"Ben," I whisper.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs. "Tell me this is just practice."
I should. I really should.
I don't.
He leans in slowly, giving me every chance to pull away. His lips brush mine—soft, tentative, nothing like the claiming kisses from the Alphas.
And I... feel nothing.
No. That's not true. I feel warmth. Affection. The echo of what I felt in Columbus when he kissed me on that roof.
But not fire. Not hunger. Not the desperate need that floods through me when Dorian looks at me a certain way, or when Oakley touches my face, or when Corvus uses that low commanding voice.
I pull back slightly. "Ben—"
"I know." His forehead rests against mine. "You're bonded. I know. But fuck, Vespera. I can't stop wanting you."
"We can't do this."
"I know," he says again. But his hands are still on my hips. Still pulling me closer.
I should leave. Should walk out right now before this gets more complicated.
Instead, I kiss him.
This time deeper. Searching. Trying to find that spark. That connection. Trying to prove to myself that I can want someone who isn't pack.
His hands slide up my sides, under my tank top, warm against my skin. He's good at this—patient and thorough and clearly experienced.
But my body isn't responding the way it should.
"Touch me," I hear myself say. Desperate. Frustrated.
He does. Hands moving with confidence now, sliding over my breasts through my sports bra, thumbing my nipples until they're hard. It feels good. It does.
But not good enough.
"More," I demand.
He backs me against the mirrored wall, his body pressed against mine. I can feel him hard against my hip, feel his desire for me in every movement.
But I'm not wet. Not really. There's no slick. No biological response screaming that I need this.
"Vespera," he breathes against my neck. "Tell me what you want."
"I don't know," I admit. And that's the problem.
His hand slides lower, cupping me through my leggings. I arch into the touch, chasing sensation. Chasing something.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, fingers pressing, searching. "I've thought about this since Columbus. Since that night on the roof."
I should be turned on. Should be desperate for him. He's attractive and kind and clearly wants me. This should work.
Why isn't this working?
"Take them off," I say, tugging at my leggings.
