Her muscles locked hard. A guttural, broken sound tore from her throat as her pussy clamped down around him in sharp, involuntary pulses. The orgasm hit like a fist — painful, electric, an excruciating clench through overtaxed nerves. It was obedience made physical, ripped from a body that’d already given everything. Her hips jerked once, a helpless spasm, and then she was shaking, every muscle trembling as the release shuddered through her in short, violent waves.
Knife growled low and deep, thrust hard one last time, and emptied himself inside her. “Good girl,” he growled against her skin. “Such a good little motherfucking painslut.”
Then everything changed.
He released her from the pillory, lifted her into his arms, and carried her to the bed. He settled her gently on her side, gently cleaned her with a warm cloth, and then held her. Soothed her.
His touch was so tender it made her chest ache.
- - -?- - -
Knife knew she wasn’t in subdrop this time. These tears were full of grief, and it didn’t take him long to figure it out.
He’d broken her down to nothing, and it’d been what she needed. Now that she was coming back… this was her facing what he was trying not to face.
They were perfect for each other, and there was no way they could make it work.
He’d spent time alone on his family’s mountain and looked at the problem from every direction, and the only solution was for him to leave his club.
And then he’d talked to his cousin, who knew he was kinky. He had the idea it was just some paddles and fuzzy handcuffs, but at least he understood there was a different dynamic. And Knife was going to follow his cousin’s advice: Give it three months, and if he was still madly in love with her, talk to Duke and Brain about why he had to leave. He’d promise not to share club secrets with her, and he had no intentions of joining the pack, but he needed to have a life he could share with her, and that meant walking away from his brothers.
He had no doubt he could find a good job as a butcher, but it might work for him to open his own shop. Either buy from the club or find another local source.
But he couldn’t tell Tuesday any of this, because the deal he’d made with himself, and his wolf, was to let things go as they were for three months and see what happened.
He never wanted her to have to go through what he did when he left his pack. His grandfather, the pack alpha, wouldn’t sever the bonds, so Knife had paid a vampire nearly twenty grand to do it, and the pain had been… it’d hurt him at a soul level. Knife had thought he was dying, and he’d barely been able to walk for days. No way in hell was Tuesday going through that. If a choice had to be made, Knife would walk away from his brothers.
But his cousin had been right about giving it three months. It was a huge decision, and it deserved the time to allow their relationship to grow roots.
It killed him to scent her grief, though. It was a little bit due to subdrop, the crash after sustained intensity, emotion flooding her cells as they used up the adrenaline.
But this was more. The grief of losing someone, even though he was right here, his arms wrapped around her.
They both knew they were playing with fire, and they were both pretending it wasn’t a problem. But tonight, something had cracked that open and it was all spilling out.
But he only held her and said nothing. She wasn’t far from sleep, and he hoped to hell she’d wake up and forget this part had ever happened.
And, he had to admit to himself, she wasn’t the only one battling this. His wolf had tried to take over multiple times during the scene, and he’d had to push him down. The animal saw Tuesday as theirs and wanted — no, he demanded they mark her, but even more, the wolf wanted her to admit she belongs to them.
So Knife had pushed his wolf far, far down, so the man could stay in control. But then when he’d fed her, there was his inner beast, right back at the top of his psyche. And for the wolf, the fact she ate from Knife’s fingers was the same as admitting she is now theirs.
And that was a problem.
But she did, indeed, wake in a better mood ten hours later, at nearly midnight Wednesday night. He’d called one of his people in to ride up and help choose the cattle for thisweek’s slaughter. He prefers to do it, but there are others plenty capable.
Neither of them wanted breakfast foods when she woke, so he fed her tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Thankfully, he had some nice smoky gruyere and thick slabs of sourdough bread. The soup was from a mason jar. His mom generally sent him home with at least two boxes of things she’d put up. She called them care packages and only required that he come home with the empty jars when he visited.
Thursday and Friday were as hectic as always, slaughtering, cutting, packaging, selling. He mostly worked in the back and only dealt with the high-volume customers.
Because his wolf was still being a pain in the ass.
Friday night, he loaded up the RTMC Restaurant’s order into his truck and made his way south. He actually has three bikes, but one stays at the clubhouse, so he can drive his truck down and still have a bike to ride. Gonzo was working security, and he came out back to help Knife unload everything and then stow it in the fridge and freezers.
Dawg came to help at the end, and he frowned at Knife. “I smell pack wolf on you.”
It wasn’t a question, so Knife went out and got another load.
He was back inside, sorting it into the freezer, when Dawg said, “Under your skin. Deep.”
