The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #1)(76)

I drag my sensitive nipples down his front, and it feels so good. Why do I want to torment him? He has what I want, and he needs to give it to me.

I need to take it.

I explore with my fingertips, my nails. The ridges of his abs. The valley below his hip bones. The hard, flat place above his cock bobbing in the air. Every muscle on his body is taut and straining.

“If I do this when you’re—when you’re not in your right mind, you’ll hate me.” He’s panting.

“I already hate you.” I don’t remember why, but it’s true, although less true than it was even minutes ago. Past wrongs don’t matter. He’s big and fierce. He can protect our young. And he can make me feel good, and that’s what I need.

Everything else is inconsequential.

I wrap my fingers around his throbbing cock. He hisses, abs clenching. I stroke down, let the velvet heat warm my palms. There’s a drop of seed at the tip. I catch it with the fleshy base of my thumb, and then I lift it to my mouth and lick my hand clean.

Killian breaks, tossing me onto my nest, lunging after.

I laugh in victory.

My nest is soft and welcoming. I wiggle to get comfortable. My mate kneels between my legs, hovering over me, fangs extended. His eyes blaze blue and gold.

Is he going to bite me again? I touch the still tender marks on my neck and smile. I want that. He growls, and it doesn’t stop, it rolls on and on like a distant engine, stoking the gentle spasms beginning in my core.

“Who do you belong to?” he snarls.

My lips curl higher. “My mate.”

He grumbles, seizing my wrists and pinning them beside my head. My breasts graze his chest again, my nipples impossibly hard now and unbearably sensitive. Every glancing touch feeds a current surging to my aching pussy, priming it, readying it for his knot. I lift my torso, hunting more sensation, and he snaps, pressing me down to the mattress with his weight.

“Who do you belong to?” he says again, this time so close to my ear his incisor nicks my earlobe.

“My mate,” I moan.

He pushes up on his arms, scowling. He doesn’t like my answer.

“Who?” It has the resonance of an alpha command, but I can’t tell him. His wolf has no name. And the question doesn’t quite make sense. There’s something we’ve forgotten.

He’s not doing this right. I struggle under his weight, nipping at the flesh of his bicep and wriggling my hips until he lets me up. He sits back on his heels. Frustration pours from him.

He runs a hand through his hair. “What do I do to make this right?”

My cheeks are damp. It’s not sweat. It’s tears. I’m frustrated, too. I need, and he’s supposed to do.

“Why do you ask me?” I sob. “I don’t know.”

It’s too much. The air’s too heavy. All the good feelings are twisting and turning and slipping away, and my head is full of wool.

I flop back and close my eyes. Why is this so hard? It always has been, from the second I knew he was mine, but I know deep down it’s not supposed to be.

I plunge my fingers between my legs, finding my slick passage and the swollen nub that begs for attention. It’s not what I want, but what else can I do? There’s no relief from this male, only the stoking of a fire that somehow makes me hungrier, thirstier, and angry. So angry.

“Okay. Okay.” Killian’s talking to himself. I have no patience left for him.

And then his rough fingers slip through my folds, sending a shock of pristine pleasure through my belly. My channel squeezes on air. My clit throbs.

His hand covers mine, and for a while, he leaves it there, adding to the pressure as I touch myself the right way, stirring the breaking storm closer and closer, coiling it into a whirl of delicious shivers and cascades of molten delight.

Nothing has ever felt this good.

He gazes into my eyes, nervous and full of wonder, and the severe slash of his lips are curved because he sees that I need him—that I want him.

We breathe each other’s air, eyes locked, together. Finally.

I’m almost there when his hand bats mine away. Now, he’s the one teasing, circling, easing the terrible gnawing need inside me. His other hand cups my breast reverently, and he raises the nipple into his searing wet mouth.

“You can let go, baby. You can trust me.”

And he suckles my tit at the same moment he slips a thick finger inside me, all the way to the knuckle. I groan, bucking, chasing the feeling. He slides in and out, testing speed and angle, and it’s not quite right. There’s something missing.

I growl and cant my hips, and then it’s perfect, his finger crooked just enough to graze the sensitive patch in my channel wall that makes me bear down and tumble quicker and quicker toward ecstasy.

“Is that the spot, then?” he mumbles, smirking.

I spread my arms wide, hiking my knees so he can nestle his hips between them. I’m ready.

He pushes up on one arm to gaze down into my face, never stopping the rhythm that’s turning my thighs to jelly.

He kisses my nose. I wrinkle it.

I want his cock. I want him to fill me up.

He brushes his lips across my cheek.

“You are so beautiful like this,” he whispers in my ear.

I’m on the edge. I’m going to tip over any second. I can’t take the circles anymore. I grab his tormenting hand and hold it in place while I grind my clit against the heel of his palm, taking what I need, what I can’t wait for a moment longer.