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“Yeah?”
Riley’s eyes meet mine.
Three days? God, no.
“He shifted and his wolf let go,” Lincoln says.
“What was the situation?” Riley asks. “Fated mates?”
“No. That’s the difference. They were missing. Jared’s dad was on the case to locate these two. Turned out they’d eaten some weird mushrooms together as wolves. Woke up locked together and lost. Couldn’t break apart and the effects lasted a while so they think that’s what fucked his knot up and made the shifter disoriented. Or because they weren’t fated, so he malfunctioned somehow. Weird situation, bro. She belonged to someone else. Got ugly. Anyway, that’s irrelevant here, what’s important is that when he shifted, his knot released her. You tried that yet?”
“Nope. Thanks, Linc.”
“You gonna do it?”
Riley’s gaze is still holding mine. And I know he’s read the sheer terror on my face at the idea of this.
“Don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“What about a half-shift?” Lincoln suggests.
“Haven’t done one yet. Haven’t practiced enough to figure out how.”
“Shit. Well, think about it. It could solve the problem. A full shift, I mean.”
“Later,” Riley says and ends his phone call. He looks at me.
And I feel panicked.
And like I can’t possibly handle him changing into a wolf while he’s inside me.
Because he’d be inside me! And because what if his wolf decides to rip me to shreds? I saw that angry wolf. It was terrifying the way it drove those huge teeth into that guy and gave him the death shake, blood flying everywhere. The sounds the wolf made. He wasn’t a nice guy, had been rough with me, but he died a brutal, painful death.
Riley searches my face and I know my eyes are betraying my emotions right now.
“Don’t worry; I won’t shift while I’m… while we’re…” He looks away. But then he hardens inside me, and the vibrations begin.
My head lolls back at the sensations and I let out a shuddering breath. He moves quickly, taking me to my back and then he’s groaning into my neck, onto the claiming mark. It’s making my body sing. It’s singing a soulful, loud lament. I’m whimpering out loudly, unsure if I’m feeling more pleasure or more pain. Because my vagina feels like roadkill that’s been run over thrice.
“The couch,” I mutter because I don’t want us to make a mess on it.
He lifts me and we don’t make it to the bedroom. We finish on the floor.
25
Erica
I wake up on top of him. We went to bed early after we worked together to heat up and then wordlessly ate some lasagna someone had sent. It was delicious. When I remarked on that, he grunted in reply without looking at me.
The only other conversation was when he said he was tired, and I suggested we try to at least change the sheet before getting into bed. We quickly gave up on the disaster of trying to get a fitted sheet on all four corners. Instead, throwing a couple clean towels down and then an extra comforter on top.
We can’t easily do the dishes, but luckily found a package of paper plates on top of the refrigerator.
It was barely dark when we got into the bed, me lying on top of him.
I know we both lay there for hours awake without talking. I was trying to meditate, as difficult as it was given my predicament. Working at reflecting. Trying to calm my mind. Trying to relax, so I could sleep and get through the next day.
His phone made noise a few times, so he quickly grabbed it texting with somebody. I tried to ignore it, but couldn’t stop myself from concocting imaginary conversations where he was complaining to someone about how awful it was to be stuck with me while I had no choice but to lay on top of him.
Yelling at me would’ve hurt. Calling me selfish. Calling me a fucking idiot. I knew forgiving me and throwing his arms around me to declare his undying devotion and relief that he finally had me in his arms wasn’t going to happen, but the silence really, really hurts.
And worst of all, I can’t even be mad about it or say anything. Because he owes me nothing.
My limbs are stiff and sore. I’d do questionable things for a lonely hot bath where I could stretch out. I’d really love to feel the earth beneath my feet. Feel the energy. I’m itching to be outside but know it’s not practical.
He stirs and opens his eyes. And he startles at seeing me and it’s like he doesn’t know me for a second. Or like he can hear my thoughts, maybe, and knows I’m full of negativity right now.
“Another day in the honeymooner’s paradise,” I grumble.
I still don’t need to go to the bathroom. Small blessings. But I am thirsty, I do want coffee, and I’m pondering asking him if we can sit out on the porch to drink it.
