Page 106 of Mate
How romantic.
“Tomorrow morning, Layla will give me a progesterone injection. It should make this . . .” I gesture at myself like I’m a magician’s assistant. He takes it as an invitation and studies me from head to toe, tracks my every fidget, follows the rocking of my heels. “She hopes it’ll make it go away. But she didn’t have it at the office, so . . .”
He doesn’t bother hiding the depth of his scowl, even if he eventually nods.
“Are you okay with that?” I scratch the back of my neck, which feels swollen. Tender. “If you have any objections— ”
“None that are rational.” His smile is slim, self-effacing. His words sound forced. “I’ll support you no matter what. Whether you take the injection or decide to spend your Heat with someone.”
I cock my head. “I thought you said you didn’t lie.”
“Did I? I must have gotten it wrong. Or maybe things have changed. Have to admit, killer, that your presence in my life has been humbling. A fucking revelatory experience. Thought I knew myself, but . . .” He laughs. Rubs his palm against his mouth. “The truth is, if you decide to spend your Heat with someone else, they’ll have to chain me at the bottom of a well and seal its mouth with concrete.”
The gland on my upper back aches, pulsating sweetly with every word he says. Begging for attention. “The idea of anyone else touching me makes me physically ill. So.” I attempt a smile.He does, too. We might be in agreement about how painful all of this is. “I can hear your heart.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s . . . fast.” Like a drum. A rhythmic nudge against my skin.
“Must be the tea.”
“It was herbal. No caffeine.”
“Then maybe it’s from earlier today. Busy, y’know.”
“I’ve seen you run, and fight, and it’s never been this loud.”
“Serena. If you’re not going to let me bullshit an answer, just stop asking questions.”
I laugh. He doesn’t, but the hungry little thing inside me is starting to blur the world, so I go to him anyway. And we must be some kind of perfect, perpetual motion machine— it’s that easy, the way my body slides against his as I straddle his lap. His hands lift to hover around my waist, then fall back to his side, fisted.
There is a slight strain on my inner thighs as they open around his hips. His torso is longer than mine, and we’re just about eye to eye. Breath to breath. Infinitely close, even if the only place where my skin touches his is our foreheads, leaning together.
“Do you want me to stop?” I murmur.
He says nothing, so I make to move away, but his hand hooks into the soft inner part of my knee.
You know I don’t. Stay.
“Okay.” I settle deeper into him, trying to get some pressure on my clit. I hold on to the back of the couch, right above his shoulders, and gingerly grind against his erection, feeling the rough pinch of the fabric of his jeans.
Instant pleasure sparks up my spine. The friction is so life-changinglygood, it rips a breathy whimper out of me. I slowly collapse into him, hiding my flushed face in the crook of his neck, tracing the outline of his gland with my nose.
His response is a silent shudder.
I’m already impatient. Frustrated. Wondering what it would be like, having him inside me. He’s hot and heavy. Massive. Would split me open.Maybe you’d hate it, I tell myself.You don’t even like guys like him.
But, no. It doesn’t matter that the men I used to have sex with would have chopped off their own middle fingers before acting as though they knew what was best for me, and respected my unwillingness to sleep next to someone who wasn’t Misery. There were no orders— just polite requests. But Koen . . . It’s so easy to imagine how he’d act. Methodical and self-assured and bulldozer-like. Formidable. Unstoppable. And I’d relish every second of my time with him, like I always do.
“Whatever you’re thinking about,” he rasps against my ear, “continue.”
“Yeah?”
He nods. “You smellincredibleright now.”
“Like . . . how?”
“Like you’d let me keep you here and fuck you for the next six months. Like youneedme to.”
