Page 36 of Sold Bullied Mate

What could I be telling him by wearing his shirt—that I’m his, and his only? That’s always been true, and he should know that. From the moment I was born, I belonged to him. He’s mine, too—even if he didn’t want to admit it.

I know how the bond works. I know that all other women have been ruined for him. Even if he rejects me, that biological attraction won’t end.

His eyes darken, and he moves toward me, stopping when our clothes brush, when his breath fans out over my cheek. The scent of him is all around me, pooling in this room, flooding out from every one of his pores.

And it just makes one thing repeat, over and over in my mind.

Mine, mine, mine.

I’m not sure who moves first. All I know is that one second, I’m standing on my feet, and in the next, I’m off the floor and moving toward the kitchen island. Dorian sets me atop it and for a fraction of a moment, I’m thinking about how unsanitary it is—my bare ass on the granite—but that fizzles out quickly when his knuckle brushes against me, cool and bold.

“Oh,” the word slips out of me, and seems to spur him on, so he runs his fingers up and down my folds, his forehead falling against my shoulder, a muffled groan into my shirt at the feeling of it.

I’m already wet for him—of course I am. My heat makes me perpetually wet, and perpetually horny, but this is the worst it’s ever been. Having my mate close makes my body feel electric, alive.

My palms land behind me on the counter as he slides his other hand up my shirt, the heat and pressure of him almost already too much, my orgasm hovering just near the edges, bringing the room apart, the very fabric of this reality—

“Stop,” I gasp the word, realizing what’s about to happen, and Dorian stops, though the pained look on his face makes it clear that it’s the last thing on this planet that he wants to do.

“What?” he asks, breathless, and when I glance down through the sudden pounding in my head, I can see that he’s hard, the size of it pushing out against the material of his pants. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I—” I squeeze my eyes shut, letting my face drop into my hands, the sudden pain of it red-hot and blinding. “It’s—it’s happening. A premonition.”

“What do you need?” his voice is edging away from pained, but I can still feel the lust there, under the surface. It can not be easy for him to respond to this while I’m in heat, my scent probably making his cock throb.

“Ice pack,” I manage, and the compounding pain in my head coupled with the aching need between my legs is so bittersweet that tears start to run down my cheeks. Dorian disappears for a moment, then returns with the ice pack.

He runs a thumb over my cheek, wiping away the tear, placing the cool compress on my forehead just as everything goes black.

The last thing I hear is his voice, right next to my ear, whispering, “Everything’s going to be okay, Kira. I’m right here.”

Chapter 23 - Dorian

When Kira goes limp in my arms, I carefully adjust her, laying her out on the counter. With shaking hands, I grab the hem of the shirt, pulling it down around her thighs—but it does nothing to curb the desperate, aching animal inside me, whining and howling for her touch.

There are two sides to me right now—the wolf that doesn’t understand what’s happening, doesn’t get why I can’t have her in my lapright now—and the logical, alpha leader of the pack, who spoke with Beth the day before about what her premonitions would mean.

“It’s just too bad that we caught her so late,” Beth said, before Kira came downstairs. She was shaking her head, eyes cast toward the table. “Usually, psychics can train from a young age, learn to control their gifts better. Without that training, they can be especially painful, and even debilitating.”

Gently, I reposition the ice pack so it’s over Kira’s forehead and dig into my pocket with my other hand, finding the contact and dialing it.

“Come right away,” I say, en lieu of a greeting. “She’s having a premonition.”

“I’ll be there in five,” Beth’s voice is matter-of-fact.

Any shifter in this pack would respond to me in the same way—if I call, they’ll come, no matter the time of day—but Beth is invested in this as much as I am. It’s her chance to train another psychic in this pack. Her chance to pass down everything she knows.

Deep down, I know it’s slightly my fault that Kira hasn’t had the chance to train her gift. I did my fair share of makingsure nobody believed her when she said it was happening, and after what happened the night my grandfather died, there wasn’t a soul in this pack that would believe a word out of her mouth.

I lean over her, whispering encouraging words into her ear, running my hand down her arm, until there’s a gentle knock at the front door.

“Come in!”

A moment later, Beth is there, and the moment her hand touches Kira’s forehead, Kira’s eyelids flutter open, locking onto the older woman’s gaze. My instincts tell me not to leave my mate alone with anyone, but I have to trust Beth for a moment, so I do, darting up the stairs and returning with a pair of Ash’s sweatpants a moment later.

“Beth,” Kira manages, her eyes locked on the older woman as I pull the pants over her legs, covering her better. Maybe the old woman doesn’t care, but the protective mate inside me doesn’t want anyone—even an old woman—seeing my mate like this.

“Take a deep breath,” Beth says, helping Kira to a sitting position. “Remember the things we talked about.”

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