Page 32 of Fat Enemy Mate

I picture the scene, the chaos, men standing around looking at the carnage, and I laugh. It’s a real laugh and not one I thought I’d be able to muster today.

I think you’re trying to distract me,” I say, still smiling.

He doesn’t deny it, just grins. “Did it work?”

“A bit,” I admit. “Yeah.”

“Well, that makes all the drama we had about getting this island built before the guys could admit to their mates what happened worth it,” he chuckles.

“If you need more, there’s the one about Dylan and a hornet nest that Connor still gets funny about whenever it’s brought up.”

“Maybe later,” I tell him, “next time you need to distract me.”

He nods and clears the lunch things, the silence returning to the cabin, but it feels slightly warmer now and less weighted. Somewhere in the middle of his story, my hands stopped shaking, and I didn’t even notice. My mind feels calmer, notquieter, and it means I have the space to think things through better.

“They came for me,” I say after a while. “Those things around their necks work, I screamed, and he didn’t even flinch.”

“Yes, it seems that way,” he confirms.

“If you hadn’t come back in, I had nothing,” I say, my voice trembling slightly. “I couldn’t have held him off much longer. Sure, I can fight, but he had me cornered.”

“I’m sure yo…” he starts, but I cut him off, not needing to hear platitudes.

“No, it’s true,” I say. “Thank you.”

The words hang between us for a moment before he does something unexpected and reaches for my hand. “You bought yourself time. You stuck him in the leg and gave me the opening I needed. You stayed on your feet. I just took the opportunity you gave me. So, don’t do yourself down.”

I look at him, really look. The sky outside is getting darker now as more clouds roll in, and the low lights have come on automatically. I can’t bring myself to think about the men in the ground, or the truck arriving to take me to a town I swore I’d never go to, to be surrounded by monsters I’ve avoided all of my life. But the man across from me doesn’t feel like a monster; how could he when he’s saved me more than once? I look at him, knowing what I want but hesitating between what I want and what I think I should want.

Decision made, I get up and close the small distance between us until I’m directly in front of him. The size difference between us is most noticeable when he barely has to tip his head backward when he’s sitting down, as we’re almost level. I reachout, the slight tremor in my hand returning as I touch the side of his face.

He goes very still, and, being so close, I can see his eyes are still green, but with a ring of pure gold, and I know enough now to understand what that means. His wolf is close to the surface. He’s probably been right there ever since the fight, and he’s there right now, staring back at me.

It should frighten me. Everything my father ever taught me about fearing shifters, and here I am staring into the eyes of one and feeling nothing but tentative desire.

“Your eyes look different,” I tell him.

“I know,” he says, his voice dropping low. “He’s been near the surface ever since the fight. He doesn’t go back down easily after something like that. I’m not going to sit here and pretend he’s not there because I don’t think I can hide it, even if I wanted to.”

I let out a shaky breath. “You’re very honest about something I’m afraid of,” I tell him.

“Are you afraid right now?” He asks, his hand coming up to rest on my hip.

I look at his collar and the dried blood that still lingers on the fabric, and the wolf blazing in his eyes, and watch as something shifts in his expression. He stands slowly, and I have to tip my head to maintain eye contact. The sheer size of him registers in my whole body, and my stomach clenches, not with fear, but with the memory of how my body responds to his.

I shake my head. No, I’m not afraid.

My silent answer lands, and he pulls me closer, bringing my lips to his as I go on tiptoes to reach him. One of his hands slides into my hair, and he crushes me against the full, hardlength of his body. His kiss is feverish with no soft edges. There’s nothing gentle about this, and I’m glad because gentle isn’t what I need right now. His arm comes around my back and locks me to him, and I feel it all—the heat and hardness. The strength that he’s deliberately not using and his wolf that feels like a physical current running beneath his skin. I shouldn’t want this; I should be scared. Instead, I lean into it, and he responds by deepening the kiss, and I feel the low growl rumbling in his chest.

“Lara,” he says, resting his forehead on mine. “Tell me if you don’t want this. I don’t have it in me to go easy right now.”

“I don’t want easy,” I whisper, “I want you.”

He doesn’t reply, not with words. Instead, his mouth is on me again, and his hands make short work of my clothes. As the cool air hits my skin, I vaguely think that I should feel embarrassed, stripped bare, but the feeling of his hands on my body overrules everything. He lifts me like I weigh nothing and sits me on the edge of the island, looming over me and spreading my legs, his hand smoothing over my breasts and dipping between my legs. He’s kissing me as he slides his fingers over my clit, making me gasp into his mouth, and he drowns out my cry as he pushes one finger into my tight channel. My back arches at the intrusion, and he dips lower, kissing my neck. I look down and watch as he adds a second finger; he catches me looking, and I watch as his eyes go completely golden, the smirk on his lips turning sinful as he scissors his fingers inside me, and my head tips back.

“You can take a third,” he says, voice strained as he adds another finger.

The stretch burns now, but I gasp as I feel his mouth close around one of my nipples, crying out as he sucks hard and begins to pump his fingers in and out at the same time. The cabin isfilled with the obscene wet sound of my wet channel taking his fingers and my cries that I can’t even control as he works my body.