Chapter Seventeen-Bella
I froze for a second, my palm still wrapped around the thick, pulsing length of him.
His words hung between us like a live wire, crackling with possibility and danger.
Mate.
That was the real kicker though.
That one word sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cool air drifting through the kitchen window and everything to do with the way his body felt under my hand—hot, alive, mine.
Was he right? Was I really his mate?
My brain wanted to be skeptical, logical, cautious.
But my body? Oh, Goddess, my body was a traitor.
It was already singing in tune with him, every nerve lit up, every cell leaning toward him like a plant to the sun.
His kiss.
His touch.
The deep, aching joy that bloomed in my chest when I was with him. I didn’t have that with anyone else. Ever.
My fingers flexed, squeezing his thick cock gently, reveling in the heat of him, the silky-smooth skin over the hard, heavy ridge beneath.
It felt right.
Like my hand was made to fit him.
Like I belonged there.
And that terrified me.
“I don’t have an answer for that yet,” I heard myself say, voice low and shaky. “But I want you. I need you. I just need time, okay?”
“Time?”
His mouth grazed mine between kisses, his breath warm and laced with that faint, wild scent that was all Conrad.
“Yes. Time. I just, I don’t know if I’m ready to try this whole mate thing on.”
“Bella,” he groaned like I was hurting him. “That’s not how it is—”
“Conrad, I just, look I want to be with you. What if, like maybe, we can just see each other a while?”
His brow lifted.
But he wasn’t pushing me away, so that was good, right?
“So, you want to what? Date me?”
“Exactly. You know what I mean—ohhh,” I moaned as his big hand slid mine away and swept me off my feet like I weighed nothing.
I gasped, legs automatically winding around his waist as he pressed his lips to my earlobe.
I’d forgotten how strong he was—forgotten the sheer thrill of being lifted and held like I was precious, like I was his.
Oh my, a Witch could get used to this.
“First,” he said, voice low and gravelly, “if we’re dating, it’s exclusive. Agreed?”
He punctuated the question by sliding one hand under my robe, finding my nipple with unerring accuracy.
His fingers rolled the sensitive peak, sending a bolt of pleasure straight between my thighs.
My head thunked back, saved from the wall by Conrad’s quick fingers, and I whimpered.
“Yes. Yes, agreed,” I blurted, the words spilling out before I could think, because thinking was impossible when my body was screaming for him to keep going.
“Second,” he murmured, eyes glittering, “while we’re dating, I have full rein to pursue your acceptance of my claim. I plan to seduce you, Bella, but only because you are already mine.”
“You Snake,” I accused, breathless. “You’re going to use my weakness for you against me.”
“Damn straight,” he growled, catching my bottom lip in his teeth, then soothing it with a lazy sweep of his tongue.
My toes curled.
My knees might’ve gone weak if he wasn’t already holding me up.
“I’m going to love on this luscious body of yours until you have no choice but to believe me when I tell you. You. Are. Mine.”
Before I could form a comeback, his mouth claimed mine—hard, hungry, no more teasing—and his hands were everywhere, tugging my robe off my shoulders, baring me to the cool air and his heated gaze.
Then his sweats were pushed down, and the blunt head of his cock slid along my slick folds.
I bit back a cry.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he hissed against my mouth.
Of course I was.
He was hotter than the sun, and I’d been aching for this for weeks.
“No more sweet talk, Con. Fuck me already,” I demanded, my voice a ragged mix of need and surrender.
“I can do that, Ssssugar,” he hissed.
One sharp thrust and he was inside me, stretching me, filling me until I could hardly breathe.
My nails dug into his shoulders, clinging as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through me.
“That’s my girl,” he growled, moving with that sinuous, powerful rhythm that made my vision blur. “Give it all to me.”
It didn’t take long—my orgasm hit like a lightning strike, my body clenching around him in desperate, pulsing waves.
My legs went shaky, but Conrad wasn’t done.
He set me down just long enough to spin me toward the wall, planting my palms flat on the cool surface.
His hands gripped my hips, tugging me back against him until I was perfectly positioned.
Then he drove into me again.
The sound he made—a deep, animalistic hiss-slash-growl—rolled through me like thunder.
He leaned forward, caging me in as he whispered things in my ear that would make a Demon blush, each word punctuated by a sharp thrust.
When he fisted my ponytail and turned my head for a kiss mid-stroke, I nearly came again on the spot.
And then I did. Hard.
My whole body trembled as I clenched around him, and moments later, he followed with a guttural groan, spilling deep inside me.
I sagged against the wall, panting, wondering how the hell I was supposed to get upstairs on legs made of jelly.
Conrad, apparently, had no doubts.
He wiped me clean with a warm, wet paper towel—sweet, surprisingly tender—and when I started to fumble for words, he cut me off with a wicked smirk.
“That was—” I began.
“Only the first round, Sugar. I hope you had a good dinner,” he said, scooping me up princess-style before kissing me until my head spun all over again.
I let out a breathless laugh.
“Not really.”
“Guess I’ll have to feed you between rounds,” he murmured, carrying me toward the stairs like I weighed nothing.
He kissed me the second his feet hit the first stair. And he didn’t stop. Not until we made it to the bedroom.
By the time he finally lifted his head, I was limp, lusty, and grinning like a fool.
At some point between the sex and the scrambled eggs he made me afterward, it hit me—Conrad Boman wasn’t just in my bed.
He was my boyfriend.
Or maybe my mate.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure which idea scared me more.
No. Not my mate.
Not yet.
And that was my choice.
I could almost feel the word hovering in the air between us—mate—a promise and a prison all in one, depending on how you looked at it.
Conrad believed it with every fiber of his being, but I wasn’t ready to step over that line, not when my heart had only just started to believe it might be safe in someone’s hands again.
Still he was special.
Not just in the sweet-talks-you-out-of-your-panties kind of way—though, trust me, he excelled at that—but in the way he looked at me like I was worth the effort.
Like my curves, my sass, my magic, my me were not just tolerable but treasured.
Even if he only stayed a little while, I knew I would never regret what we’d just shared.
The way his hands had roamed over my body like he was mapping constellations.
The way his voice had gone rough and low when he whispered my name like a prayer.
Fear tried to sneak in—sharp and cold, whispering that things this good don’t last, that people leave, that bonds break—but I shoved it back down where it belonged.
I refused to let it ruin this.
I didn’t know how long this thing between us would last, and maybe that was the point.
Maybe the beauty of it was in not knowing.
So I made a silent vow right then, as he lay beside me, still warm and breathing steady, one arm draped possessively across my waist.
I would enjoy my time with Conrad Boman.
Every heated look.
Every stolen kiss.
Every lazy morning tangled in sheets and limbs.
Every. Last. Second.
Because if the day came when he walked away, I wanted my memories so full they’d leave no room for regret.