“Well, he seems to know things, as weird as he is.”
I eye my brother and let his comment simmer in my mind. The fae part of Arbor needs to accept my mark, my bond. I wonder if he even wants it, wants me.
He hasn’t used the stone on me again, that enchanted Petoskey that knocked me out. I half-expected he would, and hoped he wouldn’t.
And, surprisingly, he’s been next to me each morning I’ve woken.
It’s the best fucking thing.
I love it.
Yeah, all right. I may even love him, too.
I have to think about that a little more, but the longer I spend with him, the more I get to know him, and the more I like him. He may have fucked up, but haven’t we all? And it seems he’s eager to make amends… in more ways than one.
My cock twitches in my pants when I think about last night. The way he rode me, the way his neck arched back, his vein throbbing as he took me.
I wanted to bite down on it, to mark him.
To make him mine.
But I didn’t. I just held on to those slim hips and slammed him onto me over and over.
The orgasm that erupted from me made my ears ring, and Arbor must have felt the same because he flopped onto me and shivered.
“Best sex ever. Like, no one compares, Glenn,” he’d said.
I couldn’t agree more. But here I am, leaving him alone for three whole days and missing him like hell.
I should text him again. Make sure he doesn’t forget about me.
“Why the frown? You miss him already?”
“Fuck off. So what if I do?”
He shoves me lightly. “Just teasing you, man. Never seen you like this. Makes sense you’d go for a dude who smells like cake. You always did like food.”
I sigh, and my dick twitches again. He does smell like cake, like the best fucking birthday cake. And without that pendant on, the scent of him seeps into my skin. I can still make out his fragrance now.
Not to mention the way he tastes when he’s embracing his fae side.
The way his skin shines and glows, the way his cum reminds me of cake batter and vanilla ice cream.
It’s fucking delicious.
I reach forward, turning on some music to help distract me from the boner I’m getting just thinking about my omega.
“You can put on whatever you like,” I tell Forest, and he eyes me.
“You hate my music.”
“Maybe, but if you’re not going to tell me all the details of your life to keep me entertained, I guess I’ll just have to listen to it, won’t I?”
“Fuck you, you nosy bitch.”
I laugh, and he turns the dial, bobbing his head to the beat. We drive like that for a while, fueling up when my tank gets low and grabbing lunch before heading back on the road. It’s a long drive, boring at some points, scenic at others.
But when we finally arrive at the compound, I see the rickety wooden gates and a sign hammered into it with the etched nameCrimson Howlers. Never been here before, but I’ve heard things. Things from when Skye and Maverick made this trip to Red’s pack.
