Page 40 of Betrayed Knocked-Up Mate

I told her I didn’t want her. Rafael was right—it’s unforgivable. And if I try to fight for that forgiveness and fail to get it, I know it’ll destroy me.

"You don't understand what he's capable of," I say, my voice rougher than intended. "What he does to people I—to people who matter."

"Then help me understand!" She shoves at my chest, and the contact sends electricity arcing through my body. "For once in your life, Marcus, just tell me the truth!”

The truth. As if it's that simple. As if I could explain about my parents, about Kane's ideology, about all the ways love becomes a weapon in his hands. How he’s lived in my mind all this time, taunting me. How every single time I meet someone new and begin to love them, begin to care, I fear every moment spent with them that he’ll appear to take them away, to hurt them, to kill her. As if I could tell her that seeing her in that clinic, unconscious and bleeding because of me, nearly broke something vital in my chest.

"I can't," I say again, though the words feel like razor wire in my throat. "Please, Camila. Just... trust that I'm trying to protect you."

Her resulting laugh holds no humor. "I told you I was your mate, and you walked away. You know as well as I do that that kind of heartbreak kills people. God knows it almost killed me. You’re lucky, Marcus, that I’m as strong as I am, as strong as I have been. I’m still here,despite you,not because of you, so get that into your head—”

“I don’t want you to die, Camila—”

“I can’t live like this—”

I move without thinking.

My wolf is wild, almost feral, utterly untamed. It is hungry, desperately hungry with five years of denied need. My hands find her waist as I spin us, pushing her hard back against the wall beside the curtained window.

The impact draws a gasp from her lips, one that hits me low in the gut.

"Don't," I growl, though I'm not sure what I'm asking her not to do. Talk about California? Remind me of everything I lost? Make me want things I can't have?

Her pulse races under my palms, where they bracket her shoulders. This close, I can see the individual droplets of rain still clinging to her eyelashes, the way her throat works as she swallows. Her scent fills my head, seeps right into my brain, fills my mind with thoughts so crazed with desire they almost physically hurt.

"Don't what?" she breathes, a desperate sound, and something in her voice makes my control snap.

The kiss is violent, desperate, years of separation exploding between us like the apex of a storm. She makes a sound against my mouth that might be protest or might be surrender, her hands coming up to fist in my shirt.

I should stop. Should pull away, maintain distance, keep her safe. Does she even want this?

Instead, I press closer, drowning in her taste, in the way she feels against me, all soft curves and sharp edges. Her teeth catch my lower lip hard enough to draw blood, punishment or permission or protest or all of them at once. I force her up against the wall, boxing her in with my body, overtaken by something I can’t describe—

Then her hands are shoving at my chest, breaking the kiss. I back off instantly, back to my senses.God, what have I done.

Her lips are swollen, eyes very bright. We stare at each other in the darkness for a moment, both breathing hard. Horror floods through me as I realize what I've done—taken yet another choice from her, crossed another line without permission.

"Camila," I start, already stepping back. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

She moves like lightning, like fury given form. Her hands fist in my shirt again, but this time she's pulling me back, crashing our mouths together with five years of pent-up need. We stumble backward until she hits the tiny, scuffed desk, the impact sending my papers fluttering to the floor. I catch her hips, lifting her onto the wooden surface as her legs wrap around my waist.

“I can’t stand to hear you say another word,” she growls against my mouth.“Kiss me.”

I obey without hesitation, claiming her mouth with a ferocity that surprises even me. My hands roam her body, rediscovering curves I've dreamed about for years. She arches into my touch, a soft moan escaping her as I trail kisses down her neck, tasting rain and salt andCamila.

"You’re still mine," I growl against her throat, my wolf surging to the surface. The possessiveness I've fought so hard to contain breaks free, flooding my veins like liquid fire. "You're mine, Camila, you always were.”

I’m not sure whether I mean it, or I just want to finally be able to say it.

Her nails dig into my shoulders, leaving crescents I know will mark even through my shirt.

"Prove it," she challenges, voice husky with desire.

The desk creaks ominously as I press her back, scattering the remaining papers. My hands find the hem of her shirt, pushing it up to reveal smooth skin I've dreamed about every night for days upon days upon days. I lift the fabric higher, revealing inch after tantalizing inch of Camila's skin. My hands roam greedily, mapping the planes of her stomach, the curve of her ribs, the soft swell of her breasts. She arches into my touch, a soft gasp escaping her lips as my thumbs brush over her nipples through the thin lace of her bra.

"Marcus," she breathes, and the sound of my name on her lips ignites something primal within me.

I growl low in my throat, capturing her mouth in another searing kiss as I fumble with the clasp of her bra. When it finally gives way, I toss it aside without care, breaking our kiss to feast my eyes on her newly bared flesh.

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