Page 18 of Undesired Mate

For one crazy second, I wonder if I could ask the alpha, Thorn. He helped me. He seemed kind, or at least willing to treat me like I’m more than a freak. I remember his concerned expression when I first woke up after the attack. The way he looked down at me, like maybe he cared a little. Maybe I can ask him what to expect if Levi doesn’t come back.

But he has to come back. What am I thinking? Why am I even considering the possibility that I’ll never see him again? I have to stop thinking this way, all defeated and scared. Just because life has beaten me down in the past doesn’t mean things have to say that way forever.

I swear the air in the room changes when I think that. All of a sudden, it’s warmer in here. There’s an energy humming in the air, a pulsing, something that gets more intense by the second. My heart starts pounding like I’ve just ran a long distance before heat uncoils in my belly, burning me up. I have to stop and lean against the sofa, trying to catch my breath. Is this some kind of illness? I don’t usually get sick, but there’s been a lot of unusual things happening lately.

No. I’m not sick. Once the buzzing in my skull subsides, I hear him. Rather, I feel him. I feel Levi’s approach; I sense it. I have never been so sure of anything. He’s coming back, he’s on his way to me. I want to throw the door open and run to him—I can actually see myself doing it in my head; how easy it would be to run out of sheer relief.

There’s no need for that, since before I can catch my breath, I hear him out there. I feel him coming to me. My heart might burst, hammering against my ribs by the time the door swings open to reveal Levi’s massive wolf.

Maybe that’s why I could feel him so clearly, because he is still his wolf. His very big, growling wolf. His fur is filthy, and what looks very much like blood darkens the fur around his snout, painting his throat. It’s not his blood. How do I know? Just another mystery to add to the others.

A strangled cry erupts from my throat, and I make a move toward him, but his head wags from side to side before the shift takes over. I step back in awe, wanting to give him room. More than a little overwhelmed.

As soon as the shift is finished, he locks eyes with me and a single word falls from his lips. “Shower.” It’s not a question, it’s a command. The growl still lingering around the edge of his voice makes me shiver before he crosses the room, his bare feet leaving dirty prints, which he ignores. Even with a thousand questions bombarding my brain and the goosebumps he gives me with this almost scary attitude, my body moves without me making the decision. There is nothing for me to do but follow his orders. Yet another thing fate has taken away from me: the ability to decide for myself.

Not that I care right now. He is already in the shower, running the water hot enough that steam billows in clouds before I’ve taken off my clothes. I strip quickly, hands trembling like the rest of me, before joining him under the steamy spray.

Right away, he’s on me, his hands taking ownership of my body, turning me in place and pushing me up against the wall. The cold tile is jarring against my skin, making my nipples go rock hard. Either he doesn’t hear me gasp or doesn’t care. One of his hands wedging between my thighs, cupping my wet heat.

All at once I come alive, vibrating with the same energy that seems to be flowing from him with every flick of his fingers, with every lap of his tongue against my earlobe before he announces in a throaty whisper, “It’s done.”

Tears of joy fill my eyes a second before he impales me, filling me up all at once, making me whole. The force of his strokes—merciless, almost brutal—make me whine as he lifts me onto my tiptoes. His fingers dig into my hips, leaving me walking the line between pleasure and pain. There is no denying the deep satisfaction that settles over me before he pulls back and slams into me again.

Yes! My nails claw at the tiles since I can’t claw at his back. So hot, so wet, the tension is almost unbearable. I want to scream. I want this moment to never end.

He killed my father. He killed for me, and now he’s claiming his prize. And oh, I want him to. I’m all his.

“You love this,” he growls in my ear, pummeling me with his dick. “You crave this. Getting fucked by my cock. Say it. Say you love it.”

I would, but I’m sort of busy getting ready to come. “Yes!” I sob, closing my eyes, focusing on the delicious tension in my core. The way my body starts to clench, the way the friction increases the tighter I get.

“That’s right. Come for me,” he demands, growling in my ear while his body moves behind mine. “Milk me. Make me come, Clara.”

Suddenly, there’s pressure against my clit, and now I have to scream. I have to let it out. I have to vent the mind-blowing pleasure once he starts playing with my aching bundle of nerves, stroking it in time with the strokes deep within my core. A rush of heat sweeps over me and leaves me gasping, shuddering, sobbing in relief in the aftermath.

But he’s not finished. By the time he turns me to face him, I’m almost limp, lost. I’d sink to the floor if not for the way he holds me against the wall with his body before entering me again, building me up all at once. I haven’t finished coming before I’m starting again, my pussy clenching tight around him and drawing him deeper.

His animal growls are the sweetest music, lifting me higher, taking me further than I thought was possible while touching a place so deep inside me I didn’t know it existed. “Yes!” I shout into the steam-filled room because I need to tell him; he needs to know how much this means. How much I need him.

“Clara… Clara, fuck…” His grunts get deeper, louder, and I’m almost afraid he’s going to split me in two before he slams himself home one last time and covers my mouth with his, stifling my ecstatic shrieks. So good, too good, I can’t take it. It’s too much.

But I do take it, and I want more. I know what he needs to do. I feel it. Instinct makes me lean my head to the side, waiting for… whatever is supposed to come next. Whatever he’s supposed to do but hasn’t yet.

When all he does is pull out of my quivering pussy with a long, deep groan, part of me is a little disappointed. I have to close my eyes and turn my face away so he doesn’t see it, though he probably feels it the way I feel his frustration.

Because this still isn’t enough. I’m not enough.

“It’s done now.” He sounds more like himself when he says it. He’s in control again. “It’s finished. He’s gone.”

It feels hopelessly stupid and awkward, but I have to say it. “Thank you. And you’re all right?”

“Perfectly fine.” His brows draw together, and he blinks water out of his blue eyes before asking, “What, you doubted I would come out of it okay?”

“No,” I blurt, but he knows it’s a lie. I feel that, too. It’s like being in the presence of a lie detector at all times. “I mean, I was a little worried.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about anymore. You’re safe now.” He’s almost absentminded as he starts washing me after he’s washed himself. “Everything’s going to be fine now. Remember that. Everything is going to be fine. We’re going to go to your mother and give her the good news, and your life is going to be yours.”

Mine. It’s almost too much to believe, but I can start to accept it when I look into his eyes. Out of all the questions I’ve wrestledwith tonight, only one comes to mind now. “Can we go now? Tonight?”

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