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She nods gravely, staring up at me with those big blue doe eyes. “Of course, I do.”
“Good,” I murmur, my fingers digging into her nape as I pull her closer.
18
Warmth
Hetty
As soon as Noah’s lips touch my neck, my knees go weak and my body slumps against the tree, soft and useless. I lean back, not fighting him as his lips and teeth explore my neck, awash in his crisp, burnt scent.
He pulls me tight, emitting a low, rumbling sound of satisfaction. The virile noise burrows deep within me, settling between my legs like a firebrand that sends sizzles and jolts of shock through my veins.
My head falls back on a soft moan as his hands rub my waist, pulling absently at my thick uniform as he continues to rain wet, hot kisses on my throat.
Was it just minutes ago that I was so brave and defiant?
Maybe. But now, I’m warm goo. I don’t care about anything that will happen after this, as long as I can have this moment with him.
But this can’t be really happening.
It just can’t.
The whiplash of going from barely seeing him for a week to this is too overwhelming. I feel detached from myself, like I’m watching from afar while he touches someone else. Like he’s making someone else feel the way I’ve always dreamed he’d make me feel.
It is happening, my ghost whispers, so shut up and enjoy it.
“You smell good,” he grunts, inhaling as he runs his face up and down my neck. “Like … warmth.”
I want to laugh at that because it makes no sense, but the sound dies in my throat when he lifts his head.
He looks dangerous. Like a version of himself that he’s kept hidden his entire life. Not the strait-laced, honorable alpha I’ve always known, but someone else altogether.
His short, rumpled hair hangs in front of his forehead and his fangs press gently into the bottom cushion of his lips, making him look wild—like an animal. With his shirt unbuttoned and his tie gone, I can see the tan skin underneath. I reach up to touch him there. His skin is hot.
At my touch, his green-gold eyes blacken, the lids drooping over them seductively. And it’s not because of the darkness, I realize, it’s because of me.
Because he wants me as much as I want him.
“Noah,” I whisper his name reverently. It’s the only tangible thought I can articulate now as his face dips down to my neck again.
My breath hitches in my throat when I feel a sharp scrape on my neck.
His fangs, I realize. He’s grazing my neck with them like I’m his next meal.
Or his mate.
The thought sends a new urgency through me. I reach down between our bodies to touch him. My fingers move over the thick fabric of his suit jacket, pushing it aside to find the soft, silky linen of the shirt covering his hard stomach.
My fingers skim the shiny metal of his belt buckle.
He stops moving, his head popping up again as—slowly—I press my fingers to his pants below his buckle.
He’s hard and impossibly large. I can’t help but move my fingers up and down the length, trying to memorize the feel of him.
He swallows, and his dark eyes lock with mine as he rasps, “Where did you learn how to do that?”
I shake my head, lost for words. Being with him—touching him—just feels natural.
