CHAPTER 31
FINIAN
Yes, we need to leave here before I do something I refuse to regret.
Even though I know I don’t deserve it, it doesn’t mean I won’t take it.
She’s a temptation that’s hard to resist. Being around her is not something for the faint of heart.
Her scent calls to me in a way no other scent ever has.
It’s deep inside my bones, and in every crevice of my body.
It’s ingrained inside of me, like it’s a part of who I am.
I stand by the door, half-turned toward her room, watching her.
I expect her to go to her closet and at least grab a robe.
That’s what I expect—what anyone would—so when she doesn’t, it knocks the breath right out of me.
She walks straight past me instead. Moving into the hallway, like she owns the light there, her tiny shirt shifts as it pulls tight across her stomach and breasts, showing the bottom half of her swollen belly.
The fabric shifts with every step, and I spy her nipples hardening under the material, nearly making me groan.
The air stirs in her wake, carrying the faint scent of cotton candy, the warmth of her skin, and a tiny smidge of her pregnancy. It hits me harder than it should have. But it does, and I can’t stop myself from leaning toward her body, trying to stay within her proximity longer.
My mouth actually falls open. I feel it happen—the slack shock of it, the way my pulse jumps like I missed a step on a staircase.
She doesn’t look back, even as her hips sway as she makes her way down the hallway.
She doesn’t even need to look back to know I’m watching her.
I can tell she knows I’m watching her because a soft giggle releases in her wake.
She walks with this quiet, effortless confidence that drives me wild.
It’s like she’s been doing this her whole life, like the hallway is a runway and she’s the only one who belongs there.
I just stand there, useless and stunned, watching her go. Gorgeous doesn’t even begin to cover what she is. She’s more than that. It’s the way she shifts the atmosphere around her. The way she makes the whole space feel charged, alive.
I swallow hard, but it doesn’t do anything to steady me. I spy Amos stop at the mouth of the hallway, his eyes eating up her body. His body stiffens as he watches her with a hungry expression. And I can’t say that I blame him. I’m just as ravenous for her as he is.
“Okay, then.” I clear my throat. “I’ll get your place setting.”
My brain finally catches up with me when she’s halfway down the hallway.
I blink, startled, and then I’m following her, too fast and clumsy, like the air she leaves behind hooked itself into me and is dragging me forward.
I’m not the only one. Amos falls into step beside me.
When our eyes meet, there’s a whole conversation in the look we trade.
Want. Frustration. The kind of ache that sits low and heavy because we both know exactly what we feel and what we can’t do about it, no matter how badly we want to do something about it.
She heads toward the kitchen, the evening light catching on her hair, turning it into something warm and unreal.
Every movement she makes is effortless, like he’s walking to a rhythm the rest of us can’t hear.
She pulls a chair out at the table, the scrape of the wood against tile somehow sounding louder than anything else in the room, including the blood whooshing in my ears.
Wolf scents her. I hear the low, involuntary sound he makes before he turns around at the stove. When he does, he chokes on nothing except his own surprise.
“A-Are you comfortable?” he barely manages, voice cracking in a way that would be funny if I weren’t feeling the exact same way.
She smirks, slow and devilish, settling into the chair. She’s the one in control of all of us, and it looks like she’s taking great satisfaction in that knowledge.
“Very,” she says. “But if you’re uncomfortable, you can leave and go back home.”
The room goes still. My pulse doesn’t. She just threw down the gauntlet, and she wants to know if we’re all man enough to pick it up and duel with her.
I walk up behind her, grabbing the back of her chair. I wrap my fingers around the wood, my fingertips ghosting along the back of her neck. She shivers, and it makes me grin. Leaning down, I put my lips next to her ear. She shivers from my warm breath trailing over her heated skin.
“Do you want to see just how comfortable I am, sweet girl?” I ask, hearing her gasp. I watch as her chest rises and falls as she pants. My grin widens. “You do, don’t you?” I lick the shell of her ear, catching her off guard, and I purr with satisfaction as her taste teases my taste buds.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she exclaims, trying and failing to stop her reaction.
