A million tiny muscles massage my cock, milking me dry, and I give in happily while she collapses on top of me. My balls empty in a blissful rush until our mixed juices leak out between us and fill the room with the scent of our mating. She’s exhausted, totally spent, and all I can do is stroke her back and hope this is the start of something new. Maybe now, she’ll finally figure out there is no fighting this. It’s inevitable.
I don’t know how much time passes before she comes to her senses. I only know it’s not long enough before she stirs, lifts her head, and looks down at me in what can only be regret.
There she is. There’s the Nora I know. It’s like a veil drops over her face, leaving nothing but awareness, distrust, and regret before she rolls away to her side of the bed. “I don’t know what came over me,” she whispers.
I do. It was the bond. We can only deny it for so long. “I understand. You don’t have to explain yourself.”
Our heavy breathing is the only sound in the room for a long time. It goes quiet and slow before long, and neither of us has moved when she murmurs, “This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
“I know.” I don’t have to like it, but I know.
She gets up to go to the bathroom—I hear the water running in there for a little while before she comes back out, almost tiptoeing to the bed and climbing in carefully. Like she’s afraid she might mess up and accidentally make contact. “I’m going to go to sleep now,” she says in a soft voice, her back to me. If she clings any closer to the edge of the mattress, she’ll fall off.
“Okay. Good night.” My body is at peace—my wolf is satisfied. But even though I was able to fall asleep quickly before, I’m wide awake now. Extremely aware of her, too. Listening to every breath, absorbing the warmth coming my way from the other side of the bed. Part of me has to wonder if I should get up and do something because this feels like a frustrating waste of time.
It seems like a pretty good idea, too, until her voice pierces the silence. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure. Anything.” I really mean it too. I would literally tell her anything she wants to know. I have no secrets from her.
“What was the first thing you thought when you realized I was your mate?”
What a loaded question. The answer immediately comes to mind, but I’m hesitant. I have a good idea why she is asking. She thinks I was disappointed or angry. She wants to hear me say it to drive a wedge between us after what just happened. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Yes.” She sounds nervous, expecting the worst.
“I saw you and… I just knew I was going to love you for the rest of my life.”
As I watch, she curls up like she’s trying to protect herself. “You can’t mean that,” she whispers in disbelief.
I can’t help but reach out, but I don’t touch her. I stop just short of making contact, almost grazing her back, almost stroking her hair. “You would be able to feel it if I was lying, remember?”
Her soft sigh tells me she understands. I don’t know any other way to explain this feeling. I love her. I always will. I have no choice in it. I used to hate her but now she is my reason for existing, plain and simple. I never knew, when this time came, it might hurt so much. I didn’t know there would be so much pain in wanting to give love and having that love rejected. Maybe that’s my punishment. It still wouldn’t be enough to make up for what I’ve done.
“Are you sleepy?” I ask. She shakes her head, making her hair shimmer in the moonlight coming through the window. “Can you do me a favor?”
“You mean something besides what I already did for you?”
She really is funny sometimes. “I was thinking more like asking if you would play guitar for me.”
Slowly, she rolls over to give me a skeptical look. “I told you, it’s been forever. It’ll sound awful.”
“I don’t think it will. You’re too hard on yourself—and besides,” I add, remembering, “when you were tuning it earlier, and you were kind of messing around a little, you were humming a pretty song. I would love to hear it. For real.”
“Oh, not that! It’s just a song I made up.”
“Is that supposed to make me not want to hear you sing it? Please,” I urge. “No judgment. I’ve been dying to hear you play ever since you said you can.”
She chews her lip a little while longer before blowing out an exasperated sigh, getting up to grab the guitar. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she murmurs, settling down with the guitar across her lap, placing her fingers along the neck and strumming the strings. It’s fascinating, watching her loosen up, watching as she goes through a couple of quick exercises like she’s shaking off the rust before she strums a few times with more confidence than before.
And then she starts to play.
It starts slow, a haunting melody that wraps itself around me like tendrils of smoke. There is so much longing in the melody, so much emotion in the way she plays. It’s coming straight from her soul, that much is obvious. The fact that she would open up and let me hear this humbles me.
But when she opens her mouth and starts to sing softly, I’m floored. I can’t even pay attention to the lyrics when her voice is this mesmerizing. The voice of an angel—I’ve heard that thrown around before, but now I understand what it means. She has the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.
I settle back, closing my eyes and letting the music fill me. I take in every little inflection of her voice, so delicate and unique. She has a cry in her falsetto that sends goosebumps down my arms. I want to listen to her forever; hear every single note she sings.
It seems like the more I know about her, the more there is to love. I can’t wait to unlock the rest of her mysteries.
