She nearly bumps into my chest, stopping short with a small surprised gasp. Her vanilla-caramel scent spikes dramatically with startled awareness and something warmer.
She tilts her head back to look up at me, blinking those expressive beautiful eyes.
"What—what do you think about the Japan idea? Too much? Not enough? Should I keep brainstorming or?—"
I don't let her finish the question or continue the rambling.
I hook my arm firmly decisively around her waist, pulling her flush completely against me with controlled strength, and kiss her long and hard and deep and with all the pent-up desire I've been carefully controlling and restraining for days now.
She makes a soft surprised sound against my lips—something between a gasp and a moan that goes straight to my cock—before melting completely into the kiss, her small hands coming up to grip my flannel shirt tightly like she needs the physical anchor.
Perfect. She feels perfect. Tastes perfect. Smells perfect. Responds perfectly.
Everything about this moment is exactly right in a way I've never experienced before.
She tastes like the gingerbread cookie dough she was sampling earlier while baking. Sweet and spiced and absolutely delicious and uniquely her. Her vanilla-caramel scent surrounds me completely, mixing with my own maple-honey until we're creating something entirely new together.
Pack scent.
I pour absolutely everything into this kiss—all the restraint I've been exercising for propriety's sake, all the wanting I've been suppressing to be respectful, all the need that's been building steadily and relentlessly since that first day she walked nervously into our lives with her suitcase and her hope. Every moment of watching her, wanting her, holding back for the sake of not rushing or pushing too hard.
My other hand comes up to cradle the back of her head possessively, fingers tangling in her soft hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss even further. She responds so eagerly, pressing closer against me, making small desperate beautiful sounds that drive me absolutely wild with want.
The kiss goes on and on and I can't get enough. I never want to stop touching, tasting, and feeling her respond to me so perfectly.
She fits against me like she was made for this specifically. Made for us…our pack. Her curves against my solid frame. Her softness against my strength. Omega and Alpha in perfect biological and emotional harmony.
When I finally force myself to pull back reluctantly—only because we both desperately need to breathe and I don't want her passing out from lack of oxygen—she's breathless and flushed and absolutely beautiful and thoroughly kissed. Her lips are kiss-swollen and red and perfect. Her eyes are slightly dazed and unfocused and dilated. Her cheeks are beautifully pink. Her chest rises and falls rapidly as she tries to catch her breath.
She's so beautiful like this. Flushed, wanting, and in this moment, all mine.
She blinks up at me several times, still catching her breath, looking thoroughly kissed and slightly stunned and adorably confused.
"What—what was that for? Not that I'm complaining at all, but—why?—"
I lean down until my lips brush teasingly against her ear, my voice dropping to a low possessive rumble.
"I can add everything you said to the manuscript. Every single creative brilliant detail about Japan and cherry blossoms and soul-searching journeys and rediscovering lost hobbies and finding yourself again. But if I don't kiss you exactly the way I want to…properly and thoroughly and the way you deserve, I'm going to lose my mind."
My arm hooks around her waist, pulling her flush against me, and I claim her mouth in a kiss that's long and hard, stealing her breath as mine races. Her body melts into me, soft and curvy, her scent exploding like vanilla fire-works, and I deepenit, my hand sliding up to grip the front of her neck firmly, holding her still as my tongue slips in, tasting her sweetness. She moans, the sound vibrating through me, and it's all I can do not to growl back.
I'm tired of being careful, of acting shy when it comes to love. I've wanted to fuck her for so damn long, envisioned pinning her down, spreading her wide, making her scream my name. But patience, respect—that's been my mantra. Not today.
The kiss turns possessive, my dominant side surfacing, the control freak Nash always teases me about taking over. I don't share easily; I'm selfish with what's mine, which is why I've hung back from the group dynamics.
But now, with her moaning into my mouth, I break the kiss to let her breathe, my hands cupping her ass through the sweater, squeezing the soft flesh.
She's dripping for me, slick coating her thighs in a way that makes my cock twitch painfully in my pants.
"Look at you," I taunt, sliding my hand between her legs to feel the wet heat of her, my fingers slipping through her folds as more slick drips onto my skin. "So ready for your Alpha, aren't you? So fucking wet."
I bring my hand to my mouth, licking her essence off my fingers, moaning at the sweet, addictive taste—like salted caramel with a hint of ripe orange, perfect and utterly hers. "Delicious," I growl, complimenting her as I free my cock with my other hand, hard and throbbing, already aching to be inside her. I slide it between her legs, teasing her pussy folds, gathering her slick along my shaft until it's coated and glistening.
Gripping her hair, I force her head back gently but firmly, whispering filthy things in her ear—"Going to fuck you so hard you'll feel me for days, sweetheart. Going to make you screammy name while I claim every inch of this perfect body." And then, "Let's see if you can spread nice and wide for your Alpha."
"Want to test out that flexibility theory?" I whisper, my voice rough.
She blushes, her eyes glazed with desire.
