He curses under his breath. His hand tightens on mine. “What exactly did you want, Caroline?” he presses, his gaze intense and demanding.
“Your cock.” The word is obscene, but it is the truth.
His other hand comes up, twisting into my hair at the nape of my neck. He gives a possessive tug, and I feel it all the way to my toes. It’s a spike of pure pleasure that makes me gasp. “I have thought about you a lot since then,” he admits.
“You did?” I ask, my Omega side purring in satisfaction, preening under his admission.
He nods, his eyes darkening. “I had to pull over a few blocks away and jerk off in the back of my car. The thought of your scent, of you…”
He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t have to. And now, that’s all I can think about. His cock.
What would it look like? Feel like? Taste like?
I haven’t even realized I’m staring at the front of his trousers until he uses the hand in my hair to tip my face back up. His eyes are hooded, burning with a dark fire.
“You’re quite transparent, you know,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Sorry,” I say again, though I’m not sorry at all. I’m fascinated.
He chuckles as he lets go of my hair. He brushes his thumb over my cheek, then across my lower lip, tracing its fullness. I think I might combust right there on the spot.
“You need a distraction,” he says. “And I have an idea.”
He leads me back to the sofa, his hand a warm pressure on the small of my back. He sits down first, and then, without a word, I’m straddling him, my knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his thighs. The pressure against my aching center is a profound relief.
My hands go to the buttons of his shirt, my fingers fumbling and desperate to feel his skin against mine.
He catches my wrists, stopping me. He brings my clenched fists to his lips and kisses each one, a gesture at odds with the wild energy thrumming between us. I can’t help it; I roll my hips, grinding down against the hard ridge of his erection.
“Shit,” he hisses, hands tightening on my wrists. “New strategy.”
In a move both swift and gentle, he shifts me, pulling me sideways until I’m settled on his lap, my back against his chest, my head tucked under his chin. Intimate, but not sexual.Comforting.
A shaky laugh escapes me, but it dies when a hum starts in his chest. The vibration travels through my back, silencing the frantic noise in my head. Then words join the hum. The melody is old, full of a sorrow that feels clean. It wraps around me, pushing back the desperate energy of the heat until something like peace settles in its place.
“Of all the money that e’er I had,
I spent it in good company.
And all the harm that e’er I’ve done,
Alas, it was to none but me.
And all I’ve done for want of wit,
To mem’ry now I can’t recall.
So fill to me the parting glass,
Good night and joy be with you all.”
The song ends. The only noise is rain outside. The fire inside me hasn’t gone out, but it’s no longer a wildfire. It’s a hearth, contained and warm.
“What was that?” I ask, the words barely there.
“A lullaby,” he answers, his chin resting on my head. “My mother sang it.”
“That’s lovely,” I say. “Are you and she…?”
