Chapter 17
Morgan
The Fourth Full Moon
I sip my coffee at the kitchen table as the sun rises. I have the book Sylvan found spread out in front of me, but it’s hard to pay attention to the notes in the margins. I can already feel the fever setting in, but I’m not hiding from Sylvan this time.
It’s our fourth full moon together. I’ve successfully kept my hands off him since the night he was shot, and it’s been torture. Painful. My imagination runs wild every chance it gets, and knowing I was his first? It only makes me more feral for him.
I hear his footsteps on the stairs and in a blink, he’s filling the kitchen doorway with his broad frame.
He’s not wearing a shirt, and I can see every muscle, along with the three scars that mark where the creatures got him.
He healed fast, at least, even though the silver bullets were laced with magic.
We got lucky.
We haven’t seen anything strange since that night. Verena made it back home without any issues, and I kept what happened to myself. I hate keeping secrets, but I don’t want her to uproot her life for me or go into super-protective-best-friend mode like I know she would.
“Morning,” I say.
He doesn’t say anything as he opens the fridge.
We go on like this for a few minutes as he pulls things out, piling ingredients on the island and banging around and annoying me.
I flip through more pages of the book, trying to concentrate.
But I’ve read this entire text three times all the way through now, and the only thing I’ve really learned is this person thinks the rift from the Hex was never fully closed.
But, that’s not true. We know it was closed. If it weren’t, we’d know.
I take a long sip of my coffee this time, flashing him a dirty look when he flicks on the burner. “What are you doing?”
“Making us a hearty breakfast. You need it before it starts.”
He’s not wrong. I press my lips together and steer my gaze away from him before I stare at his back and all the muscles there.
“Maybe it won’t be so bad this time,” I say.
He inhales, and I realize he’s smelling me. My cheeks burn, my thighs clenching together. Fucking werewolves. Why do I have to be trapped in a house with one?
“It’s going to be just as intense, if not more so. Since we’re not truly mating.”
“I can always rent a hotel—”
“Don’t even bother finishing that sentence, Morgan. You’re not going anywhere unless it’s my bedroom. I already folded all the blankets we have and stacked them together for you to use.”
I can’t help but stare at him.
He’s making me breakfast and he’s already prepared what I need for the nest I’ll want to make later. Even with the commanding tone and bad attitude, knowing he’s doing these things for me makes it hard to hate him.
That’s my problem with Sylvan. He does stuff like this and what am I supposed to do?
Pretend like he’s the worst person in the world?
Like I haven’t noticed that he replaced every single wooden spoon in the house with new ones and then blamed it on Tabby.
His thoughtfulness grates on me because under any other circumstances, I would be thrilled.
If we marked each other as mates and accepted the bond, it would be my favorite night of the entire month.
Instead, I don’t know what to think about either of us.
I don’t think he hates me. If he did, he wouldn’t do these things. He hates the situation, which is fair. I do too. He didn’t sign up for guarding a witch who has no powers and is apparently wanted by some weird gun-wielding shadow creatures.
“When you think so much, I can almost smell the fire in your head.”
I roll my eyes. “Leave me alone, wolf.”
He smiles as he throws butter into an iron skillet. I realize he’s pulled steaks out.
“What in the hell are you even making?”
“Just let me cook, witch. You always like what I make you.”
It’s true. Sylvan consistently cooks nice meals. He’s better at it than I am, that’s for sure.
“Is this like a wolf thing?” I ask.
“Yes,” he answers without missing a beat. “I need to feed you right now. Okay?”
He’s short-tempered today. There’s so much bite in his tone, but it makes me smile.
“Whatever.”
Silence settles again, and by the time the food is ready, I’m pretty sure my panties are drenched. I’ve given up on reading. All I can do is wait to be fed and then . . .
Wait for the heat madness to set in.
Sylvan puts two plates down on the table and slides in the booth across from me.
What the hell? This isn’t breakfast, it’s a full-on meal.
But I’m not going to complain. My mouth is watering just from seeing how thick and juicy the steak is.
He charred some veggies and even baked up potatoes, which are loaded down with sour cream, green onions, butter, and cheese.
My stomach growls, earning a curious look from him. His nostrils flare as we both dig in.
“Are we . . .” I trail off. I’ve been trying to think of a way to ask him this, but decide to just be blunt. “I like BDSM.”
