Chapter 28 – Irishen
Irishen watched as his mate kissed another male and felt the emotions roiling in the bond. He expected to feel a small sting of envy or jealousy, but it didn’t come. She needed Jarred, needed the solid strength he gave her without question.
He would be lying if he said that watching them didn’t get him hard, especially when Wayla moaned into Jarred’s mouth. Not that he could see much beyond Jarred’s wide back, but it was a very fine back to look at. For a second, he debated leaving the room, but his feet refused to move.
She might be Jarred’s Claimed, but she was his mate. Their bond was equally true, even if it was newer—by hours, he might add—and still so fragile. Not as fragile as he had feared, though. The way Wayla had latched onto his bond would have put him on his knees if he hadn’t already been there.
Jarred murmured something to Wayla and then slowly pulled back. A snarl rose in Irishen’s throat for him denying her, but before he could rip into the male, Jarred turned them around. Gently, he guided Wayla toward Irishen and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
“Go kiss your mate, love.”
Well, fuck. That twisted his insides into a nervous knot.
Wayla took one hesitating step toward him, lips swollen and cheeks flushed.
She looked absolutely delicious and when she licked her lips, for the first time, Irishen let himself truly entertain the idea that his mate might find him attractive beyond the pull the mate connection created.
He wanted to devour her.
He couldn’t wait for Wayla to reach him, so he met her halfway and cupped her cheek into his palm. Immediately, she nuzzled into it, absorbing the cold like she had missed it. Her own ice pushed against his in the bond.
“Can I kiss you?” It would be their first kiss as mates. Not one driven by her mind being drunk on power or one where he needed her to fucking keep breathing. A shudder tried to crawl up at the thought.
He had almost lost his mate before he even recognized her. And then again when her powers threatened to swallow her whole.
Wayla met his gaze. Giving her time to pull back, Irishen leaned down.
He was taller than Jarred and Wayla rose to her tiptoes to meet his mouth.
The first brush was tentative. The second included a little bit of tongue.
On the third one, Wayla groaned and hopped up, fully expecting him to catch her.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and attacked his lips and bit.
“Mate,” he growled.
“Mate,” she whispered and licked the place she had bitten before kissing him deeply again.
His mate didn’t wait for things but took what she wanted, and hell if it wasn’t a turn-on. Irishen’s dick was pulsing, ready to be freed, but that would mean setting Wayla down, and he wasn’t ready to do that.
To be honest, he wasn’t sure if they were ready to fuck at all. She had accepted the bond but didn’t trust him. Yet. There was a shadow of wariness in their bond that he wanted to obliterate, but that would take time. He needed to show her he wasn’t going anywhere and he wasn’t going to hurt her.
He would give her everything she needed and right now that was her Claimed, who had proved himself to her. It was almost like Jarred was reading his mind because he appeared behind Wayla and kissed her throat, unerringly finding the claiming mark.
“Love, you need to finish that talk before you go further.”
“No,” Wayla moaned and clung harder to Irishen.
“He’s right, morsel,” Irishen reluctantly agreed. The talk. Fucking Hellion. He’d much rather watch his mate getting pleasured out of her mind than talk about his ex.
“What’s there to talk about?” She adorably pouted.
Irishen sighed at the same time as Jarred and they shared a glance.
It didn’t take a mate bond to realize that talking wasn’t Wayla’s favorite activity.
He could understand the urge to clam up, but that was part of what had screwed up things before, both with Hellion and then later with Diana.
He wasn’t willing to repeat that mistake now.
“Hear him out, precious,” Jarred said, giving Irishen the support he needed. “He needs to tell it and you need to hear it from him.”
“But—”
“Trust me on this, love.”
Wayla bit her lip and looked warily at Irishen before sighing and burying her face against his neck. “Fine, but I don’t want to hear about you fucking Diana. She’s my friend. I don’t need that image in my brain.”
“You don’t need to hear about me fucking anyone. Ever,” Irishen said and carried her over to the couch.