Page 40 of Broken Rejected Mate

I feel like a firework contained the shape of a human body. Like my cells have been replaced with photons, like I’m barely staying whole through the cresting, endless waves of pleasure.

“Veva,” Emin growls, crawling up the length of me, his hands lingering and touching, obsessive and thorough, like he wants to map every inch of my body, burn it into his brain to remember later.

“Emin.” It comes out as a whimper. Any other time, I’d care. I’d not want to be so needy, but I can’t control it. “Emin.”

“Tell me what you want,” he teases, his voice low. How he’s holding anything back right now is completely beyond me, and infuriating to now end.

“You know what I want,” I growl, lifting up and pressing against him. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, then grabs my hips, pinning me to the bed.

“I want to hear you say it, Veva.”

Air comes out of me in sharp little bursts. If Emin doesn’t fuck me right now, I might actually start sobbing.

The realization hits me with a start—I would doanythingto have him touch me, to have him inside me. So I level my gaze at him, go still, lower my voice, and tell him exactly what I want.

Chapter 22 - Emin

“I want your cock inside me, Emin.”

A full-body shudder works the length of me at the sound of her asking, telling me exactly what she wants.

Veva, my mate. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life—the only woman I reallysee, period. Even the anticipation of having her is better than any sex I’ve had in the past ten years.

The taste of her is still on my lips, the shaking, desperate feeling of licking into her thrumming through my body, through my blood. I’ve never gone down on her before—as kids, I wasn’t even really aware that was an option.

But when I first scented her, when I’d pressed my thigh between her legs in the living room and realized just how wet she was, what that slick was doing to her—I knew I wanted to taste her. To get her on my lips, my tongue.

My fantasies of her over the years, of the woman she might have grown into, didn’t do her justice. Her eyes are dark, hooded as she stares at me, and her legs are warm, loose. I drop my lips to her neck, breathing hard against the skin there, stopping to bite and kiss at her pulse point, that part of her that smells most like her.

“Okay,” I murmur, knowing the brush of my lips against her skin is making her shiver. “Whatever you want, baby.”

She starts to writhe beneath me, desperate, and I kick my sweats off, letting my cock free. I’m so fucking hard, the tip sensitive to the brush of the sheets as I move, twitching eagerly.

I’m good with my hands—I know that. I can build anything from a pile of scrap wood. But right now, getting herfucking pajama top off feels like solving a puzzle cube, one that just gets more and more frustrating with every second she’s not naked before me.

In a brief, momentary break from the suffocating lust around us, Veva laughs, that sound breathless and dry, as she lifts up from the bed, grabs the top, and hurls it to the other side of the room.

Fuck—her bare chest is a thing of beauty. I could drown myself in the miles of smooth skin, but I’m too captivated by her nipples, taut and warm, and the way they feel under my tongue, the way she arches her back and thrusts her fingers into my hair when I touch them, tugging my face toward her until I really am suffocating.

“Ease up, baby,” I murmur, biting her gently so she’ll let me go, but that’s the wrong move—even this gentle bite on her nipple reminds me of what I should be doing to her right now.

To my mate.

Biting her, marking her, merging our scents together. Telling everyone in this pack—everyone on this damned continent—that this woman belongs to me. A mark ten years too late, and something I’d do this exact second, if my logical mind didn’t push to the front, forcing me to shove the impulse to mark her way down inside me. Veva might be my mate, but I’m damn sure she doesn’t want me to mark her. That if I bit her, she would hate me for it.

So I don’t. I bite down on the inside of my lip, wait for that impulse to pass, focus on my hands and how I’m touching her, drawing her pajama shorts and panties down her hips, knowing the press of my cock there—near her entrance, but not inside her—is driving her insane.

Veva throws her hands over my shoulders, digs her nails into my back, murmurs in my ear, her voice low and mewling, pleading, until the words merge together and all that’s left is a long, low, needy sound from her lips.

I’m torn—part of me loves her like this. Clinging and desperate, needing me. The other part of me can’t stand being outside of her for another fucking minute.

So I brace my arms on either side of her head and notch my tip against her entrance, watching her face, loving the look of anticipation, frustration, raw, unfetteredwantin her expression.

Veva bites her lip, tips her head back, brushes her bangs from her forehead. When she meets my eyes again, part of my commanding woman is back, taking over to get what she wants.

“Just fucking do it,” she snaps. Then, rolling her hips, she throws her head back against the pillow and practically whines, “Please, Emin.”

It’s the combination of those things—her demand, then the pleading, then the sound of my name on her lips that pushes me over the edge, my final thread of restraint snapping. I’ve spent the past ten years without her, and I can’t survive another second of the deprivation.

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