Page 162 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

I'm tempted to tell him to fuck off, promise Valek he's just being weird and this is all bullshit, slam and permanently lock a door between us and pretend this conversation and everything between us never happened.

I don't let people in.

Ivy is my only exception. She's my scent match. My mate.

Whiskey is a fucking wrecking ball.

And I'm not moving because I don't want to move, and that's terrifying.

Whiskey's thumb brushes across my cheekbone. The touch is too gentle for him.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he says again, barely above a whisper.

I close my eyes.

And then his mouth is on mine.

The laptop slips from my grip. It hits the floor with a thud that only briefly irritates me because it was fucking expensive, but I don't have the mind to worry about it because Whiskey's lips are so warm and insistent. As if he's been waiting for me to stop running long enough for him to catch up.

I kiss him back.

I'm crumbling under the pressure of his mouth and his hands and the soft growling sound he makes when I fist my fingers in his shirt and tug him closer.

"Fuck," he breathes against my lips. "Fuck, Hamsa, I knew it⁠—"

"Shut up," I growl against his mouth, nipping his lip to make sure he does.

His hands find my waist, my hips, sliding under the hem of my turtleneck to press against bare skin. I gasp into his mouth, which he takes as an invitation to deepen the kiss, his tongue shoving against mine.

Valek rises from the armchair.

"Room for one more?" he asks, and when I break the kiss long enough to look at him—well, glare at him—his silver eyes are dark.

Whiskey's head turns. His breathing is ragged, his lips swollen, his honey-brown eyes glazed with want. He looks at Valek for a long moment.

Then he grins.

"Why the fuck not? Let's let Plague find out what you're like in bed. Best way to get to know someone, yeah?"

"Since when?" I scold him. "And why are you volunteering me?"

Valek hasn't moved closer. He's waiting patiently, I realize, with a jolt of irritation.

"Rules," I say, and my voice sounds steadier than I feel. "You stop when I say stop. And this doesn't mean anything."

He nods, and for once, he isn't grinning. "Agreed."

This is one way to make sure Valek isn't a threat, considering he's our scent match's fucking scent match, apparently.

Valek's hand finds the back of my neck at the same moment Whiskey's mouth finds my throat, and I immediately have second thoughts. My body locks up. I'm caught between them and I can't breathe, can't think, can only feel the pressure of both of them pressing closer.

Valek's lips brush my ear. "Is this acceptable?"

The phrasing is so him that I almost laugh.

Instead, I turn my head and kiss him.

His mouth is different from Whiskey's. Not like how I'd imagine a werewolf in a plaid shirt would kiss, for one thing. He kisses like he's testing what makes me react. When I bite his lower lip, his breath catches.