“Harder,” I begged, as magic seeped into my veins. “Harder, please, alpha.”
Branson didn’t hesitate. He bit down harder and injected his venom directly into my bloodstream.
I yank my hand off the sofa, stepping away like I’ve touched something hot, and the images that have been assaulting me gradually dissipate.
I follow Branson to his truck, mute and in a deep state of shock. He opens the passenger door for me, and I getin without a word. The engine roars to life, and I watch as the cabin shrinks in the sideview mirror.
We bump along the narrow dirt track as a wonderland of snow-coated trees glitter where the winter sun hits them. It’s beautiful, or at least it would be if I could think of one single thing other than that fuck on the sofa. To say I’m appalled by myself would be the greatest understatement of all time. I’m shocked shitless. Not just by what happened, but by how much that version of me wanted it. The way I looked when I asked for it, the way I sounded absolutely certain.
It’s unbelievable.
What’s more unbelievable is that the man sitting in this truck with me has spent the last God knows how many days letting me blame him for what happened. I feel awful. I’ve been a total dick, all holier than thou, merrily accusing him of doing something without even entertaining the possibility that I might be responsible for what happened.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, overly aware that the bond is spewing a constant stream of sickly browns and greens.
“Are you okay, Lucy?” asks Branson.
“Hmm,” I say, pinching my lips tightly together. It’s the best I can do. It’s not a yes or a no, and I don’t trust the bond not to flare blinding white. I’ve already been sucha terrible asshole. The last thing I want is for Branson to think he’s mated a habitual liar on top of everything else.
I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead of me, but I feel Branson’s eyes on me. The bond between us quivers from his side, a light flutter I feel in my belly.
He’s worried about me.
To distract him, I turn up the volume on the center console and sing along loudly. The trouble is, I don’t know the lyrics of the song that’s playing, or even the title, so I’m left tunelessly echoing the words a few seconds after I hear them.
It’s not my finest work by a long shot.
Branson shoots me a concerned look, and though I manage to avoid looking directly at him, something about his demeanor reminds me of the night I told him off for biting me and tried to make him sleep on the floor.
Oh Jesus.He cried that night. I was so horrible to him, I made him cry—for something I did.
The bond pulses, streaming out more crappy colors. It makes me feel worse than I already do. Branson and I are bonded, so I know he can feel the emotions I pour into the bond, just as I feel his.
“Please tell me why you’re so upset,” he says, digging the heel of his hand into the meat over his chest and rubbing it as if it’s causing him pain.
A fresh wave of feeling washes over me. This time it’s shame as well as guilt. “Do you remember marking me?”
He looks at me for a beat. His jaw tenses microscopically. Then he nods.
“Why didn’t you tell me I asked you to bite me?” I ask softly.
Branson expels a quiet breath, slows the truck, and pulls over. He kills the ignition and turns to face me. His handsome features are drawn, hard and concerned. “I didn’t tell you because you were out of it, and it was my job to take care of you. I shouldn’t have bitten you, no matter what you asked for.”
“You were out of it too.”
He looks down at the steering wheel, and a lock of dusty-blond hair falls into his face. “I know. And I shouldn’t have let myself go like that. I am the alpha. I should have stayed in control.”
“I begged you to do it.”
“It’s on me, Lucy.”
“How can you say that? I literally asked you to pump me full of your babies.”
The corners of his lips tense and a hot gush of arousal courses through the bond.
“Lucy, it’s on me because I wanted you long before you went into heat.” His voice is as soft and vulnerable as hiswords are. They land in my lap and become so heavy that I find it impossible to maintain eye contact. He reaches out, tracing my jaw and tilting my chin so I have no option but to look at him. “It’s because I’ve wanted you in a way that makes it hard for me to know whether I knew that biting you was the wrong thing to do…and did it anyway.”
I attempt to reply several times, but no sound comes out. I’m not sure what to say. Morally, it would be incredibly wrong of him to have bitten me if he knew what he was doing, but honestly, having an alpha like Branson calmly tell me how much he wants me is doing it for me big time.
