Page 42 of Ronen
He pointed to his appendages in question, and mouthed, “These thighs?”
“And your stupid bubble butt, stupid cowboy boots, and stupid cowboy hat,” I finished in a rush of ire, before he could interrupt me one more time.
“You’ve got a lot of anger in you for a tiny omega.”
I glared at him. “I’m not that tiny.”
“You are to me. Like I said, you’re afraid of all the feelings I bring out in you, because Goddess forbid Ronen Sawyer Sinclair should feel anything for anyone that isn’t a fucking book.”
Ohhhh snap, he found out your middle name!my honey badger whispered.
“Who told you?!” I stomped one foot like a three year old throwing a tantrum, but I didn’t even care.
He smirked, “It’s classified.”
“Mydad,” I groaned, running a hand over the nape of my neck, which felt blazing hot against the skin of my hand.
Every nerve ending felt charged with electricity, slick had my backside uncomfortably damp, and my hole ached with a need to be filled that I couldn’t allow myself to give in to.
If I gave in, there would be no turning back from this. No way out.
“I’m not afraid of you or any feelings,” I told him with more assurance than I felt.
“Prove it.”
“I don’t need to prove a damn thing to you,” I bit out between clenched teeth. “I came to see how you were–”
“You came to make sure I don’t sue your precious library,” Mason determined, and damn him for being right. “Let’s at least be honest about that, since you are hell bent on not being honest about anything else.”
“Oh, you want to talk about honesty, Mr. Book Thief? We’re done here.”
Stomping past him, with the intent on leaving, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of him. Musk and earth and every dark, forbidden desire I had ever dreamed of rolled into one delicious smelling alpha.
Need overwhelmed me, a want that I had no way to stop. Wasn’t sure I even wanted to.
Mason was breathing hard, and when he turned to stare at me, to watch me walk away, his amber eyes were full of fire, his pupils dilated with lust. My slick gushed at the sight, my own scent filling the space around us.
His nostrils flared, a sound escaping his throat, half moan, half whine, all need. “You smell so good, all the time. Liketoasted marshmallows. Sugar and fire, just like you. I can smell you, Ronen. I can smell your slick right now.”
That was it.
That was all it took for every last sensible bone in my body to melt away and disappear, along with my anger and rage. Nothing mattered except my desire for this man. Not lies, or books, or fury, or even the fact that we were fated mates.
Ineededto touch him. To feel him. To run my nose along his skin and scent him. I needed to feel his skin against my skin.
Needed his hands touching me, marking me, owning me.
I needed to taste him.
Just one little taste.
That would be enough. Wouldn’t it?
One taste, one touch, and I could get him out from beneath my skin. I could walk away, and we could both go back to living our lives. Separately.
Bending down, I grasped a handful of his soft hair in my hand–why was it so silky soft–and brought my lips to his with a bruising force. His tongue slipped into my mouth, and I tasted the deliciousness that was Mason. He grasped me by the back of the neck with the perfect amount of pressure, pulling me closer.
It was awkward, with me leaning half over the back of the couch, and his head twisted in a sideways, backwards angle that couldn’t be comfortable, but none of that deterred us.
