He nods. “Every single time I see one of the girls touch you, I want to bend you over and bite you again just to prove it was me who had you first.” His cheekbones sharpen, and the nutmeg surrounding us like a cocoon gains a new edge, a sweet taste that betrays his overwhelming need. “I told them I’d give them time to meet you. I didn’t want them to feel pressured by the bond. But now? Fuck, Cole, I need you so damn bad.”
Something scared that’s lurked deep in me, kept from truly enjoying the last day with them all, settles. Without panicking over what he might think about me, about matching, about my sickness, I twist my hands into his hair and kiss him, letting his arousal-drenched scent sweep me away in a wave of need so strong I might not ever surface from it.
“You can have me, you know,” I whisper against his lips.
A ragged “good” is his only reply before he’s stripping me.
Nineteen
COLE
Marcus is practically frantic as he pulls my shirt over my head and tosses it across the room without ever looking away from me. His gaze soaks me in before stopping on my chest. No, on the bond scar. His scent intensifies around us, and I feel a pleasure that isn’t my own singing through my veins for a handful of seconds before it dissipates under the suppression medication. I nearly cry out at its loss.
I pull him to me, easing his own shirt off before palming the nape of his neck as I force the kiss hard and deep, trying to get under his skin even though I know it’s not logically possible. Nutmeg surrounds us, so damn potent, and I want to drown in it, in him, in this. A whine builds in my throat from the sudden intensity of my need.
With a muttered curse, he breaks the kiss. His hands run down my arms before landing on the waistband of my jeans.
“Fuck, Cole,” he mutters, worrying at the button and zipper, “you need to get your scent blockers off before I rip them.”
Like I give a damn about clothes when every half-brush of his hands against my dick has me aching. I twist my hands into his hair and pull him back to me, running my nose along his jaw. God, my body is on fire. If I weren’t on a heat suppressor—and felt the start of one just a few months ago—I’d worry this was the telltale beginnings of one. Another pulsing wave of need rushes through me, straight to my dick. This time, the whine doesn’t stay locked away. It falls between us, pressed into the small valley just behind his jaw.
He freezes for half a breath and worry floods through me. Did I go too far? Did I show him too much? I start to pull away, but he growls, low in his throat.
“Don’t you dare move,” he says, his voice hoarse.
I freeze, not daring to even breathe. His entire body shakes, small tremors that he doesn’t seem to notice, as another growl rumbles through his chest.
No, not a growl. Apurr.
All at once, my nerves fall away like an ill-fitting jacket dropped. He pulls the skin behind my ear between his teeth, biting hard enough I cry out. A wave of satisfaction crashes through me before snuffing out.
“Better,” he whispers.
His hands tremble where he grabs the waistband of the jeans and pushes them down. Without a word, I cant my hips, giving him enough room to get them off. His lips slam on mine as he tosses them across the room, landing in a heap in the far corner. And then he has my scent blockers in his grip. A sudden twist of his hands, and the fabric tears. Apple floods the room, so strong it’s honestly embarrassing.
Marcus groans.
There isn’t an ounce of hesitation as he wraps a hand around my base and strokes my cock once, hard and tight. I jerk into his hold with a grunt. He smears the beading bit of liquid even as thekiss grows more frantic, more uncontrolled. My head empties out, my body singing with too much stimulation to have any hope of keeping track of it all. It’s not until the clinking metal of his belt echoes through the room that I remember this isn’t my house, isn’t my furniture.
“We should probably not do this on a couch that could be ruined,” I admit against his lips, my chest heaving. “Or at least put something underneath us.”
He pulls away with a mournful groan. “Right.”
He stands, pulling me with him.
The room spins, and my vision blurs. I bite back a different kind of groan. My eyes close, and I hope he’ll assume I’m too overwhelmed with this primal need coursing through my veins. Without a word, he guides me to the room he’s used as his own. As he closes the door, I still, praying to whatever god might be listening that the horrible vertigo fades and isn’t actually a sign of a flare.
His arm snakes around my waist as he pulls me into him, his chest pressing to my back, his dick hard and heavy against the small of my back. His lips press into the nape of my neck.
Time seems to stop, the moment stretching endlessly between us, so intimate and yet so new I’m not sure what the rules of engagement even are. Do I tell him I haven’t been with anyone since him? Fuck, I probably should. Swallowing down the new wave of nerves, I lace my fingers with his. Finally, the horrid vertigo fades and my vision returns to normal.
“Cole,” he murmurs, running his lips down my throat and across my shoulder in a continuous circuit. A single finger traces the scarred bite that straddles my collarbone. I let my head fall back on his shoulder as my dick jumps at the intimate touch.
“Marcus.” My own voice is haggard, full of need. “Please.”
Without a word, he walks us to the bed. Before I’m even fully settled, he’s rising over me, his cock pressing against me, testingme. The words spill out of me before I can figure out just how to confess my secret.
“I haven’t been knotted since you.”
