Sarah
“Get out!”
Sydney shakes his head, taking another step, which means I’m either going to hit the door, or move out of his way, forced further into the sterile, brightly lit hotel bathroom.
“You look ridiculous,” I spit, snarling the words. In my defense, he does. He’s wearing a white, fluffy robe that hits him mid-thigh and not much else from what I can tell.
I’m wearing the same kind of robe.
One would think that would diffuse things a bit, but no.
I’m in pain, and the look he’s giving me right now is dizzying. Sydney looks like an Alpha, not the kind, slightly nerdy man I’ve grown to know and like.
His canine teeth are slightly pointed and his eyes… fuck. They glow.
“Are you about to fucking shift?” I dart away, my back hitting the glass exterior wall of the shower.
He grabs my robe and yanks me toward him. I shove him back, my hands slipping beneath his robe and meeting firm, tight muscles.
He’s so warm. Feverishly hot. Touching him is unraveling the wall I’ve put up between us.
I make the mistake of looking up into his eyes, and it’s my undoing.
Concern lingers in those wells of stormy blue. Raw, unfiltered worry.
“I’m fine,” I try to say, but the words wobble off my tongue at the very moment tears of pain well in my eyes.
My breasts are so swollen and aching to be touched, but I didn’t think in this way….
Still, when he raises a hand and slides it between the folds of my robe, I don’t flinch away. My eyes flutter closed, and I find myself suddenly leaning against the shower door as his large, warm hand closes around my right breast.
“Take off your robe and get in the shower,” he commands in a low, calm voice.
“You don’t have to–”
“Please,” he says steadily, and I open my eyes, locking my gaze with his.
He’ll see me totally naked if I do what he says. A shiver of self-consciousness ripples over my skin, turning his warm touch to ice, so I decide to stay frozen.
“I’ll be fine,” I try to say, but he shakes his head.
“It’ll get worse, and then you could get something called mastitis which will require you to go to a clinic–”
I blink, eying him skeptically. “How do you know all of this?”
“Cosette bought baby books.”
“You read those?” I gape up at him. I’ve been reading them every night–but Sydney?
“Yeah, I did.” He slowly massages my breast until I feel all tingling and can barely catch my breath. “You need to relax and work this out. A hot shower will help.” He retreats, and the absence of his touch spreads through my body like an icy wave.
“Wait.” I grab his wrist.
I’m losing it because I’m drawing him back to me, desperate for his touch again, for anything from him.
His hand lays flat against my chest, his thumb tracing a line down the center of my throat. My eyes close to slits, and in the dim haze of my vision I can see him watching my face, watching the way my lips part as his hand drifts lower to cup my other breast.
More tingles erupt through my breasts and my milk finally lets down in a rush that instantly eases the ache that’s been plaguing me since we got into his truck to leave the party.
Maybe I’m imagining it. I have to be because Sydney is resting his arm against the glass wall over my head and leaning down as he continues to work the pain from my body with just his touch.
His lips brush over my hairline, then across my temple, and I feel my body betraying every single thought in my head that screams “NO!” when it comes to Sydney. I wrap my arms around his neck, closing my eyes as I bury my face in the crook of his neck and breathe in that heavy, wooded scent that turns my body molten.
Mine.
I shove the thought away before it can get me into any more trouble than I am now.
“Better?” he whispers into my hair. His voice is low and full of smoke, raspier than usual. Needier and heavy with desire.
I want to tell him not to stop. To keep touching me. To touch me lower. Much lower. But that ache between my thighs sends warning bells ricocheting through my skull.
Sydney pulls his hand from the folds of my robe and reaches into the shower, turning the water on full blast.
“Take a shower,” he commands breathlessly then tears himself away.
I watch him, paralyzed and breathless, as he shrugs out of his robe and hangs it on a hook by the door.
In nothing but his boxers, I can see every taut muscle and scar.
More scars than I thought he’d have and they’re… awful.
He’s gone before I can say anything, and steam fills the bathroom to the point where I can’t see my shocked expression in the mirror anymore.
I slip into the shower, dropping my milk soaked robe on the floor and let the hot water run all over me.
When I step out again, towel dried and wearing the robe Sydney left behind, I’m wondering if we can walk away from what just happened.
And if I wantto walk away from it.
I gather myself before stepping into the main room, which is nothing more than a snug space with a bed, a desk and chair, and a TV that Sydney’s watching while flipping through every channel. He lands on the weather channel, where a man dressed in a khaki suit is talking about the storm funneling over Crescent City and the outlying pack territories, telling everyone tonight would be a good time to shift if traveling outside.
I grab a pillow off the bed and an extra blanket off the desk.
“What are you doing?” he asks, straightening up a bit.
I can’t even look at him right now. He’s beautiful. Strong and fit. But those scars on his legs and ankles have my head spinning and throat closing up.
“Going to bed.” I debate dropping the pillow on the floor and curling up in a ball, but the carpet is probably not very clean.
“You’re not sleeping on the floor.”
“Well, you’re obviously in the bed, Alpha.”
