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She still has a sick sister who needs help, though, and we’re still trying to survive against the odds. I’ll have to acclimate her to the pack, get her adjusted to her heat, make sure no one in Homestead is going to come after her or any of us.
I don’t know if she wants children.
I don’t even know ifIwant children.
We’re like kids sneaking to my room, ducking into shadowy alcoves so I can push her up against the wall and steal kisses. I feel drunk, but I haven’t been drinking; I’m just high on her scent, that heady combination of blackberries and leather.
Most everyone is still outside, though I’m certain the whole pack knows what we’ve just done. All the lycan have keen senses, and we weren’t exactly quiet. Arden is probably raising her complaints with the others as we speak, plotting some kind of coup.
I don’t know how that would work, nor can I be bothered to care. The only thing on my mind right now is Tilda.
The relief is palpable as we finally find my door, scrambling to open it and tumble inside. We kiss until we’re out of breath, only stopping to peel off our clothes. She’s left my shirt in tatters, and I feel the sting of where she scratched my back as the shirt comes off.
A nice shirt is hard to find in the apocalypse. I’m going to hang it from my bedpost like a flag.
She laughs as I toss her to the bed, then kiss my way up her thighs and toward her hips, pressing my mouth to the bite mark. I lay a hand on her thigh and press my fingers into her flesh, finding that long scar and hard muscle beneath. Tilda tugs violently at my hair until I’m lined up with her once again, my cock dragging over her slick folds.
We make love again, sideways on my too-small bed, but I still don’t let my knot plunge inside. Tilda begs for it though, not bothering to stay quiet, taking me deep until her back is against the stone wall. My hips snap into her at a punishing speed, feeling how she takes every inch like she was made for me. She claws at my back, clamping her mouth down over my pulse and running her tongue over the raw twin punctures of her bite.
I come inside her repeatedly, filling her until she’s dripping. She isn’t fertile right now—one of the perks of our transformation is that we can scent our mate’s fertility—and something primal in me loves the idea of claiming her in every way, of making sure that my scent is all over her.
She lies limp across my chest in the aftermath, her slender fingers tracing circles over my chest, her hair in chestnut waves over my shoulder. Tilda’s green eyes drag over my body as she moves to straddle me, my now soft cock twitching to life at the feeling of her molten hot core.
“You said you weren’t going to knot metonight,” she says, her hands on my shoulders. “So I guess that means this is a more than one night thing.”
I bend my head to press a kiss to her neck, running my tongue down the shell of her ear. “I could knot you in the morning, when you’re relaxed and ready.”
“Don’t tease,” she rasps. “Or I’ll bite you again.”
Her tongue finds her mark and I hiss out a breath at the mingled pain and pleasure, thrusting my hips up against her. My knot is already swelling in response to my mate’s closeness, my wolf begging to fuck her hard and fast, to lock her in against me until she’s been bred.
“So now that I’ve bit you, can I tellyouwhat to do?” she asks.
“I don’t think it works that way.”
“Doesn’t seem fair,” she says.
“It isn’t.” I take her face in my hands and kiss one cheek, then the other. “But there are other perks.”
“Like…?”
“You can always sense where I am,” I tell her. “And little snapshots of how I’m feeling. What I want…”
“I think I can tell exactly what you want,” she says, grinding her hips against my groin. “So why don’t you do it? Knot me, I mean?”
“Like I said, it might hurt.”
She gives me a wicked smile. “My mama always taught me to be a suck-it-up kind of girl.”
I thread my fingers in her hair and tilt her head back, looking her in the eye. “Tilda…stop.”
She stills, her lips parted, waiting for the command of her alpha.
“I won’t ever do anything to hurt you or make you feel unsafe,” I promise her. “And you’re still on the tail end of a gunshot wound. I won’t risk you. You’re too precious to me.”
“I swear I’d be fine,” she says. “But I guess…”
Her eyes dart away to look at the lit lamp on my bedside table, and I sit up on my elbows and release her hair to brush a thumb over her cheekbone. “What’s on your mind,mi amor?”
