“Corey.” My face is on fire.
“Claire.” He cups my jaw, tilting my face to his, and his amusement disappears into something steadier. “Nobody’s going to judge you. They’re going to be fucking ecstatic. Do you have any idea how desperately Brody and Jakob want to be with you? How much it’s been killing them knowing I’m up here and they’re not?”
“But you don’t get it. It’s happening too fast.” The words spill out, even though I’m still pressed naked against him, still wanting him so badly I can barely breathe. “I promised myself after Louis that I wouldn’t rush, become dependent, or fall for anyone else so hard that when they get bored of me?—”
“Hey.” His voice drops, firm enough to cut through the panic. “Deep breaths. Nobody’s getting bored of you. Don’t compare us to a man who had no idea what he had.” His thumb brushes over my lower lip, his gaze locked on mine. “When we mark you as ours, that’s permanent. You understand?”
I blink up at him in the early hours of the morning.
“Fear is normal,” Corey corrects out loud. “But you’ve got us now.”
I nod and press my face into his neck, breathing in that musky Alpha scent I’m addicted to. Corey’s arms fold around me. “Let me clean you up,” he says, kissing my temple. “Then rest. You’re going to need it.”
He disappears into the bathroom and returns with a damp towel.
The tenderness with which he parts my thighs and cleans the mess between them, all the slick and the evidence of him, melts my heart. His grin, which tells me he’s enjoying the view far too much, has me lying there stupidly emotional, as if being cleaned up by a smug Alpha is somehow more intimate than climaxing in front of him.
Then I’m back in his arms, sheet pulled over us, and he whispers, “Sleep,” against me. I try to stay awake, but the exhaustion is a tide and I slip under.
My eyes snap open to the bright light of the morning sun cutting through the huge windows, and the spot beside me on the bed lies empty. My body pulses, and I curl around the ache, pressing my hand to my stomach.
“Corey?”
The cabin is silent.
I swing my legs out of bed. My thighs and pussy are sore, reminding me of every second of last night, and beneath the soreness, the hunger is already rebuilding, a low burn in my abdomen that’s growing stronger by the minute. Slick slidesdown my inner thigh, and I press my legs together and hiss through my teeth.
“Corey!” I call louder.
No answer. I spot his phone on the bedside table and grab it, but it’s not switching on… Battery’s dead. So he must have gone on foot to extend the booking at the property office, as he’d said the owners were somewhere in these mountains.
I hurry to the bathroom for a shower, and the hot water is magic on sore muscles, my hands braced against the tile. Once I’m dry and out, I feel human enough afterward to wrap a towel around myself and go hunting for food.
The kitchen is fully stocked, and my body knows what it wants. Protein. Salt. Volume. I pull the steak from the fridge, the one we never cooked last night because we were otherwise occupied, and throw it in a hot pan. While it sizzles, I demolish leftover charcuterie from the picnic, crackers stacked with cheese, eating—still standing at the counter—with a ferocity that would embarrass me if anyone were watching.
The steak is perfect. I carry it to the veranda on a plate, still in my towel, and eat it in the morning sun, overlooking the valley. The sea stretches silver beyond Mistberry Cove, and the quiet is so deep I hear my own heartbeat.
I finish every bite, then lick the juices from my fingers. My body is calmer with the food in my belly, the ache retreating to a simmer, though I can feel it there, patient, coiling, waiting for the next wave.
Back inside, I’m rummaging through the fridge when I find a tub of chocolate brownie ice cream tucked in the freezer. I grab it along with the biggest spoon in the drawer and head toward the hot tub, figuring I’ll work out how to turn it on.
To my surprise, the room is already steaming. The tub is filled, heat wafting from the water’s surface. Corey must have set it up before he left. The Perspex walls let the forest pressclose on all sides from the outside, ferns and branches and dappled light. Even the steam curls upward and disappears into the vents. The room is completely exposed and utterly private. Who’s watching? The squirrels? The wolves? Let them enjoy the show.
I drop the towel and climb in.
The heat of the water pulls a groan from me so intense it vibrates through my chest. I sink to my shoulders, close my eyes, and let the warmth work through my muscles, my hips, the soreness between my thighs that eases just enough for me to breathe.
Then I pop the lid off the ice cream and dig in.
The cold hits my tongue, and the contrast with the hot water is everything. I eat sitting on the submerged ledge, the water at my waist, and cold ice cream droplets slide from the spoon onto my chest. They trail down my skin, over the curve of my breasts, and goose bumps erupt across my body, a shiver that isn’t from cold but from desire.
A moan slips out past my lips.
So, with my mind filling with images of Corey ravaging me last night, I set the tub and the spoon down on the edge, then sink into the water. With my head against the rim, my hand slides down my stomach, between my thighs, finding myself swollen and slick even in the water. I’m so sensitive that the first touch drives my hips into a jerking movement. I circle my clit with two fingers, and I come fast, my body clenching around nothing, craving the fullness that isn’t there.
The relief lasts barely a few minutes because the throb returns, harsher this time, and panic threads through the arousal.
I’m alone on a mountain and in heat. I don’t know which direction Corey went, and I can’t make it down the trail in this state. My instincts are screaming at me, a primal alarmblaring through every cell:You’re unmatched, alone… Find your Alphas. Find them now.