“Don’t pull rank with me, Sarah. We’re adults. We can sleep in the same bed.”
I grip the pillow and lift my eyes to meet his. It’s warm in here. Too warm. I feel too hot in my robe as I lay the pillow back down and slide into bed beside him, curling my knees into my belly as he remains seated, the reflection of the TV shining in his eyes as he shuts off the bedside lamp.
I watch for a few minutes then glance down at his bare legs again.
“Do you want to know how I got them?”
My heart rate ticks up, but I silently nod, curling deep into the blankets.
“I went to Eastonia this summer. Moonrise, their capital, was attacked. I was there. I remained as the emissary for my father’s kingdom for a few weeks while my aunt was….” He rolls his lower lip between his teeth. “Well, she was off doing something she shouldn’t have done, while I aided my uncle's forces.”
The wind begins to howl outside, blowing snow against the window. The power flickers, then shuts off completely, sending the room in unnerving silence.
Sydney sighs and gets out of bed, nothing more than a shadow in the near total darkness as he goes to the window and pulls the curtains closed, muffling some of the noise. “My cousin, Kenna, and her mate Evander had their daughter stolen from them by Gabriel’s coven. I went with them to find her, and we were attacked. Kenna got away, but Evander and I let ourselves get captured in hopes they’d bring us to where Brie was, and we were right, but it came at a cost.”
He walks back over to the bed, shaking out the blanket I’d grabbed earlier and laying it over me before sliding in again. I close my eyes against the visions filling my mind.
His voice is much closer, like he’s facing me, as he says, “They tortured us, bound us in silver manacles and chains. I made the mistake of trying to shift, and it nearly tore my legs apart. My powers–those special gifts–were nothing compared to something as simple as silver.”
I find it hard to breathe, and the temperature in the room starts to steadily drop, sending a chill through the air.
“But you survived.”
“I did.”
“Did you find your cousin’s baby?”
“Yes. Everyone made it home.” I should have been satisfied by this ending, but his voice is so low and pained that it makes every muscle in my body tense.
He’d told me earlier that he wouldn’t be finding his mate because of the dangers involved.
I have a feeling something happened that day–to his cousin and her mate–that caused him to decide that.
“You’re shivering,” he whispers.
I’m not sure if I’m cold or if it’s just his story that’s sending chills licking up and down my spine, but when he reaches for me, I don’t draw away. He rolls me over so I’m facing away from him and pulls me in so my back is flush with his chest.
His warmth penetrates every sense, but instead of drifting off to sleep in his comforting, heavy embrace, my body is thrumming, and that ache between my legs reignites.
Even the rise and fall of his chest is enough to send my body into a spiral of desire and absolute, unending want.
His arm is locked around my waist, clutching me to him. My ass is firmly seated against his groin, and I know, if I move just a little bit, there will be nothing between us but my robe and his boxers.
Desperation clouds my senses. The need to be touched, to be wanted, courses through me like my own blood in my veins to the point I can’t catch my breath.
Wetness pools between my thighs, warm and damning.
I want him.
I need him.
He can sense my arousal. I know he can. He’s a wolf, after all.
“Sarah,” he rasps, dipping his head to brush my name into my hair.
My traitorous body melts into his voice and his touch as he tightens his grip on me, his hand roping around my throat to hold me still.
He nudges the collar of the robe away and grazes his teeth down the side of my neck, drawing out a moan from my lips.
But then he stops, panting a breath, and I go still as stone.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into the darkness.
“Don’t say that to me,” he replies, but I know he’s thinking what I’m thinking. I can feel his heart thundering, sending a sharp vibration into my spine.
We’re on a precipice right now, and we both know it. I want this. He wants this. But that voice in my head–that rational voice in my head–reminds me why I can’t.
Why I shouldn’tbe here, with him, in the first place.
He’s thinking of the pact he made with himself, the promise that destined him to a life alone.
It’s unfair, really, this hand we’ve been dealt.
I slowly, timidly, roll over to face him.
Nose to nose in the pitch black, I’m thankful I can’t see his face because, for a moment, I can just imagine that this is a dream, and I’m not actually allowing him to stake claim to a piece of my heart.
His hand fumbles for me, finding my cheek. I lay my hand over his, and we lie there in silence, nothing but the beating of our hearts and the roaring wind to fill the air between us.
But I feel him edge closer, shifting an inch or so, and then stop.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks. It’s light, innocent. A simple yes or no question with ramifications that could undo both of us in a matter of seconds.
It’s all we can have, I realize with heartbreaking clarity. A meaningless act to break apart some of the loneliness we both suffer from.
“Yes,” I breathe, and his lips brush mine so tenderly tears prick along my lashes.
He pulls me closer, deepening the kiss, grazing his tongue along my lower lip until I open for him.
He tastes like mint mingled with everything delicious and off-limits, and the kiss awakens something long buried in my soul that I struggle to banish.
Neither of us want to stop, but we have to.
And maybe it’s for the best.
I’ve never been able to have anything for myself before Blake.
Why would that change now?