help me. I trip and land across her lap, my cheek nestled at the base of her neck.
“S-sorry,” I mutter, pushing myself half-upright as the door closes behind me.
But then Morgan’s deep laugh rumbles under me, and I realize she pulled me down on top of her.
Her eyes are like dark galaxies rimmed with purple stars. Her breath is almost as quick as mine.
“I should probably wear a seatbelt,” I murmur.
“My driver is very reliable,” she says.
My hands curl into the fabric of her shirt. She shifts her legs under me, revealing that I’m straddling one of her thighs as the movement sends a shock of pleasure through my body.
The car starts moving, and though the open windows and moonroof pull plenty of fresh air through, I’m still close enough to Morgan to catch a new dimension in her scent—an aromatic burning, like campfire.
The car accelerates suddenly, pressing me against Morgan’s chest, brushing my lips against hers.
I can’t bring myself to climb off.
I don’t know what to do.
“You really can’t take a hint, can you?” Morgan purrs, and then she grabs the back of my head and pulls me into a kiss.
Now I know what to do.
I throw my arms around her neck, steadying myself against her, and she grips my ass with her free hand.
I try to focus on the kiss, on the softness of her mouth, the searching of her tongue. She deliberately presses her thigh up between my legs, and I moan, a rush of blood leaving my head.
Her thigh settles down and I sink onto her, hips rocking to grind my aching cock against her. I’m making a fool of myself, surely Morgan doesn’t want—
She pulls me harder into the kiss, her breath hard and fast and mingling with mine, her teeth nipping at my tongue, my lip.
Her claws dig harder into my ass as she presses me down onto her thigh, sending me wriggling.
Morgan wants this?
Morgan wants this.
Oh, fuck. If I was shameless before, I’m unraveling now. I moan and rock and kiss Morgan like she’s air.
My lungs burn.
Morgan finally tightens her hand in my hair and pulls me back from the kiss.
If she’d nudged me back gently, I’d be devastated, rejected.
But tight in her grasp, I know I’m exactly where she wants me. My body goes still, awaiting her command.
“I didn’t tell you to stop grinding.”
My eyes roll back as my hips twitch of their own accord. Now that my mouth is free, my moan is louder as I tremble at the sensation.
“That’s better,” she purrs in my ear. “God, you’re so hot for me. You’re drenched.”
I would nod if I could move my head. I just gasp.
“You must be very pent up if I’m getting this much of a rise out of you his quickly.”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Now, why would that be?”
Words are strange, slippery things in my brain. “I wanted… I’ve been wanting…”
“Wanting what?”
“You,” I whine.
I trace a shiver of pure power down Morgan’s spine, from the indulgent flutter in her eyes to the arch of her spine, the curl of her claws in my flesh, and finally the press of her thigh between my legs.
I cry out at the pleasure.
“Shhh,” Morgan teases. “We wouldn’t want the whole city to know what I’m doing to you here… The windows are down after all… What will the rest of the traffic think? The pedestrians at the stoplights…”
“Morgan, what the fuck,” I moan, but I’m loving it. I’m not sure if I have a general exhibition kink, but I sure as fuck have an exhibited-by-Morgan kink. Heat coils at my core. My cock is hard and throbbing behind my fly, grinding against Morgan.
“Call me Mor,” she commands, and the tone of her voice sends my spine arching, makes me cry out again.
“Mor,” I moan.
“That’s a fucking good boy,” Morgan hisses, a tremble in her voice. She’s getting off on this.
“Mor,” I whine.
She gives a dark chuckle. “Oh, when you say it like that, I can’t tell if you want more or you want me.” She grinds her thigh against me again.
“Mor!” I gasp. “Fuck, careful, I’m—” My eyes squeeze shut as I lift my hips away from her thigh. I tremble at the edge, cock dripping behind my briefs. I force myself to take a deep breath, to get a hold of myself.
“Fuck, that was close,” I hiss.
