Mark moves his other hand forward until he finds my clit, stroking and rolling it between his fingers gently, in direct contrast to the pounding of his cock inside me. The mismatched sensations tip me over again, and my entire body tenses and shakes as I come.
His teeth graze the juncture where my shoulder meets my neck, and I think for the briefest moment he’s going to bite mefor real. I inhale sharply, and he pulls back with an audible snap of his mouth. I know he thinks I responded out of fear of a bond mark, but what’s more frightening is that I’m not scared at all. In fact, the desire for it takes my breath away.
I pull myself off him, and I see the brief flash of hurt and disappointment before he shutters it. He thinks I’m rejecting him because of how close he came.
I should.
Instead, I turn and cup his cheeks between my palm to kiss him greedily, not caring that my wetness is on his lips. I tug him toward me, and he grips my ass once more, lifting me easily and seating himself back inside of me.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Ava,” he moans.
“Shut up and make me come again, Mark,” I answer, and I feel all my logical and righteous reasons to not pursue this float away like a feather on the wind as my omega and I find some sort of compromise.
I won’t let him bond me and I won’t tell him my secret. But this—this I can do.
Chapter Ten
Mark
One Month Later
Per usual, my stomach is twisted into equal parts dread and eager anticipation at the thought of facing Ava in court. We wrapped up jury selection last week, and today marks opening statements in a high-profile case involving a wealthy omega heiress. She was caught purchasing illegal heat suppressants, and the media has been swarming since day one.
I tried to get out of prosecuting it. Everything about this case screamsheadache.The defendant’s family has the kind of money that makes enemies, and if I plan to campaign next year, antagonizing potential donors is not exactly strategic. On top of that, I hate the suppressant ban. If the government wouldproperly fund research into omega heat cycles, we could have safe, legal suppressants and avoid this entire circus.
But Harvey is on my ass. As the DA, he isn’t technically my boss, because I hold an elected office. But you know what the mayor has power over? My office’s budget. He’s already made vague threats that if I don’t fall in line, he’ll halve it, and I’ll be forced to lay people off.
Lately, his behavior has escalated. Not just toward me, but toward Ava as well. His fixation on her has crossed into something that feels unhealthy. He has even threatened to scrap his NYTV project, though I think he’d have a riot on his hands if he tried to cancel it now. It’s obvious he resents the growing attention Ava and I attract. At this point, we are practically New York celebrities. The press has labeled us the city’s “golden enemies,” and audiences love watching us tear into each other in court.
And despite our total inability to stay away from each other outside the courtroom, we fight harder there than ever.
We are playing a dangerous game. If I were a better man, I would end it or disclose the conflict to the bar and force Ava to stop taking cases in my jurisdiction. But that loops straight back to the NYTV problem. I cannot buy this level of publicity, and it makes me less dependent on wealthy donors.
It eases my conscience in some ways. In others, it makes it far worse.
I shift in my chair, rotating my shoulder and neck to get a crick out from how I’ve been leaning over thedocuments I was reading. The gouges on my skin pull and protest. I know the cops have dubbed her the viper, but honestly, she should be the one to be called the tiger. Or at least some kind of feline, the way she’s constantly scratching or biting me when she’s in the throes of a really good orgasm—not to be confused with the orgasms I chase like Captain Ahab after his prey. No, those are rarer, but something happens to her scent when she comes like that, and my inner alpha craves it like a drug. I can usually coax those out of her if I can get about four or five regular ones first.
I shift for an entirely different reason now, my cock hardening at even the briefest thought of that scent or the way she looks when she comes undone. I never mind the bites or scratches, because I’d probably sell my soul to keep having access to her.
Hell, I’m not entirely certain I haven’t already. I’ve deleted her number more times than I can count. It never sticks. One late-night text is all it takes, and we fold like we always do.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped fighting it. Lately, I’ve been finding myself wishing for a way to bridge the gap between us. Maybe we could be more like friends with benefits than enemies that fuck.
Sometimes, I’ll spot her talking to someone else, less guarded than normal and laughing. The jealousy that rips through me is so fierce that I have to count backward from ten to keep myself from ripping whoever it is apart. She never laughslike that with me.
Or even worse, when she falls asleep after a particularly enthusiastic romp. It’s only happened a handful of times, but I always just end up lying there watching her sleep, like some kind of creeper. She just looks so… serene. Her beautiful, freckled face relaxed, long ginger lashes fanned across her cheeks, lips plumped from my kisses, hair a mess from my fingers.
It’s those moments when I worry I'm so far over my head that I’m doomed and probably more than a little in love with her.
Course, then the minute she wakes up, she opens that fucking mouth and bolts, and all those thoughts go out the window because I’m ready to strangle her again.
I glance at the clock and realize I need to get across the street if I want to beat her to the courtroom. Another one of our silent competitions. I think I’ll probably win today; she looked exhausted earlier, and I saw her get in her car, so I figure she either ran home or to her office for a nap.
Part of me wants to preen that I wore her out, while another part worries over her. There’s an equal chance she went and did something stupid between cases, because she never takes care of herself. Her fridge is always practically empty, and I can probably count on one hand how many times I’ve seen her with water instead of an energy drink.
I push open the door to the courtroom and grin when I see I’ve arrived first. I know it’s stupid, but I don’t care.
I hear the click of her heels on the floor behind me. I barely managed to beat her. I glance at her and am immediately annoyed by the way my heart skips a beat. The sunlight isstreaming in from the high windows, and it hits her hair just right, which she has taken down out of the chic bun it was in earlier. Now it’s loose and flowing over her shoulders, the reds and golds shining in the light like a beautiful sunset.
