2. Mad Moon
Steel
There was the logical part of me that thought with my head.
Then there was the primal wolfish part of me that thought with my cock-head. And that was the part that always got me in fucking trouble, especially right now.
I pinned my mate down on the table, but in a blink, his firm hand gripped me by my scruff. I had two seconds to realize what he was doing. He kicked the back of my leg, sending me to my knees. He stood behind me, his hips pressed against my back.
It didn’t matter that I was three times stronger than him, he had an unyielding iron grip on me.
He leaned over, his voice rough and low. “Don’t ever fucking do that again without my permission. Do you understand?”
“Fuck,” I rasped.
His hold tightened. “It’s yes or no.”
“Yes,” I grunted. I inhaled his scent deeply, my cock throbbing in my pants. All my blood had rushed down. My mouth watered as I focused on him. “Yes. Never again.”
I’d already fucked up. My entire body ached with humiliation as he released me, pushing me toward the booth seat.
Everything had been haywire since the last full moon. I could barely think about anything other than mating, and I could smell him. His scent made my mouth water. I was going to start drooling.
But now I couldn’t even look at him. I’d been admonished in public and I knew other monsters were staring at us. I knew my family was probably disappointed in me.
My soon-to-be mate hadn’t sat down yet, his gaze still on me. Werewolves couldn’t blush exactly, but every part of my body was hot and feverish with embarrassment.
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Can you at least tell me your name?”
“Steel.”
“Steel,” he repeated, his tone softening. He let out a low hum and then surprised me by sliding into the booth across from me. “Will you look at me, Steel?”
“I understand if you want to go—”
“I don’t.”
Oh. My chest squeezed and I finally looked up at him. He had short black hair with a few silver strands along the sides. A short, well-kept beard with another sprinkle of salt. Icy blue eyes, unwavering and pinned on me. He was ridiculously handsome. Older, too, which I hadn’t expected.
“I don’t know too much about werewolves, honestly,” he said. “But I take it you’re in a rut maybe?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m sorry, maybe I should just go—”
“Stay.”
My spine stiffened at his tone. It was commanding, and I wasn’t used to that. Fuck, I wasn’t used to any of this.
I was usually the one people relied on. For work, I led a group dedicated to rebuilding communities.
Whether we were planting gardens, restoring homes after destruction, or volunteering at food banks, I was usually the one taking charge.
I was an Alpha and took the title seriously.
My friends and family depended on me to be level-headed.
I had a hot temper sometimes, sure, but it never came out unless the reason was justified.
And up until a month ago, I’d sworn up and down that I never wanted to settle down with someone. I had no interest in finding a mate or going down that path, at least for a long time.
But then the full moon had hit and something shifted. It’d been different. There’d been a pull that night as I’d run through the woods, all my instincts going wild.
Since then, everything in my life flipped upside down.
Everyone I loved was suffering because I was being unreasonable and overreactive.
I’d already hurt my relationship with my cousin, Layla, by barging into her cafe and demanding she find me a mate.
Then I’d been mean to my sister’s human ex, who’d done nothing except be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I’d even gotten a nasty note from her mermaid mate threatening me with an entire oceanic army if I ever acted that way again.
This wasn’t me, at least it wasn’t the me I tried to show the world.
It was like all the chaos I’d contained for so long was being unleashed.
All the primal instincts, the needs. Gods, the needs had been keeping me up at night.
I didn’t want to be an Alpha behind closed doors.
I wanted to be touched and spanked and cuffed and leashed.
I wanted to beg and fuck and knot until I came as much as I could.
This rut was killing me.
The Barista came back with a tray of food and two lattes.
It wasn’t lost on me that the latte art was of two penises.
Really? He put them down in front of us silently, and I did my best not to snap at him when he smirked.
Definitely letting me know everyone had just seen me get my ass handed to me.
Whatever. He chuckled as he left us alone.
“Well,” Oliver started, clearing his throat. “Steel. Tell me about yourself.”
I picked up my mug of coffee and relaxed a fraction once I scented the bone broth. As infuriating as my uncle was at times, he had made me the perfect latte.
“I don’t know where to start, exactly,” I said.
“I don’t date much. I work for a community nonprofit, doing all kinds of odds-and-ends jobs.
I’m lucky enough that financially, I don’t have any worries, so I like putting my time toward helping others.
I have two brothers and a sister. Three parents—two moms and a dad.
We have a huge family.” With another sip of coffee, more tension eased out of me.
“How wonderful. Do you have any hobbies?” he asked.
I smiled to myself. “Gardening. Home-brewing beer. I got into it a couple years ago, and it’s become a whole thing.”
Oliver’s brows lifted. “Really?”
“Yep. And mead.”
He grinned and leaned forward. His pine-forest scent washed over me and I did my best to hide the fact that I was inhaling him like he was the perfect candle on a cozy winter day.
“I tried to do that a couple times and it completely failed. I’m a chef, but my expertise lies in cooking, not things like that. ”
More of my uneasiness faded. “How long have you been a chef?”
He laughed, and it was loud and a little wicked.
