I’m in his lap, my legs resting on his chest, my toes pointing at the sky. I’m trapped but loving the compromising way I can’t move, but Jesus, he can. My shield drops down further as I succumb to his wickedly good attention.
The position we’re in should make me so self-conscious, but the way he looks at me, the way his amber scent keeps wafting off him, makes me feel like I’m a goddess instead.
His hands move from under my ass to my lower back, not letting any space between us, but now we’re face-to-face, which means I get to see and touch him. And I don’t think I’d be able to stop from touching him even if someone said I had to. It’s like a hunger that consumes my thoughts.
The moment my fingers start to trail over his tanned skin, the desperation eases, but my need for him intensifies. I lean inand kiss him, driven by an urge so sudden, I nearly hit my teeth with his. I pull back at the last moment, hoping he missed it. He didn’t; his heated grin confirms it. There’s no growl telling me to grow up or stop being so driven by my emotions. If anything, he’s looking as out of control as I must. When I lean in slower and press my mouth to his, it’s like being punched in the face. A sweet but unnecessary confirmation that this Alpha is mine.
“My Alpha” beats like a drum in my thoughts, matching the wild beat in my chest, and drowns out the slow, mournful song I can already hear deep, deep inside my soul.
Chapter Eight
SANTIAGO
I’ve had to shut out the realization of her being my Omega, mute the call my brain keeps repeating, or I’d have savaged her slender throat as soon as I tasted her.
That isn’t to say the brutal realization she’s mine isn’t important; it’s life-changing. But spending as much time with her, in this exact moment, is more important than making declarations.
Right now, life is beautifully simple—I’m alone with the woman of my dreams, and we’re free to explore each other without any other influence. I need and want her alone with me, for as long as possible. I’d make time stop if I could.
The time we’ve spent has been incredible. She’s amazing.
Everything about her is fire. Her scent is like waving a cape at a bull; it has me barely holding on. My hands are permanently affixed to her body, because that’s the way life should be. The way her breathing catches when she’s lost in pleasure will be a sound I hear until the day I die.
Our connection is basic and predatory, and I’ve taken the chance to track her constantly. I especially like the way she gets a flush of color over her skin when she comes. Her scent thickens and warms too.
My watching isn’t a one-sided affair, and she’s stared me down with a blazing confidence that renders me quiet, in complete awe. She doesn’t shy away from me, and I’ve seen her take as good as she gives.
Honestly, we’ve done nothing but fuck, make love, and have incredible sex since the second we walked through the door.
I wish I had the ability to stop time because if this was my life, I’d die fulfilled and happy. But we’re minutes from leaving now.
She’s dressed impeccably, the dark pants she has on hugging her long legs. My fingers itch from the memory of those legs wrapped around me, over my shoulders, slung across my lap in the aftermath.
My hands have a hard time not being on her, my fingers trailing up her leg while my feet guide hers wider.
“Bend over.”
“We need to go,” she answers with an encouraging smile and an enticing sway of her hips.
I push her forward, more insistently than only a second ago. Her eyes flick to the clock in the kitchen before she twists around to look up at me towering over her, my fist already locked around my hard length.
“One last thing, and then we can leave,” I insist as I turn her and guide her down to sitting on the edge of the bed.
All day, I’ve been in a constant state of perpetual arousal. I only need her scent, and I’m hard as fucking stone, ready to go again. And god, her eyes are like spell weavers, full of magic and mystery. She looks at me, and I’m falling.
I don’t know anything about her—not her name, when she was born, her connection to Victor, absolutely nothing.
It all seems so fucking irrelevant now. Exploring her was fundamental to my survival, and I want to make it so that she needs me as much as I need her. They’re incredibly selfish thoughts, but I own them with pride.
She’s mine. I knew that the moment I touched her, probably even before that, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt when I tasted her slicked-up cunt.
I won’t risk spooking her by pounding my chest, proclaiming the obvious. I’ll wait until we’re seated together on the long flight before I start to address how I make her mine. I’ll answer every one of her concerns or worries about how I feel about her, but first I need her one last time.
There’s no hesitation or question in her movements. She just comes when I crowd around her closer. I’m certain she knows I’d do the same, heel like a bonded dog, because I have done whatever she wanted. Repeatedly.
She reads me better than anyone else I’ve ever met. It’s like we share the same thoughts. Her fingers move deftly over the dainty buttons on her white shirt until they're undone. Without being asked, she opens her shirt, her skin so fucking perfect, then leans back on the bed.
“I’m going to fill your throat and paint your skin some more,” I promise, crawling over her.
