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I’ve used the move a thousand times, so I instinctively follow him to the mat.
One problem.
I’m always fighting omegas, so my muscle memory sets me up for betrayal. I pin my full weight on Hunter’s hips. He grunts when our bodies slam.
I want to say I gasp, but nooooo.
When my spread legs bump his package, I make this soft, kitteny moan, and I don’t know which of us goes more stiff.
I want to disappear.
But my traitor body warms, and my instincts scream to take him for a ride.
Hunter’s eyes heat, liquid chocolate. My hands land on the firm shoulders that heave with his ragged breaths as I stare down at him in shock.
And then, the most intrusive of thoughts.
I like to be on top.
Hunter’s eyes glint like he’s reading my mind. He’s so dominant he makes my insides pulse, but it’s not the bossy kind.
It’s worse.
It’s a dominance so confident, he’s happy to lie there and let me do whatever the fuck I want.
He knows who’s in control.
My gulp echoes.
I think if I asked for bossy dominant, Hunter would give that to me too.
I scramble off, breaking the moment.
And maaaaybe, I grind down on him when I swing my legs off his body. Because if I have to suffer, so should he.
This time, I clamp the breathy reflex sound when my overheated ass drags across his length and the wide, hard bundle of his knot.
While I crawl away with zero dignity, Hunter rolls onto his stomach and groans into the mat. “Lesson postponed. You win.”
Do I?
As I hurry to the showers, feeling him follow, but not daring to sneak a second peek at that bulge, I’m fucking dripping.
While I quickly and silently get myself off in the shower stall, letting the scent evidence spiral down the drain, it’s a small comfort that he has to stand guard at what felt like full mast.
I palm my forehead.
I’m playing with fire, scissors, and fucking C4 every time I get close to a heated-up Wyvern.
I keep my distance as we grab lunch, then go back to the bungalow to change for the social. Hunter goes directly to shower, and my dirty mind follows.
I can’t help picturing water slicking all those tattoos, his thick palm stroking what felt like an equally thick—
Bad Lilah.
But it’s hard to think about anything else when my body’s convinced Hunter already belongs to us, and I’m wasting natural resources by not taking him for a test hump.
I splash my face, do some deep breathing, and refocus. When I’m less horny, there’s plenty of anxiety to keep me busy.