“Your breathing gives you away.” I take the lobe of her ear in my mouth and give a light suck. A shuddering gasp leaves her lips as she cranes her head to the side. My eyes meet Wolf’s, and I see the pleasure written in his gaze.
He’s enjoying this.
So am I.
More than I’ve ever enjoyed anything in my life. “If that weren’t enough ...” I say, releasing the chair to run my hands down her shoulders and the side of her breasts, “... your nipples give you away, too.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I lick her ear once more before standing up to my full height. I trail my hands up her arms and back onto her shoulders, massaging her. Then, my hands lightly circle her neck, my thumbs rubbing the back of her neck. I feel the tension release, and a groan slips free from her mouth.
After the tense encounter, we all sit down to eat dinner.
Dinner feels like it’s happening underwater.
Everything is slow and heavy. Every sound is muted except for the thrum of tension running between all of us.
She sits there picking at her food, barely paying attention to the plate in front of her.
I can smell her arousal from where I sit across the table, and I can’t help but look at her as I fork a bite of shrimp into my mouth.
Amos watches her.
Wolf does too, even when he pretends he isn’t.
She’s restless.
She’s leaking her perfume into the air for all of us to scent.
I can see her restlessness in the way her fingers tap at her utensil, in the way her gaze keeps drifting toward the hallway like she’s fighting herself. She’s not hungry. Not for this, anyway.
I know what she wants. I can feel it in the air, curling around us like a storm waiting to break. She wants us close. Well, her body does. It’s her mind that’s giving her trouble.
She wants the comfort of her next, the safety of it, the head of bodies she trusts—or used to trust.
She’s too stubborn to ask, though. Too proud and hurt.
The worst part is that we want it too. Every part of us is ready to rise to the challenge, to give her whatever she needs, to stay the whole night if that’s what it takes to make her feel steady once more.
But wanting her and deserving her are two very different things.
I look at her. Really look at her. The tension in her shoulders, the exhaustion in her eyes, and the way she keeps swallowing like she’s trying to push down something sharp. She might want us tonight, but she’ll regret it come morning.
We haven’t earned her forgiveness. Not even close. The thought of doing anything that might set her healing back, anything that might close the door she’s only barely cracked open again, makes my chest tight and uncomfortable.
So, I sit there, hands clenched under the table, pretending to eat while every instinct pulls me toward her. I want her. God, I do. But I want her to trust me more.
But it’s so hard. I can practically taste her arousal on my tongue.
Imagine the juiciness of her pussy as she saturates her panties.
My mouth waters for a taste. I can feel the sweat trail down the back of my neck and bead up on my forehead and upper lip.
Wiping it away, I breathe hard to try to get myself under control.
But I can’t, no matter how hard I try. I can feel my pheromones start to secrete out of me and into the air.
The need, the want—all of it is swirling around in this kitchen, and I can’t help a single second of it.
“It's too ... thick in here,” she says, breathing hard as she clutches her fork tighter.
Clenching my hands on the edge of the table, I’m practically shaking with need.
I can feel the beginnings of a rut as the thought of being with her pushes me closer to the edge.
It’s been months since I’ve had sex, the last time being with Windy.
I want her more than I want to draw in my next breath.
“Let me ...” I say shakily, swallowing hard. I slowly release my breath, trying to orient myself, but it’s not working. Nothing is.
Her eyes rise and meet mine. Her pupils are blown wide with desire and need, and it makes me practically feral for even the smallest taste of her.
I lean forward. “Let me make you feel good. Please.”
For a heartbeat, she freezes. I can see the war in her eyes. Pride, longing, hurt, and need—all of it flickers across her face like shadows fighting for space. Then she gives the smallest nod, barely there, but it hits me like a yell.
My chair scrapes back before I even register moving. Excitement surges through me so fast it almost knocks the breath from my lungs. I drop to a crouch, then my knees, and slip under the table. The world narrows around me in the dim space under the table, the soft sound of her breathing above me.