Mor’s eyes dance with violence.
Oh no.
“Were you about to cum?” she taunts.
“I…”
“In the middle of traffic? With the windows down? And ruin this nice suit?”
“Fuck!” Oh god. My legs give out, and I fall against Morgan’s thigh again, grinding against her. My heat coils quickly.
“Is this really all it takes to get you off?” she whispers in my ear. “Humping my leg?”
I moan so loudly, I’m sure the whole block can hear.
“Pathetic,” she spits, and though the word sends a surge of pleasure through me, it’s enough to keep me in control of myself, to keep me just shy of the edge.
She croons, “I can’t wait to see what a sweet, sticky mess you make for me…”
“No…” I moan. It’s happening. “Oh, fuck… Mor… Mor!”
I cling to Morgan like she’s the shore as the climax hits me and tries to pull me under, a surging wave of heat and need and frothing pleasure.
I grind against her thigh as pulse after pulse of cum soaks into the fabric between us, sliding around my still-aching cock. Every exhale is a deep, primal moan.
But it’s not as loud as I usually am.
Because I don’t need to be.
Because my alpha is right here.
I finally collapse against her chest.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
Morgan’s hands press against the back of my head and my hip, and she purrs in my ear, “You’re perfect. You’re perfect.”
I float in the afterglow, resting in Morgan’s steady arms until we reach the hotel. Some amount of sanity has trickled back into my brain, but as I push off Morgan’s lap, I glance down and notice that my condition is… conspicuous.
“Shit,” I hiss.
With a practiced sweep of Morgan’s arms, suddenly I’m cradled against her chest, and she easily lifts me out of the car and carries me into the hotel.
I loop my arms around her neck, more so I can press my cheek against her collarbone than because I’m worried she’ll drop me.
Fuck, Morgan is strong.
We hit the elevator, and as we rise, I notice she’s utterly still underneath me. She’s not breathing. She holds her breath for the entire climb, through fishing out the hotel key and unlocking the door, then all the way through carrying me out onto the balcony.
She spins me in her grasp but doesn’t lower me—my back hits the wall, her hips between my legs, and her arm braces above me, pinning me there.
My cock still throbs with need, pressing against her stomach, and I moan deeply as her lips find mine, kissing me hard into the wall.
I gasp, moan, and rock my hips against the hard muscle of her stomach.
She slows, indulges, sweeps her tongue along my lips and up my jaw, lets my breathing settle out.
The hand braced above me lowers, and her claws graze down the side of my face, my throat, dropping to the top button of my shirt.
I expect her to tear it away, but she undoes each button with practiced ease. The pointed tips of her nails brush against my skin, sending shivers down my spine.
She’s going so slowly.
My eyes flutter open. The devious look on her face sends a violent shudder through me.
“Mor,” I complain.
“Shut up and let me play with my food,” she commands, and I nearly pass out.
God, when she hits my stomach, it’s torture. Every little brush of her fingers and claws sends a jolt of sensation right to my cock, where it throbs against her.
She can feel it. The wicked smile on her lips deepens with every throb.
I don’t complain.
There’s nothing sweeter than suffering for Morgan.
She gets down to the lower buttons, then gives a forceful tug to untuck my shirt, and I yelp as the fabric drags against my cock.
Morgan gives a soft, sadistic laugh as she unfastens the last few buttons, letting my shirt hang open
Her fingers trace the planes of my chest and my stomach, slow and indulgent, like she’s committing every shape to memory.
She gently lowers me to my feet, giving me a moment to steady myself. I lean heavily against the wall.
A claw hooks under my waistband, starting by my hip.
My breath catches.
Morgan pulls her claw slowly—agonizingly slowly—around to the front, then she pauses just behind the button of my suit pants.
I shake with need and anticipation, silently begging.
The claws of Morgan’s other hand land against my cock, tracing the shape through the fabric, each point sending sparks of pleasure through my body as I yelp.