7
DECLAN
That didnothing for me but make me hungrier. Taking a taste of something I’m starving for and having the starvation expand until it’s crushing my insides.
What’s even worse is knowing I’m not alone. She’s right there with me. Looking up at me in the mirror—I can see it in her eyes. The same thing I’m feeling, the same hunger that should’ve been satisfied by what just happened but wasn’t. If anything, it’s worse. My hand is still wet from her and I’m so hard it hurts.
I should stop. I should step back, hand her a towel, walk out of this bathroom, and sit in that chair until my blood cools and my brain starts working again. That’s what an alpha does. That’s what I need to believe Dad would’ve done.
She turns around to face me. Her eyes drop. She can see exactly what she does to me, but instead of fear, there’s that same flushed heat on her face. The same want.
It makes what happens next seem normal. Inevitable.
She doesn’t resist when I cup her shoulders with both hands and press down until she’s on her knees.
My breath leaves me like I’ve been hit. She’s looking up at me with those blue eyes, wet hair clinging to her bare shoulders while I undo my belt with shaking hands. She watches intently asI free myself—thank fuck, no more zipper in the way—before the tip of her tongue traces her upper lip.
That’s what does it. Whatever thread of control I’ve been clinging to snaps clean in half, and I’m gone.
She gasps at the sight of me and groans when I push my way into her mouth without warning. It should make me gentle and patient, knowing she’s overwhelmed.
Instead, the knowledge this might be her first time doing this sends something primal roaring through me that I can’t contain. Everything in the world boils down to this right here. To what my body and my wolf demand.
I grip her hair tighter. My hips move on their own, pushing deeper into the wet warmth, and the sound she makes around me—not protest, not pain, something closer to a moan that vibrates straight through me—destroys whatever restraint I had left.
My pace is too rough. I can feel it in the way her fingers dig into my thighs, the way she braces herself against the push of my hips as I invade her deeper, harder. Her jaw has to be hurting. Her knees aching on the cold tile. I should ease up. I should…
But her eyes find mine, and she doesn’t pull away. She takes me. Her lips stretched around me, her cheeks hollowed, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes from the effort, but she doesn’t stop. She’s right here with me, taking every stroke, struggling to manage me without gagging. If anything, her fingers tighten on my thighs, and she pulls me closer, and the sight of it pushes me to the edge so fast it’s almost violent.
“I’m going to—” The warning is all I can manage. Two words, barely coherent.
She doesn’t pull back. She stays right where she is, and when I come apart, it rips through me like something breaking open. My hand fists tighter in her hair. My body goes rigid. A groan I couldn’t silence if my life depended on it tears out of my chestwhile I spill into her mouth and down her throat. Wave after wave, and she takes every ounce.
When it’s over, my legs are shaking. I’m braced in the doorway like it’s the only thing keeping me vertical, breathing hard. She pulls back slowly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and looks up at me. Her lips are swollen. Her eyes are glassy. She’s still on her knees, trembling, and she looks…
What did I just do?
The guilt hits like cold water. I was rough. Too rough, too fast, too much. I didn’t check in. I didn’t ask if she was okay. I grabbed her hair and used her mouth like the animal I am, and the fact she let me doesn’t make it better.
Her eyes widen slightly when I crouch down, as if she wasn’t expecting me at her level. I reach out and brush the damp hair back from her face, and my hand is shaking. “Are you okay?” My voice is rough and demanding.
She blinks at me. Something that’s almost a smile touches the corner of her swollen mouth. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I’m okay.”
I don’t believe her, but I nod before helping her stand. Once she’s steady, I hand her a towel, then step out of the bathroom. “Take your time,” I say without turning around.
I fix my jeans, buckle my belt, and sink into the chair. My hands are still shaking. My wolf is pacing, restless and satisfied all at once, which makes no sense, but nothing about the last twelve hours has made sense.
I was rough with her. She might have bruises on her knees from the tile. Her jaw is going to be sore. I pulled her hair hard enough that my fingers ache from the grip.
What the hell is happening to me?
I hear her moving around in the bathroom—towel, clothes, the soft pad of bare feet. She comes out dressed in the flanneland shorts, sits on the bed without a word, and holds her wrist out toward the headboard.
I tie her, no matter how regretful it makes me feel. The line between us is beyond blurred now. I doubt there’s any way to fix things.
I’ve barely had thirty seconds to sit down before the bedroom door flies open hard enough to bounce off the wall.
Zeke.
