The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #1)(84)

“Do you want a protein bar?”

She ignores the question, rubbing her temple like I’m not making sense, and then she asks, “What’s your problem with me serving tables?”

“It’s beneath you.”

“But not beneath Mari? Or Annie? Or Kennedy?” She places her palms on my chest, and she shoves once, but when she can’t budge me, she doesn’t try again. Or move her hands. She absently kneads my T-shirt between her fingers. I don’t think she’s even aware of it. She’s intent on her argument. “Is it beneath Noreen to cook?”

“Someone has to cook.”

“But no one has to serve.”

I arch an eyebrow.

She arches one back. “Ever heard of a buffet?”

I grin. “You think we should serve ourselves?”

“Why not?”

Excellent point. I drop to my knees.

“What are you doing?” she squeaks.

She knows. I can scent it when her pussy floods with cream. I hoist her up, bunching her skirt to her waist, settling her legs over my shoulders, massaging and stretching those aching muscles. We can kill two birds with one stone.

She wriggles, but with the door at her back and my head delving between her thighs, she’s pinned.

She’s not trying very hard to get loose. She’s panting, her fingers plunging into my hair. I lower my fangs and rip the crotch of her panties. She moans, pushing her slick folds into my face. I have to quickly close my lips so I don’t nick her with my teeth.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she murmurs as she tugs my hair. I lick her sweet, puffy seam, savoring the explosion of flavor on my tongue. Her thighs squeeze, compressing my ears to my head. I have to readjust so I can hold her open and keep her still. I need to hear her moans.

Before we leave this cabin, go around other males, she needs to know who she belongs to.

She’s gonna say my name. She’s gonna scream it, and I’m gonna walk into the lodge with her cream drying on my face.

“I’m mad at you,” she gasps. “We’re having an argument.”

I spear her wet hole with my tongue, teasing her clit with the finger parting her folds. “That,” she gasps. “There. Right there.”

I go harder, flatten my tongue and lick in between flicks. She bucks as hard as she can, but she’s stuck between the door and my mouth. I suck her clit while I grip her juicy ass, spreading those cheeks, opening everything to me.

Her hips rock harder. I’m straining my jeans, and I want more than anything to slide down my zipper and jam her onto my aching cock, spurt my seed into her until her belly bulges.

It’s beyond desire. It’s necessity. My eyes burn with the effort of holding back, denying myself the soft, sweet, slippery warmth I crave more than air or meat or a wild run under a full moon.

But I can’t. I can’t.

If I take her now, I’ll lose her a minute later. My bond to her is steel. Hers is a tender shoot.

She has to come to me.

I know it in my bones.

So I devour her pussy like a starving man, explore every crease, every crevice. Her thighs quiver, and she pulls my hair as she rides my face.

“This doesn’t solve anything,” she moans.

Like hell. It fixes everything. I adjust my grip, seek out her puckered back hole with my middle finger. I’ve never tried this before. I move slow, giving her plenty of time to clench and shift away. She doesn’t. She sucks in a breath, and I press against the tight ring. She squirms, mewling, panting.

I don’t want to hurt her.

I swirl my tongue around her stiff nub, massaging her wet hole with my thumb, smearing her cream over her plump lips.

She’s about to explode. Her abs are tight, and she’s kicking my back with her heels like she’s spurring me on.

I love her abandon.

She’s not shy now. Not at all. She’s wild for me. Only me. And her heat isn’t riding her. This is all my doing, no assist from nature.

I press further into the tight muscle grasping my finger, try to be gentle and try not to come in my pants as I feel her inside, tight and hot and clenching. She shrieks, “Oh, oh, oh!”

And then she’s jerking, spasming, and she hollers, “Killian!”

I spurt in my jeans, a massive gush, hot and sticky.

She blinks. Her eyes clear. And narrow.

Shit.

I sink immediately to my ass, wrap my arms around her and tuck her to my chest. Now is when she freaks out. Withdraws back behind that serious, reserved, humble expression that I realize more and more is a straight out lie.

Not now. I nibble my bite mark, and she shivers. “You belong to me, shy girl. You know that right?”

She tenses and struggles to put space between us. I’ll let her. In a second. Once my wolf collects himself.

“I’m my own person,” she mumbles into my T-shirt.

“I belong to you. Wolf and man.” She’s got to know, but it can’t hurt to say out loud. Females need words. Even I know that.

“So you say now.” She heaves at my pecs, and I let her get away. She lands on her butt, legs sprawled. “Maybe I don’t want you.”

I arch an eyebrow. Her thighs are chafed red from my five o’clock shadow. She huffs at me and tugs her skirt back down.

I don’t let myself crack a smile. Instead, I give her a wink, hop to my feet, and go wash my hands in the kitchen.