“Yeah? How much?” I tease him as I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him close again.
“Too fucking much. Go get your tabs before I change your mind by obliterating your senses.”
“Look, I already said we’re fucking later.”
He chuckles before licking his way into my mouth and for a few minutes I very nearly do think about saying ‘nah fuck it’. My body gets on board with the thoughts of him claiming, me my core throbbing as I grind myself against him shamelessly.
Honestly, a few wicked kisses and I’d be coming, instead I undo my ankles and let my legs fall from his waist, and he takes a step back.
“King,” I gasp, my eyes devouring his tented hard-on, “You got grey sweats for me?”
“’Course I fucking did. No offence but I wasn’t a hundred percent sure you wouldn’t be dressing me in your designer shit.”
I hop off the railing. “You gut me. I stopped at Walmart, thank you very much.”
I totally didn’t. I shopped online and blew an inordinate amount of money on sweatpants in all the colours of a black and white rainbow. Although I think these might be firm favourites, they hug his thighs so well and hang low on his hips.
Which reminds me. “What’s the go with this?” I say, tracing my name on a very pretty shield placed in the junction of the Fallen wings and logo. How he got it to work is proof of his talented tattooist.
“I figured I couldn’t ink up my knot or cock since I’d need ’em and up here you get the reminder who you belong to each timeI’m inside your body,” he mumbles, slapping my ass as I sprint down the stairs.
“You didn’t want to help?”
“I told you to pack light,” he says with a smirk.
“No, you told me to pack dresses,” I argue.
“Killer, we’re not going to Raney’s if you’re wearing a dress,” he snaps.
“Why the hell not?”
He looks at me. Actually, he studies my face like I’ve lost my marbles, the whole time keeping a blank expression on his face. “You are not wearing a skirt or a fucking dress, Tristan. End of story!”
“You’ve lost your mind!” I spin, dropping my hands on my hips and delivering a healthy dose of sass. “Why? Explain to me why I can’t…”
And then it hits me. I don’t mean to, but I scoff and laugh at the same time. “You’re jealous? Of other Alphas?”
He flicks his shoulders, and instead of agreeing with me, I see a slow growing twinkle in his eye which has my giggles disappearing and being replaced by a glare. I stop talking because he’ll spill any second now.
“She might have a bung leg, but I reckon she’s going to be gunning for you…” He smirks, swallowing the chuckle making his shoulders shake.
“I’m not telling her, King,” I smart back at him.
And all the wind goes out of his sails, and he locks up like a statue and his Alpha temperament of entitlement and expectation blazes so bright he lets a flare go. He’s so easy to wind up sometimes.
“Excuse me,” he spits but he doesn’t give me a chance before he starts ranting. “You are going to tell her. You’re walking in her fucking house and showing her my claim on your fucking throat. And my name on your chest.”
I lift up my shirt, flashing my boobs at him, looking for the tattoo we both know is not there. “I don’t have a tattoo.”
The air is insanely cold, and my nipples poke out so sharply they could take an eye out. Of course he’s in front of me, his hands cupping them as he kneads the flesh better than a kitten does its mother.
“Don’t fuck around,” he growls, leaning down to flick his tongue over my nipple before his lips wrap around it.
He plays dirty. So, fucking dirty, but I like. And I would climb him like a goddamn pole and beg him to knot me on the roof of the car except for the bags under his eyes.
“King, we’re napping first,” I argue.
“We’re fucking first,” he growls, daring me to argue more. “Then I’m sleeping with my knot in your pussy so I can dream of fucking you before I wake up and actually fuck you.”
