I can't stop thinking about last night—Hugh on his bed, hand wrapped around his cock, my name falling from his lips. Like I'm the only thought in his head when his control shatters.
Theo's words keep echoing: A few women over the years. Nothing that stuck.
But I remember the possessive growl when Theo got close. The amber eyes. The mate bond. Last night wasn't about anyone else.
I'm done waiting. If Hugh wants to play noble martyr, that's adorable. Also unacceptable.
Evening finds him in the living room, laptop open, freshly back from the firm's office, tie loosened. He's pretending to work while being hyperaware of my exact location. I've learned the tells—the tension in his shoulders, typing slowing when I enter.
I settle on the opposite end of the couch with a book I have zero intention of reading. "Don't mind me. Just catching up on some light reading."
He grunts acknowledgment without looking up, which is honestly offensive to my efforts. I'm wearing a sundress that's probably more suggestion than fabric, with no panties on, and he's committed to the "I'm a professional businessman" bit.
Adorable. Doomed, but adorable.
I shift closer under the pretense of better light. Then closer still, until my thigh almost presses against his. I turn a page I haven't read, letting out a soft breath.
Then another. And another.
My free hand drifts to my collarbone, fingers trailing down absently as I "read." Lower, grazing the neckline of my dress. Lower still, over the thin fabric covering my breast.
His typing has stopped completely.
I let out a quiet, breathy sound—barely audible—as my hand slides down my stomach, over the hem of my dress, and underneath. My fingers find where I'm already wet, and the first touch makes my breath hitch genuinely.
"What are you doing?" His voice is strained, rough.
I look up with wide, innocent eyes, my hand still moving slowly under my dress.
"Hmm? Oh—there's this really hot scene in the book right now." I bite my lip, circling my clit with deliberate pressure. "I'm just so frustrated, Hugh. But you don't care anyway, right? You're such a big, strong Alpha who can totally hold back." I turn another page with my free hand. "So just ignore me."
His jaw could cut glass. His knuckles are white on the laptop.
I let out a soft moan, spreading my thighs wider, giving him a better view of my hand working between them. "God, this scene is so good..."
"Claire." My name sounds like a warning.
"Mmm?" I don't stop touching myself, my hips rocking slightly against my own fingers. "Did you say something? I'm a little distracted."
He slams the laptop shut and sets it aside with more force than necessary. "You need to stop."
"Why?" I ask breathlessly, sliding a finger inside myself, gasping at the stretch. "You're not going to do anything about it. You made that very clear. So I'll just take care of myself while you sit there and suffer."
His hands clench on his thighs. I can see the war playing out behind his eyes—duty versus desire, control versus the mate bond screaming at him to take what's his.
"Claire, I'm warning you—"
"Warning me of what?" I push a second finger inside, moaning louder this time. "That you might actually do something? Please. You're too busy being noble."
He snaps.
His hands close around my ankles and he yanks, dragging me down the couch until I'm flat on my back, my dress bunched around my hips, completely exposed to him. He looms over me, eyes blazing amber, chest heaving.
"You think this is a game?" His voice is a growl.
"I think you're a coward who won't take what he wants." I prop myself up on my elbows, meeting his gaze. "Prove me wrong."
Something feral crosses his face. Then he's shoving my thighs apart, dropping between them, and his mouth is on me before I can breathe.
The first stroke of his tongue tears a cry from my throat. He licks through my folds like he's starving for it, groaning against my flesh like I'm the best thing he's ever tasted.
"Oh fuck—Hugh—"
He seals his lips around my clit and sucks, two fingers pushing inside me at the same time. My back arches off the couch, hands fisting in his hair.
"That's it," he growls against me, pumping his fingers deep. "This what you wanted? My mouth on this pretty pussy?"
"Yes—yes—don't stop—"
He doesn't. He works me with devastating precision, tongue flicking my clit while his fingers curl inside me, hitting spots that make my vision blur. The pressure builds fast, coiling tight in my core.
"Please," I gasp, grinding against his face. "Please, I need—"
"Tell me." He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot against my soaked flesh. "Tell me what you need."
I remember his words from that first night, when he begged permission to taste me. The memory makes me bold.
"Lick me clean," I breathe, throwing his own line back at him. "I give you my permission."
The sound he makes is pure animal. His mouth returns with renewed fervor, tongue plunging inside me while his thumb works my clit, and I shatter with a scream.
But he doesn't stop. Even as I'm still shaking through the aftershocks, he's pulling back, gripping my hips, flipping me over.
"Knees on the couch," he commands. "Chest against the back. Now."
I scramble to obey, positioning myself the way he wants—kneeling on the cushions, chest pressed to the backrest, ass presented to him. I hear him drop to his knees on the floor behind me.
"Fuck, Claire." His hands spread me open, and his groan vibrates through my entire body. "You're dripping for me."
Then his tongue is back, licking me from behind, and the angle is somehow even more intense. I cry out, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the couch cushions.
His tie. I can feel the silk brushing against my inner thigh as he works me. My hand reaches back blindly, finds it, wraps the fabric around my fist.
I pull.
Hugh groans as I yank him closer by the tie, his face pressing deeper between my thighs. His tongue works my clit while two fingers pump into me, and I'm already climbing again, the second orgasm building impossibly fast.
"Harder," I demand, tugging the tie. "More."
He obliges—three fingers now, stretching me open while his mouth devours me. The sounds are obscene, wet and desperate, and I'm shaking, so close I can barely breathe.
"Come for me," he growls against my flesh. "Come on my face, Claire."
I shatter again, screaming his name, my pussy clenching around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me. He works me through it until I'm trembling, oversensitive, completely wrecked.
When I can finally form words, they spill out breathless and honest: "I want all of you. Not just this—I want you to claim me. Make me your mate for real. Stop holding back and just—"
He freezes.
The hands that were gentle moments ago pull away like I've burned him. When I turn to look at his face, the shutters have slammed down.
"This was a mistake." His voice is flat, dead, nothing like the desperate sounds he was making seconds ago. "It can't happen again."
"Hugh, wait—"
But he's already retreating, disappearing into his bedroom. The door closes with a soft click that sounds like an ending.
I slump against the couch, physically satisfied and emotionally hollow.
The word "mate" broke him. Made him remember all the reasons he's been pushing me away.
I adjust my dress with shaking hands, trying to remember how breathing works.
Welcome to the werewolf romance experience. It's exactly as fun as it sounds.