“It burns,” she cries out, a high, thin sound. “Eli, please... touch me.”
“I am touching you,” he says gently, but I hear the strain in his voice.
“No, more. I need... inside. Something inside.”
I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles crack. Every instinct I have is screaming to stop the truck and climb into the back seat with them.
I want to tear her clothes off and bury myself inside her until the heat breaks. The Alpha in me is riding the edge of control, furious at the delay, furious at the traffic lights that turn red, forcing me to stop.
At one light, I glance in the rearview mirror.
Amber is sprawled across Eli’s lap. Her sweater is pushed up, her skin flushed dark pink. She is grinding down on Eli’s thigh, desperate for friction, her head thrown back.
Eli has his hands in her hair, whispering to her, his own jaw tight with restraint. He looks tortured.
“Knox,” she whimpers, shifting in her seat. She presses her thighs together, a restless movement. “I feel... hot. Too hot. I feel like I’m dying.”
“I know,chérie,” I say, my voice sounding strained to my own ears. “We’re almost home. Just hold on.”
“It hurts,” she breathes out, her voice cracking. “My skin... it feels too tight. Like I’m going to burst.”
“Eli,” I bark into the backseat. “Water. Cold washcloth. Now.”
Eli doesn’t ask questions. He’s already moving, digging through the glove box for a bottle of water and ripping a pack of wet wipes open with his teeth.
“Here, Amber,” Eli says gently, leaning forward between the seats. He presses the cold bottle against the side of her neck.
She moans at the contact, a low, guttural sound that goes straight to my cock. She leans into his hand, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She’s delirious.
I finally turn onto the industrial road that leads to the warehouse. I see the lights of the bay up ahead. I feel like I’ve been driving for days.
I pull into the warehouse bay, hitting the button to close the overhead door before the truck even stops moving. Fallon is out before the wheels stop, locking the bay door, securing the perimeter.
I open the back door.
Amber is a mess. She’s sweating through her shirt, her hair plastered to her forehead, her jeans unbuttoned where she’s been clawing at them.
She looks at me with eyes that are wild, desperate, barely human.
“Knox,” she gasps, reaching for me.
I pull her out of the truck, her legs barely holding her weight. She sags against me, her hands gripping the lapels of my coat so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t rip the fabric.
“Take her to the rug,” I say to Eli. “Get the blankets. Fallon, water. Cold basin. Now.”
We carry her to the living area. The high ceilings and open space usually feel comforting, but right now, the warehouse feels too big, too exposed.
We need to make a nest.
Eli lays her down on the thick, cream-colored rug in front of the fireplace. It’s cold in here, but the moment she hits the floor, she starts clawing at her clothes.
“Off,” she sobs, fumbling with the hem of her sweater. “It hurts. Take them off. They’re scratching me.”
“Easy,chérie,” I say, dropping to my knees beside her.
I help her pull the sweater over her head, tossing it aside. She’s wearing a simple cotton bra, her chest heaving, her skin flushed a dark, feverish pink.
“My pants,” she whines. “They’re too tight. They’re squeezing me.”
