Despite what I told her, I don’t have the heart to rouse her. Not when her cheeks are pink and herface is worry-free. As much as I crave being inside her again, she’s my mate, not just a vessel for me to create a family, and what I want most is to be close to her. Gingerly, I remove her glasses and set them on the nightstand, then cover us both with an extra blanket.
When I wake again, morning light filters through the pine trees outside the window, painting stripes of gold across the wide-planked floor. The night’s over. The sun has risen. Our time is up.
And Julia’s not in bed with me. She left. That was all I get of her.
Time slows, and every muscle in my body tenses until my ears perk at a sound from the kitchen. Thetinkof spoon-against-mug. She’snotgone. That gets me up. I stumble around the bedroom, pulling on clean boxers while I suck in deep breaths of her scent. It’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever smelled, and the thought of it fading, of her leaving and never coming back, is a physical pain.
I find her in the kitchen adding sugar to her coffee, the carton of soy milk I picked up for her on the counter. A shy smile touches her lips when she spots me. She’s wearing my plaid shirt with only a couple of the buttons done up. It swallows her, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs, the fabric parting when she shifts to offer tantalizing glimpses of her curves beneath.
My clothes on her back. My mate, who has my seed inside her.The sight makes my tail give a single thump against the side of the kitchen island, hard enough to hurt. I grab it and sit down at the counter so I don’t give myself happy-tail syndrome and risk a visit to the doctor instead of more time with her.
“I found the coffee,” she says, her voice still husky with sleep as she motions to the half-full French press. “Want some?”
I nod, and she pours a second cup, sliding a steaming mug in front of me. “I hope I made it strong enough.”
“It’s perfect,” I rumble, taking a sip. My eyes are locked on how the shirt gapes to reveal her mouthwatering breasts as she leans across the island to position a plate of toast for us to share. Damn, I want to eat her up.
But there’s a new awkwardness between us, a distance that wasn’t there in the raw darkness of last night. The business of the deed is done. Our breeding was successful, intense, perfect. But the morning after is uncharted territory. She picks up a piece of toast, nibbling on a corner, studiously avoiding eye contact. The silence stretches, pregnant with everything we aren’t saying.
This can’t be it.The thought is a snarl in my mind.This can’t be the end.
My instincts are screaming at me that it’s not enough, that I need more of her, that I need to be inside her until she’s mine and no one else’s. I don’t know if it’s jealousy or the mate bond or some breeding instinct, but I want her again. I want more.
“I peeked at the nursery,” she finally says. “Before I made coffee.”
“What did you think?” I try to sound nonchalant, even though I’m desperate to know her answer.
She bites her lip. “It’s gorgeous. Love the blue color. Did you paint the tree mural?”
I shake my head. “My brother Sean’s mate is an artist. She drew it out and a bunch of us filled it in. I built the reading nooks, though.”
“I love it all. I would have killed for a room like that when I was a kid. Your pups are very lucky to have a dad like you.”
“Come.” I pat my thigh, encouraging her to sit on my lap. It’s only when her eyes widen that I realize it looks like I’ve called her like a dog. “Please, will you sit with me while we have coffee?”
She hesitates for only a second before circumnavigating the island with her mug in hand. She turns, her back to my chest, and slowly lowers herself onto my lap. The weight of her is glorious, solid and real. I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her snug against me, and bury my muzzle in the crook of her neck. Inhaling deeply, I commit hermorning scent—peachy, aroused, creamy, and caffeinated—to a memory I know I’ll need to survive the coming emptiness.
She leans back into me with a soft sigh, her body relaxing. She picks up her toast again, and I hold her, listening to her eat, feeling the gentle movement of her breathing. It’s peaceful. It’s domestic. It’s tearing me apart.
My hand slides up her stomach, feeling along the opening of the flannel shirt, until my palm rests over one full, heavy breast. She stills with a tiny, sharp intake of breath. I can feel her nipple bead instantly against my palm through the fabric.
“But Ian,” she whispers. “It’s tomorrow.”
“It hasn’t even been twelve hours,” I growl into her ear, my voice thick with a need that feels like it’s choking me. “I need to be inside you again. Now. This is my last chance, Julia. My last chance to feel my mate before it’s all over.”
“Our contract—” she begins, but she breaks off when my other hand slides down, under the hem of the shirt and up the smooth warmth of her inner thigh. She’s not wearing panties, just as I’d hoped. My cock stiffens instantly, and I’m sure she can sense it growing underneath her.
“I love that you have fur down here. And you’re so slick for me,” I murmur in her ear, inching myfingertips into her wetness. “Feel that? Your body is still answering mine.”
“Will doing it again help—ahhh,” she moans, resting her head back against my shoulder as I nudge between her labia and circle her clit, stroking it until it begins to swell. “With conception?” she finishes with a gasp, giving us both the excuse we need to continue.
“Yes.” I push two fingers into her, and her inner muscles flutter around them, a silken, clutching warmth that pushes my cock painfully against the back of her thigh. I crook my fingers, finding that sweet spot inside her that makes her jolt. “Your pussy knows we belong together. It’s not ready to let me go yet, is it?”
“No,” she moans, her toast and coffee forgotten as she reaches back to thread her fingers into my mane.
That’s the permission I need. I lift her easily, turning her on my lap to straddle me. Her eyes are wide, dark pools of desire, her shyness burned away by the sudden rekindling of the fire between us. Her shirt—myshirt—falls open, and I groan at the sight of her bare breasts, full and heavy, swaying with the movement of our bodies as we grind together.
I lean forward and take one brown peak into my mouth, sucking and tugging at it as her hands play in my fur. I eat up her sounds with the same appetitethat I devour her breasts. Without breaking contact, I reach between us, fumbling with the button of my jeans one-handed in a clumsy attempt to free my aching cock.
