Page 118 of Sight of Fate

“Hmm, I’m going to need you to be a little more explicit,” I demand, slipping the tip in, then pulling out.

“I…I want you to…fuck me. Hard. Fast.” Hesitating for a second, she finally spits them all out.

“And is that all you want?” I bend over and whisper in her ear, pushing in about an inch. She squirms beneath me, and I lightly spank her.

She gasps and pushes back, but I grip her hips, holding her in place.

“No,” she moans.

I slide in another inch. “What else do you want?”

“I want you to take my blood,” she whispers.

I smile and slam into her. This is going to be quick for both of us.

Closing my eyes at the feel of her surrounding me, I pump in and out, hard and fast like she wants, until I feel the little tremors start. Then I pull her body up and sink my teeth into her neck, groaning as she clenches my cock over and over. I slow but continue to slide in and out, spilling my own release in her sweet, trembling body a few minutes later.

I lick her neck, closing the punctures, and hold her in my arms. “I hated seeing his hands on you. Don’t let him touch you again. Or anyone, for that matter, except Macklin or Teague.”

“I don’t know. Might be worth it,” she teases, leaning back in my arms.

The urge to ask her to stay with me instead of Macklin is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t know if her sleeping with me, holding me, will trigger the past.

“What is it?” she asks, placing her hand on mine.

I freeze. Her hand is covering my bare hand. In broad daylight. My scars shining silver across the puckered skin. I tense, slip my hand from hers, and pull out of her body. Putting my back to her, I yank on my glove and tuck my cock into my pants. I swivel back around a minute later and stare at her flushed face.

She swipes her panties off the desk. “You’re giving me whiplash with the hot and cold. I’m going to clean up.”

I catch her wrist and pull her back into my arms. “I’m sorry. I realized my glove was off, and I reacted without thinking.” The words are out before I have a chance to think about them, but I can’t keep hiding from her.

She lifts her face to mine. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Bonded or not, you’re mine.”

Capturing her lips, I kiss her like I’ve wanted to every night since she gave me her blood. Not with lust or need, but with a glimmer of hope for a future I don’t dare believe in. Releasing her, I stride out the door, my hunger sated but my thoughts in turmoil.

At the end of the day, I’m staring at the selection in front of me, trying to picture each one on her delectable body. Satin. Lace. Cotton. Her underwear is mostly serviceable cotton, but I want her to have options that make her feel incredible. I click on several sets of cheeky hipsters, bikinis, and thongs, all with matching bras. Then I toss in a couple pairs of pajamas and a variety of sexy nightgowns, teddies, and two-piece sets. Wanting to pick them up tonight, I put a rush on them.

Macklin’s text says dinner will be ready in an hour. I let him know I have to run an errand and will drop her off in ten. Then I gather my things and walk down the hall to her office, where she’s bent over her computer.

“Macklin’s fixing dinner. I’m going to drop you off and run an errand,” I tell her.

She blushes when her gaze finds mine. Something I find utterly delightful.

She shuts down her computer and grabs her things. When she gets to me, she slides her hand into my gloved one, and I look down in surprise.

Macklin’s standing outside waiting for her when I pull up. As soon as she’s safely in the building, I head to the store to pick up her gifts. The retail clerk’s eyes widen when she sees it’s me, and I know speculation is going to be rampant tomorrow. Between Aaron and this clerk, the whole town will know I’m falling for her before noon, I’m sure.

I almost choke when I step into our place and see Macklin walking around without a shirt. Something he hasn’t done in a few hundred years. He hates anyone seeing his scars.

Charli’s on the couch, staring at him with lust in her eyes. As if she doesn’t see them. I stare at her expression, and I suddenly know what I need to do.

“Here,” I tell her, handing over the bags and boxes tied with pink satin.

She shakes her head. “I have plenty of clothes.”

“They’re not clothes,” I retort. Not technically.