Hot, bitter, perfect—I swallowed every pulse, refusing to waste a drop. My mouth stayed sealed around him until he sagged, spent and boneless, legs falling open even wider.
Dragging myself up his body, I gripped his face in both hands, kissed him deep, letting him taste himself on my tongue. I pushed my tongue into his mouth, snowballing the cum back to him, then pulled away just enough to let him swallow before going back for more, passing it between us, over and over, until we were both gasping, spit-slick, filthy, and wrecked.
He moaned into my mouth, hunger and gratitude and surrender all tangled together. Our lips never parted for long, tongues tangled, the taste of us both thick and unmistakable between us.
Arms wrapped around his body, I held him close, letting the aftershocks roll through us. My chest heaved, sweat cooling on my skin, heart pounding so hard I thought it might bruise my ribs. The mirror showed us both—wrecked, wild, ruined and claimed.
Fingers tangled in his hair, I kissed him again, gentle now, reverent. “Perfect,” I whispered. “You’re perfect for me.”
He smiled, eyes glazed and shining, mouth swollen, and just nodded, letting himself fall against me, safe and marked and wholly, utterly mine.
“Can I ask you something? About pack stuff?”
“Always.”
“What happens if an Alpha wolf bites a human? Like, really bites them, not just a love bite.” His cheeks flushed slightly, but his eyes stayed serious. “Would they turn?”
I stopped tracing patterns on his bare chest, studying his face for clues about where this question was coming from. We were tangled together in my bed, sheets twisted around our legs, the scent of sex and satisfaction heavy in the air between us.
“There are legends about it happening. Old stories about humans being brought into packs through blood and bond instead of birth.”
“But you don't know for sure?”
“No one knows for sure. It's been centuries since anyone tried, if it ever really happened at all.” I propped myself up on one elbow, concern starting to build in my chest. “Why are you asking? Is this about wanting to turn?”
The question hung in the air between us like smoke, heavy with implications that could reshape everything we meant to each other.
“I don't know,” Nate said finally, honesty making his voice rough. “Sometimes I watch you and the pack, see how connected you all are, how you never have to doubt your place in the world. And I wonder what it would be like to belong to something that completely.”
“You already belong,” I said fiercely, fingers finding his jaw, thumb brushing across the stubble there. “You don't need fangs or claws to be part of this family.”
“But I'm fragile compared to you. Human-breakable. And if something happened, if I was dying...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Forget it. It's a stupid thought.”
“It's not stupid.” I caught his hand, bringing it to my mouth to press a kiss against his knuckles. “But transformation isn'tsomething you do because you're afraid of being vulnerable. That's how you end up losing yourself to the wolf instead of finding balance with it.”
Nate nodded, but I could see the question still burning behind his eyes. The what-if that would probably follow him until he found an answer, one way or another.
I kissed him then, sudden and desperate and full of gratitude for someone who could see strength in the places I'd only ever found shame.
He melted into me, all soft sighs and eager hands, the conversation dissolving into something more immediate. More necessary. My wolf purred under my skin as I moved over him, claiming and being claimed in return, the taste of him better than anything I'd ever known.
27
HOME REPAIRS
EVAN
Power tools and muffled laughter spilled out of the Harrington house as I pulled up in Gideon's truck, mason jars rattling in the bed from Anna's latest batch of homemade preserves. The old Victorian looked way better already—fresh paint on the shutters, new boards where the porch steps used to be rotting, and what looked like half the pack's vehicles scattered across the front yard like we were throwing some kind of supernatural block party.
Which, knowing Anna, we probably were.
I grabbed the toolbox from the passenger seat, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Gideon as he climbed out of the driver's side. Ever since his little revelation about being more than just a gruff mechanic, I felt like punching something every time I caught sight of his weathered hands. Hands that could apparently weave magic as easily as they could rebuild an engine.
Fucking fantastic.
“You're doing that brooding thing again,” Cal called from where he was balanced on a ladder, scraping paint from the house's trim. “Your face is gonna get stuck that way.”
“My face is fine,” I muttered, but I could feel the scowl carved between my eyebrows like it had taken up permanent residence.
