She's beautiful and it hurts to look at her.
I rest my forehead against her thigh. My own breathing is ragged. Unsteady. My hands tremble with the effort of not touching her more, not stripping her completely bare, not taking what my alpha is screaming that I have every right to claim.
"You taste so sweet." The words come out hoarse. Reverent. "So perfect."
Her hand is still in my hair. Gentle now. Her fingers card through the strands, soft and soothing and affectionate in a way that makes my chest ache.
"Pedro." My name is whispered. Satisfied.
I look up at her.
She's looking down at me with an expression that makes something in my chest crack open. Vulnerable. Grateful. Tender.
We stay there for a long moment. Me on my knees between her thighs. Her hand in my hair. Both of us breathing hard. Both of us aware that everything just changed.
Finally, because staying on my knees looking at her will make me do something even more reckless, I move.
Helping her stand on unsteady legs. She wobbles. My hands on her hips steady her until she finds her balance.
Then pulling up her underwear. Slowly. My knuckles dragging against her oversensitized skin making her shiver. Then her pants. Gentle. Careful. Treating her the way she deserves.
Straightening her clothes. Smoothing her hair as best I can. Trying to make her look less thoroughly debauched.
It doesn't work. Anyone who sees her will know exactly what happened. The flush on her cheeks. The swollen lips. The glazed eyes. The smell of sex and satisfaction clinging to her skin.
The territorial part of me doesn't mind at all.
"Okay?" My voice is still rough. Unsteady.
She nods. Swallows hard. Still doesn't trust herself to speak.
A strand of hair has fallen across her face. I brush it behind her ear. Let my thumb linger on her jaw.
"Come back tomorrow," I hear myself say.
She blinks at me. Slow. Still dazed. "What?"
"Come back. We'll do proper training." I lean in closer. My lips brush her ear. "And maybe, if you're good, I'll do this again. Make you scream my name again. Remind you how perfect you are."
A slow smile spreads across her face.
"Okay," she whispers. "Tomorrow."
18
JESSICA
The bathtub in the Negrorio guest bathroom is approximately the size of a small swimming pool.
I'm not exaggerating. The thing could comfortably fit three people, maybe four if they were friendly about it. It has jets. And a sloped back designed for maximum soaking comfort. And a little shelf built into the side that's perfect for holding a glass of wine or, in my case, a mug of chamomile tea because I'm trying to be responsible.
I sink deeper into the bubbles and let the hot water work on muscles I didn't know I had until I spent two days destroying Carlos's job site and three days reorganizing Pedro's filing system. Again. Properly this time.
Working at the clinic has gotten better since the wetness exam disaster. I haven't sent any accidental sex texts in seventy-two hours, which feels like a personal record. I can file patient records alphabetically like a functioning adult. And most importantly, Pedro has developed this habit of finding me in the supply closet during lunch breaks, locking the door, and dropping to his knees while I bite down on my hand to keep from screaming his name loud enough for the whole clinic to hear.
That happened yesterday. And the day before. My thighs are still pleasantly sore from the way they clamped around his head when I came so hard I saw stars.
So yes. Working with Pedro is definitely getting better. In so many ways.
