Page 118 of The Alpha’s Unclaimed Mate

The zipper whispers down. Cool air meets fever-hot skin as she frees me, her small hand wrapping around my aching length. I groan low in my throat, hips twitching involuntarily into her grip. She’s warm and soft, her touch exploratory at first, testing, learning the thick vein that runs along the underside, the way I jump when her thumb brushes over the slick head.

“Fuck,” I hiss, head falling back against the chair. Every stroke sends fire racing up my spine. The wolf inside me lunges forward, snarling with raw need, slamming against the fragile leash I keep on it. I want to flip her onto the desk, spread her thighs, and bury myself deep. Instead I grip the armrests until the wood groans, fighting for control.

She finds a rhythm—slow, firm pulls that have me leaking steadily over her fingers. “You’re so hard,” she whispers, almost reverent. “All this for me?”

“Only you.” The words scrape out. I reach for her, sliding one hand under her shirt to palm her breast, thumb circling her nipple until she gasps and her grip tightens in response. “Jessa—faster.”

She obeys, stroking me with purpose now, twisting lightly at the head on every upstroke. The wet, slick sounds of her hand moving over me fill the quiet office. My breathing turns ragged. Sweat beads along my temples. The pleasure coils tight and vicious at the base of my spine.

“Look at me,” she says softly.

I do. The sight of her, flushed, lips parted, eyes dark with arousal while she works me with her hand nearly undoes me. I thrust up into her fist, chasing the friction, the perfect pressure. “I’m close,” I warn, my voice wrecked.

Instead of stopping, she leans in and kisses the side of my neck, teeth grazing just enough to make me shudder. “Then come for me, Marcus.”

The words tip me over. I come hard with a strangled groan, hips jerking as thick pulses spill over her fingers and onto my stomach. She keeps stroking me through every wave, gentler now, drawing it out until I’m trembling and boneless beneath her. The wolf inside settles with a deep, satisfied rumble, momentarily quieted by her touch.

Jessa grabs tissues from the desk, cleaning us both with careful, almost tender movements. When she’s done, she tucks me away and zips me up, then looks up at me with a shy but pleased little smile.

“Are you feeling better?” she asks, her voice soft.

I let out a breathless laugh and pull her into my lap, arms wrapping tightly around her. My heart is still pounding. “Much better. You wicked, wicked woman.” I kiss her deeply, tasting the satisfaction on her tongue. “Though now all I can think about is getting you home so I can return that favor properly.”

She laughs against my mouth, delighted with herself. I’ve never seen her this loose, this teasing, and my chest pulls tight. She’s letting me in now, and my heart lifts stupidly at it. “Later. Right now we should probably pretend to be professional again.”

I catch her wrist before she can slide off the desk. “Let me.”

“I can do it myself.”

“I know you can.” I clean her hand with a tissue while she rolls her eyes at me, then bring her knuckles up to my mouth. “I hope you’re ready for tonight.”

Her face goes scarlet. “Marcus.”

“I’m looking forward to dessert.”

She slides off the desk and steps back, tugging her shirt straight. She’s shy about all this, so I don’t crowd her.

“How did you work out it was Sloane?” she asks after a moment. The atmosphere shifts immediately, from light to grim.

“Cole and Tomas went digging into that night for me.” I straighten my tie. “They tracked down a bartender who worked the place back then. He remembered me and the blonde on my arm.” I lift a shoulder. “I wasn’t sure she’d drugged me. I was only testing a theory. Now it fits.”

“I remember her,” she says quietly. “I thought I was wrong, so I didn’t say anything, but—”

“It’s okay, Jessa.”

“But wolfsbane’s extinct.” She frowns. “You told me it only turned up again recently.”

“It didn’t only turn up.” I move to the window. “It was here ten years ago too. My brother was being poisoned with it. So was my father.”

“How can you know that?”

I don’t turn from the glass for a while. Then she crosses and stops at my shoulder.

“What is it?”

“When a shifter’s buried, no one disturbs the grave.” My voice comes out rough. “The spirit’s restless. To break that ground is the deepest disrespect.” I keep my eyes on the tree line. “I had my father’s grave opened, and my brother’s beside it.”

Her arms come around me from behind, her cheek against my spine. “What did you find?”