My world narrows further to the small amount of skin at the base of his throat, just inches from my lips. I lean up into it and brush a soft kiss there. He instantly stiffens but doesn’t let me go. If anything, he pulls me against him a little more.
I do it again, and the purr that moments ago was comforting becomes a growl so filled with lust that it’s downright indecent.
So this time, I wrap my arms around his frame and press kisses up his neck to where his stubble starts, to where he’s still wearing his riding helmet. I feel drunk on him. His scent swells until it’s thick around me. My mouth waters as I drag a deep draft of him into my lungs.
“More,” I whisper.
“Willa…” he says, and I’m instantly afraid he’s going to pull away, going to leave me alone, leave me with the memory of Felton, of everything.
But he doesn’t. He pulls me back enough to look me in the eyes, and the raw need I see there mirrors my own. And suddenly, I don’t care about anything.
I don’t care about my career, about propriety, about how we may be tucked away, but we sure as hell aren’t alone. I forget about being ten years younger than him.
I see the moment his indecision turns to clarity, and his hand slowly unwraps from where he’s been holding me to him and slowly moves up my arm to cradle the side of my neck and face. His thumb strokes down my cheek to my mouth, where he pulls at my bottom lip.
I stick out my tongue to lightly taste his skin, unable to do anything else. And the heat turns molten, and his lips are crashing into mine.
His tongue is a hot, insistent pressure that pushes inside me without teasing or slowness. He takes and takes, and fuck it all if I don’t give him everything. The slide of our tongues together sets fireworks off in my core. The steady surging pressure and instant wetness make me clamp my thighs together moments before he slides his thigh between mine and lifts.
Somehow, I’m no longer touching the ground but sitting astride his leg. And I find my hips rocking against my betterjudgment. I’m on the edge of this going somewhere I’m not ready for. Fuck, at this rate, I’d let him take me right here, like a teenager.
He pulls away suddenly, leaving me chasing after the sensation of his lips, desperate for him to still be kissing me.
“Willa… I have to… we have to… not here, beautiful.”
I know he’s right, but the part of my brain that is supposed to care about that is on hiatus.
All I do is murmur, “Mmhmm,” as I lean in and start kissing him all over again. This time, I meet him thrust for thrust, taking as much as he took from me, suddenly starved for this man I barely know.
Like, somehow, my Omega knew he was mine. Years ago.
“Willa,” he says more firmly, but without a hint of censure or anger. “If we don’t stop now, I’m going to rut you right here, fuck the consequences. Fuck, I can barely stop right now. And the way you smell is making it hard to think.”
Something about that filters in, and a sudden overwhelming embarrassment crashes over me.
“Oh god, oh god, I’m sorry. Sorry.” What just happened? What the hell is wrong with me? “McCrae, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I—I’ve never—I don’t?—”
Without warning, the crushing pressure of the last few weeks starts drowning me.
But before I can move, Beau’s hand tightens on my hip, and I feel the rumble in his chest shift—deeper, darker, more desperate. His breathing is ragged against my neck, and when he speaks, his voice is strained.
I try to extricate myself from his arms and slide off his thigh.
“Willa, I need you to—” He breaks off with a rough sound, half-growl, half-groan. “I need you to—wait!”
The urgency in his tone cuts through the haze. I can feel it—the way his whole body has gone rigid, the way his Alpha is rightthere, barely leashed. He’s fighting for control, and I just made it so much harder for him.
“Beau, I’m so?—”
“Everything okay?”
Jake’s voice is warm, concerned, bringing me further back into reality. When I twist my head to see him, there’s no judgment in his expression. Just those dark eyes taking in the scene—me in Beau’s arms, both of us disheveled and breathing hard—and something that looks almost like desire crossing his features.
Jake steps in closer, eyes never leaving mine, and my Omega perks up immediately. His scent wraps around me—chocolate, chili, and molasses—mixing with Beau’s in a way that makes my head spin.
“Charlie’s on his way,” Jake says quietly, his eyes never leaving mine.
Charlie. Jake. Beau.