His silverware clatters against the plate and he stares. “BDSM.”
“You know, bondage—”
“I do know.”
“Oh.” I swallow a bite of food, my eyes fluttering as I realize just how good it is. “Well. What do you think?”
He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth tugging. I want to poke his crooked nose, but instead I wait for him to respond.
Sylvan sits back and regards me thoughtfully. “I need more information. I already know you like submission. And being spanked. And me being rough.”
Just talking about this sends a flare of need through me.
His eyes darken. “Eat your food,” he murmurs. “Before we run out of time.”
So he can feel it too.
I eat a few more bites of my food, thinking about what I like. “I want to be hunted. I like the chase of it. The thrill. And I think it’d be even hotter with you . . . in your wolf form. Chasing me.”
His throat works. His pupils are blown out as he watches me, attention fully on me.
“The thing is, it’s not just about what we’re doing. It’s a dynamic.”
“You want to relinquish control.”
“Yes. Consensually.”
“Of course. You like being taken care of because you’ve never had someone to do that before.”
I don’t like where this conversation is headed. He sees too much of me. “Maybe. I like the headspace.”
He nods. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes. Okay. We’ll try it. And if it’s too much, you’ll use a safe word. Which will be . . .”
“Red,” I say.
“Good. Easy.”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say we were solving a math problem together, not talking about him spanking me and putting me on my knees.
“The wolfish part of me wants to take over and there’s an aspect to this that I need. Maybe I’m a control freak,” he says.
“Oh. You are,” I snort. “Or try to be.”
“It doesn’t work very well with you.”
I smile. “That’s called balance. I may like submission in the bedroom, but that’s about it.”
“Believe me, I know that.”
Our gazes lock, and for a moment I’m lost in him. The way the sunlight plays with his hair, and how it’s gotten longer since we started living together. How his shoulders soften when he breathes in my scent.
I squeeze my thighs together as the need hits me. It’s been too long since I’ve felt his body against mine, and what happened in the shower wasn’t enough to sustain me.
“I owe you,” he whispers. “You know that, right? After our last encounter.”
“Orgasms aren’t a one-for-one,” I say. “We’re not keeping score.”
A soft growl echoes from him. “Let’s finish eating then revisit this.”
I wonder if he’s as hard as I am wet. I lift my bare foot and reach under the table, touching his leg. He stiffens, his eyes closing for a moment as I press it against his lap.
Fuck. He’s harder than steel right now. It feels like there’s a god damned pipe in his pants.
“When I knot you and you’re screaming my name and begging me to slow down, please remember that you rubbed your foot on my cock at the breakfast table and it’s payback.”
I snort, but he’s so serious about it. I drop my foot and finish my breakfast. The moment our plates are empty, he clears the table while sporting a hard-on that has me blushing. He puts everything in the sink as I stand up, feeling the need to flee.
I leave the kitchen quickly and run for the stairs—but there he is, right in front of me, a wall of hard muscles and eyes that glow like liquid gold.
“I’m going to clean up,” I say. “Shower and—”
“Why? I’m about to make a mess of you. You don’t need to shower. You already smell good.” His arms circle around my waist, yanking me close.
“You don’t want me yet,” I say. I don’t know why I’m pushing back. I want him more than anything else, but I’m so turned on that it almost scares me.
“I want you always. Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I rasp, pushing against him. “No. I’m freaking out.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you and it’s easier if you don’t want me back. Just let me go.”
“I’m not letting you go,” he says. He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. “We’ll take it slow. Okay? I can control myself in my rut. Mostly. If we need to stop, we’ll stop.”
How do I explain that I want him to lose control? That I want to see him at his most primal and feral?
He sucks in a breath, a low groan sounding in his throat. “Damn it, Morgan. I know you’re drenched right now, aren’t you? You need my cock.”
A low whimper is drawn from me.
He tucks his nose against the curve of my neck as he pushes my blue hair back behind my shoulder. He traces the line of it with his tongue, sending tremors and shockwaves popping through me. Everything he does feels good.
“My nest isn’t ready,” I groan. “But . . .”
He hikes up the skirt of my dress and slides his fingers against my pussy. My head tosses back on a cry as pure, unadulterated need slices through me. Goddess, I need him. I need him so much it hurts.