“Just this once,” Elise tells me as she kisses me again, because she knows this is a mistake as much as I do.
She invites my tongue into her mouth with a brush over my teeth from hers.
I pull her closer, my touches growing rougher, more desperate to feel what I can while it lasts.
I half-want this to be quick, to get it out of our systems so we can remind ourselves we were always a mistake, that chemistry fades. But in the next thought, I want to draw this out, to really witness every moment. To really take my time if we truly only had one more time.
I palm her breasts, finding a nipple with my thumb and rolling it to a tight peak as she gasps and presses further into my touch. She shifts her hips and grinds against the bulge in my jeans, the friction so good it nearly renders me breathless. I groan, wondering how I can make “just this once” last forever.
I cup her ass as I pull her nice and close, squeezing handfuls of it through her jean shorts. Then I find one of my favorite places to stroke, the little fold of space between the curve of her bottom and the fat of her thighs. It’s tantalizingly close to her center, already damp and needy. My claws start to press out of my fingertips just as I’m thinking of how to get her out of her shorts. The fabric of her underwear snags easily in my hands, and I think I might have just torn a slice through part of them by accident. Shit.
Touching her like this is making me overwarm, like a fever is building in my veins. My body is threatening to shift, mymuscles burning to stretch into a form that feels more natural now.
I feel like a teenager again, about to come in my pants from barely a touch, all because the girl I’m obsessed with is straddling me. I wonder if she knows how easily she can reduce me to a pathetic puddle of want and need for her.
God, I really am about to come in my pants like some inexperienced whelp, because a new tightness swells against the seam of my jeans. Fuck, my knot.
“We can’t do this,” I pant, pulling back from her. Before I can even begin to offer maybe I’ll just lick her until she can’t take it anymore. My blood heats at the thought, and I know I wouldn’t be able to control myself and keep from shifting if we tried.
She pulls back, her chest heaving with her breath, confusion slowly crossing her face as she takes in my meaning. I close my eyes because I can’t look at her and hold my resolve. I know it’s a complete turnaround from what I just said, and that I can’t explain why I changed my mind.
“It’s not, we’re not getting back together. Shawn, I’m not asking anything like that. We wouldn’t do that,” she says, explaining it like I’ve misunderstood something.
“No, no we wouldn’t. But we can’t just do this for old time’s sake either.”
“You don’t want to?”
“It would be a mistake,” I lie through my teeth. Nothing about her could ever be a mistake, or the wrong choice. But we can’t do this. I can’t put her in that kind of danger. With my knotpresent and my wolf ready to seek my mate, I can’t know she would be safe if we went any further.
“You don’t want to.”
Her voice shakes just the slightest bit this time.
I can hear the question she really wants to ask embedded there.You don’t want me?
“No, no, I do. Believe me,” I plead, and grit my teeth as my knot strains against the edge of finishing against the perfect heat at the crux of her legs. “I just can’t do this knowing you might regret it tomorrow.”
She nods and slides out of my lap, but there’s hurt in her eyes she’s trying to hide. I get up, every movement unbalanced. I want nothing more than to pull her in close and kiss her again, and to tell her I’m sorry, among everything I’ve always wanted to tell her.
But I can’t. We don’t have that anymore.
So, I leave Elise’s cottage, not really knowing where else to go.
It’s never been like this before with her. But it can’t be Elise, it just plain can’t. I would have known. It would have happened when we were dating, or the year we were married for.
If I was going to knot in Elise it would have happened eight years ago.
16
Elise
The fall leaves crunch underfoot as I step outside the brewery and check my phone, taking a quick break from catering duties. Even though I’m catering the Hayes wedding, the brewery’s industrial-sized kitchen has the space and equipment I need. Really, it’s not all that different from regular weeks catering events here.
Earlier, my hands were too crusted over with dried frosting when my phone vibrated in my back pocket to check my messages. I take a deep breath, considering the row of missed calls to my mom from this last week, and the singular text I got in return.
Sorry, it’s been a busy week.
I don’t want to call her again.
