You could change him.I shut that thought down quickly, because it’s not fucking happening. Morgan has a life, family, friends, a future I’m sure he’s eager to get back to when this shit with the Feral Beasts dies down. I have nothing to offer him, even if I wanted a mate.
Which I don’t.
I don’t need that kind of vulnerability for someone to exploit. Not with the danger we put ourselves in every fucking month.
While I’ve been ostensibly in my head, I realise Morgan still hasn’t moved, hasn’t said anything. “Hey.” I stroke his cheek again, then tap his temple. “What’s going on in there?”
He blinks, like I’ve brought him back from wherever he disappeared to. “What does it mean?”
The question takes me by surprise. I’d expected flat-out denial, not curiosity. “A mate bond?” I clarify, then roll my eyes at myself, because what else could he possibly mean?Twat.
“I mean, there’s a bit about it in that book Flint gave me. But I don’t know how much of it’s true, and how much is bollocks.”
Neither do I, since I’ve never read it.
We’re standing so close, his scent wraps around me, drawing me in with every inhale. I want to bury my face in it, hold him tight, and breathe him in until he’s all I can smell. It takes significant effort to put a little space between us so we can talk. Because we need to, and this conversation requires all my concentration.
I keep my hands on him, though. There’s only so much restraint I can muster.
“A mate bond is the strongest connection a shifter will ever experience.” I take a steadying breath. Just saying the words sends a thrill of excitement skittering down my spine. I need to be so, so careful here. “Right now, I feel a pull towards you, an awareness that resonates bone deep.”
He swallows. Something that looks very much like understanding shines in his eyes, but that’s impossible. Isn’t it?
I clear my throat. “But that’s nothing to how it would feel if we both accepted the bond.” I shiver.Goddess, help me, I didn’t think this through at all.You stupid fucker, Lynx.
“How would we do that?” It’s barely a whisper, like saying the words any louder will make it happen.
I take a minute to make sure I’m in full control, because even thinking about this next part is dangerous with the mood I’m in. “I’d have to bite you.” I trace the spot between his shoulder and neck, along the base of his throat. “Here.”
He swallows again and I feel the movement under my fingers.
It’s like a shot ofwanthits me full in the chest. My fingers twitch, my jaw aches, my wolf restless under my skin, and it takes everything I have to keep from sliding into a half shift.
Mine.
It’s a whisper in the back of my mind: a taunt, a tease, a little nudge to do what every fibre of my being wants to do.
But I can’t.
For so many fucking reasons, not least of which is the fact I need Morgan’s consent. I give in to the urge to drop my head to his shoulder, but that’s as much as I allow myself. I’m greedy though, and I breathe my fill, eyes dropping closed on the barest of moans.
After a moment, Morgan squeezes the hand holding his, then I feel long fingers carding through my hair, scratching my scalp. I melt against him, instinct taking over, the need to be as close as possible suddenly overriding everything else.
His body moulds to mine until we’re flush from thigh to chest.
It’s so fucking perfect.
So right.
I don’t ever want to move from this spot.
His hand drops lower, sliding down the back of my neck to my shoulder. His other one joins it, and as they glide lower still, I remember that I’m naked. It happens so often when we shift, it’s not athinganymore.
But with Morgan’s hands settling on my arse cheeks, it’s quickly about to become one.
“Would I have to bite you, too?” he asks, softly.
Just the thought of his teeth on me lights a fire in my belly. “Yes,” I breathe, grinding my hips against him, grumbling at the feel of denim instead of skin. “Morgan,” I whisper, and reach for the button on his jeans. I lean back enough to see his face, eyebrows raised in silent question.Can I?
