“That—” I break off, laugh once under my breath, because the truth is too raw. “That turns me on more than you know, Bayleigh.”
Her eyes widen.
I take a step closer, close enough that her scent wraps around me, soft and cool and utterly her. My voice roughens.
“I’m going to take such good care of you,” I tell her, making sure she can read every word on my mouth. “During your heat. Before your heat. After. However long you'll let me.”
Her eyes shine. Her hand trembles when she lifts it, fingertips brushing the side of my jaw.
“Lincoln,” she whispers.
I’ve heard my name a million times in my life.
Never like that. I cup her face, thumb brushing her cheek.
“Say it again,” I breathe.
She swallows, lips parting.
“Lincoln.”
I don’t stand a chance.
I lean in and kiss her, coaxing, giving her every opportunity to pull away. Her lips are soft and cool from the air. She starts off tentative, then melts, her hands sliding up my chest to grip my jacket.
Her scent flares, mint sharpening with a hint of honey omega-sweetness that makes my head spin. My alpha surges, heat pooling low and heavy, knot throbbing faintly in anticipation. I keep it leashed, focusing on the ways I can make this good for her without letting instinct take over.
She makes a sound in my mouth, half gasp, half moan, and my knees nearly buckle.
By the time we separate, we’re both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, the world narrowed down to shared breaths and the thud of my heart against her chest.
“Come home with me,” I say carefully.
Her eyes search mine. Whatever she sees there must match something inside her, because she nods once.
“Okay.”
I drive faster than I should, knuckles tight on the wheel, every nerve buzzing. Her hand rests on the seat between us, close enough that our pinkies brush now and then, each touch a little spark.
My mind is a loop: don’t rush her, don’t scare her, don’t fuck this up.
When we walk into the house, it’s blessedly quiet. Milton must be in his room; Korbin’s truck is gone. Good. I love them, and I want them in this with me, but…
But right now, I need her alone.
I kick my boots off by the door. She toes off her shoes, watching me with a mix of nerves and trust that humbles the hell out of me.
“Come on,” I say softly, nodding toward the hall. I don’t take her to the couch. I take her to my room.
My pulse is so loud in my ears that if Milton is home, he can probably hear it. My scent is heavier now, sandalwood gone deeper, richer with want, but I keep it controlled, not letting it tip into full alpha-demand.
Once we’re inside, I close the door gently and turn to face her.
“If you want to stop,” I pause, making sure her eyes are on my mouth, “at any point, for any reason, you tell me. Or push me. Or sign. Anything. I stop. No questions. Okay?”
Her throat works as she swallows. Then she nods, eyes bright.
“Okay,” she says softly.