“A long time. I started working in kitchens when I was sixteen, and it stuck. Then I realized I had to make more money. I . . . Well, I have two daughters. They’re both in college now.
And my wife, well . . .” He trailed off, his expression softening. “She passed away almost six years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. My hand smoothed over my chest as I tried to comprehend the devastation of that. “I can’t imagine losing a partner.”
His head tilted as he studied me, but then he looked away. “Sorry. I was explicitly instructed by my kids to not start with that.”
I let out a soft chuckle. “I would start with it if it were me. Especially if you were together for so long.”
He nodded, his shoulders relaxing. “I miss her every day. But I also . . . I want a second chance. I want this. And I hope that my past won’t scare you off.”
My head immediately shook. “Of course not.”
“This sort of thing has put me completely out of my depth. Especially with who’s brought us together.”
“Yes,” I said, trying to withhold my eagerness. Not that the Barista was perfect, but I really couldn’t think of anyone who’d been matched by him who hadn’t ended up finding the love of their life.
The man sitting across from me was the one. My mate.
At least, that’s what the Barista thought.
“I am older than you, I’m assuming.”
I cracked a grin. “Yeah. It doesn’t bother me.”
He narrowed his eyes. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven. How old are you?”
“Forty-eight.”
We stared at each other until I propped my head up with my clawed hand. “I like that you’re older than me. Very authoritative.”
His nostrils flared and for the first time in our conversation, he looked away, his cheeks turning pink. I caught a scent of arousal and sucked in a breath, pushing away the ravenous part of me that wished to demand we leave the coffee shop and fuck immediately.
“You know,” he finally chuckled. “I used to judge the couples the Barista told me about. I’ve known him for some time, and I’m still very much in the human world.
But we’ve gotten a beer together every now and then, and always ended up talking about love.
Love and monsters and that funny little feeling we all get when we’re finally fully accepted by another person.
Then, sex would come up. And I remember he told me once about a couple who met and then immediately left because of how . . . thirsty they were.”
I ignored the way my dick started to harden at his words. “Are you suggesting . . ?” I couldn’t get my hopes up, because then I’d make a fucking fool of myself.
His gaze intensified and I couldn’t look away. “It’s been a long time for me, you know. And even longer since I’ve been with a guy. Don’t get me wrong, I do know what I’m doing. But admittedly, I’m curious . . .”
I cocked my head. “About what I’m packing?”
“Sure, if you want to put it that way. But here’s the thing, I’m not submissive. So if you’re looking for a partner or mate or person who is submissive in the bedroom, I’m not your guy.”
“I’m . . . not,” I croaked. “I’m not looking for someone submissive.”
The corner of his mouth tugged. “I didn’t think so.”
Those words lingered between us, and now I could barely breathe. All I wanted was to leave the cafe with him. It was rash and sudden and maybe a terrible idea. It was madness, even.
And yet.
“Oliver,” I whispered his name, a plea in my voice. “Oli. Please? Can we go?”
His breath hitched, those bright blue eyes filling with need. “We have a lot to talk about if we’re just going to jump in bed together. I don’t know what you like. Or what you want. Or need. Are you sure this is what you want?”
“I’m absolutely fucking sure,” I said. “Are you?”
Oliver went silent for a few moments, truly thinking it over. “Yes. Yes, I am. I feel like I should add that I’m off work this weekend. My house is about thirty minutes from here. Not to be a creep . . .”
“You’re not a creep.” It was getting more difficult to keep the desperation out of my voice, but I needed to be fucked by him.
It was the only cure for my rut. My bones felt like they were on fucking fire, and his scent?
His scent was making everything even more intense.
All I wanted, above anything else, was to taste his cock.
I wanted to get back on my knees and stroke him until he marked me as his.
Fuck. “I have no plans this weekend. I’ll stay as long as you want me. ”
We held each other’s gaze again. All I could think was please. I needed him. I needed him so much more than he even realized.
This was the one problem about being a werewolf.
I’d been in a rut now for almost three weeks with no relief.
It didn’t matter how many times I touched myself or got off, it didn’t satisfy me.
I’d spent a whole fucking day last week jerking my cock, only to find myself unable to get any sort of pleasure.
It’d been absolute torture.
Oliver let out a soft hum. “Maybe I’m just as mad as you are.”
“Well.” I cleared my throat. “You are a human, yes. But, if we are mates, then you may be affected by my current condition. I’ve heard stories.”
“Stories,” he echoed. Then he shook his head with a sly smile. “The Barista left out some details about how this date would go.”
“As someone who has known him my entire life, I can safely say that he has a habit of being cryptic sometimes. He lets people learn things for themselves.”
“I see that now. I’m not mad about it.” He slid out of the booth and stood up, holding out his hand to me. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I’ll drive.”
I slid my clawed hand in his and swallowed hard as he pulled me to stand. I squared my shoulders as I walked through the cafe, noting the way everyone stared.
They could stare all they wanted. He was going to be my mate. I’d wait however long he needed for him to accept me. I hadn’t planned on finding someone, but now that I’d met him, I could think of nothing else.
Oliver would be mine.