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A cramp pinches. I grip his shoulders, trying to ride it out, not wanting to leave the comfort of his cock.
“Give her to me,” someone says raggedly.
The hitch in his voice jolts me alert.
Three complete bonds plaster the holes in my heart, but I’m missing the finishing touch—the champagne toast to complete our mating.
Bitter peach hits my throat.
“Bish.” I claw into his waiting arms, my heat battery at one percent until I plug myself onto his cock. I work to fill the charge, but Bish stops my hips before I can latch his knot.
“Patience, Queen,” his playful smoothness doesn’t match the wild fizz of his pheromones. In the dimness of the nest, his eyes gleam black instead of hazel.
No suit. No tie. Just pale skin, burning hot as mine.
I rise and fall as his chest moves. Every breath is scary even.
Four seconds in. Four seconds out.
He’s counting breaths.
Clinging to his last silk shred of sanity.
My muscles ripple.
Being filled keeps the itch from spreading, but I can’t last long when I’m one bite away from locking down the pack of my fantasies.
Neither can he.
Bishop’s suppressed strain stings sharper than my desperation.
I finger-comb his messy hair. “You don’t have to hold back. Not with me.”
“Humor me.” Bish lifts me off the bed and carries me to the kitchenette, edging me on his knot. Clawing his back, I wrap my thighs around his hips, but his grip stops me from stealing his thickest inches.
Without the other three-fourths of my pack shooting love and reassurance through our bond, I’d already be whining like a freaking tea kettle.
Bish sets me on the cold counter.
His pheromones sting more like thousand-proof peach moonshine than his usual champagne. But Bish moves detached. Like his raging scent and the cock twitching inside me have nothing to do with him.
He cracks open a bottle of water and lifts it to my mouth. “Drink.”
Ice-cold condensation drips onto my chapped lips.
Suddenly thirsty as hell, I gulp what he’s offering.
Bish smooths my hair behind my ears.
Then his smirk clenches my pussy.
Without his knot sealing the gate, I puddle slick and alpha-scented cum all over the chilly countertop.
I shudder, sloshing water down my chin.
Bish tsks. “Messy.”
He moves like he’s standing on his yacht. As if our thighs aren’t knocking together with tremors and the pulse in his neck doesn’t tease me like a flickering cat toy.
