Mate - 35

This is it, then. What he was born for.

I WAKE UP WHEN IT’S STILL DARK, FEELING LIKE AN ABOMINATION.

My skin itches, too tight for my body. I arch against the mattress and press a palm to my abdomen: something hot and angry is pulsating inside me, and if I let it rip me apart, maybe it’ll stop clawing at my insides. I’m sticky. Covered in sweat, strands of hair glued to my throat. My inner thighs are so wet, I refuse to think about it.

This cannot be normal, even for a Heat. It must be my ever fucked- up biology. Layla— I need to call her. Maybe she has something for the pain.

Are you really going to do that in the middle of the night? Wake up a woman with a small child who may very well be teething, just because you have a boo-boo? Are you that self-centered?

A whole-body cramp splits me in two, and— Yes, I fucking am .

Layla’s number is on the desk across the hallway. I can get there. I can hike the Rocky Mountains. I can swim to outer space. I may even be able to do all that and keep quiet enough to let Koen sleep. He’s wrapped around me, chest to my back, and I gently slither under the arm he draped around my hips. I pause when his grip tightens on me, but it’s a reflex, and a moment later I’m free.

Sitting up sucks the air out of me. My head swims, so I take a well-deserved break and beg my racing heart to slow down, giving myself a little pep talk. You are able to breathe, Serena . Have been for years. If your life had a performance review, it would not be marked as an area of improvement.

Then I hear, “Serena.”

Shit. Woke Koen up.

“Just going to the bathroom,” I lie. It comes out slurred, a chain-reaction crash of vowels and soft consonants, so I add, “Go back to sleep,” making an effort to enunciate better.

“Are you okay?”

His voice rolls over my skin. Makes the thing pulsating inside me purr sweetly. For a second, it almost feels nice. “Yup. Don’t worry.” It’s a bad idea, trying to answer him and to stand at the same time. I’m in no condition for simultaneous activities: all it gets me is jelly knees and more pounding in my head. I remember, once upon a time, being able to walk and chew gum. Ah, past glories.

“Serena.” Rustling behind me. The mattress dips as weight is redistributed. Koen, always one to show me up, gets into a sitting position with ease. His hand closes around my upper arm to pull me back into him, and his touch, the sheer ecstasy of it, it hurts. My entire body clenches. “What . . .”

He goes unnaturally still. So quiet, I wonder whether he’s feeling poorly, too. I turn to scan his face in the semidarkness, and after a long pause I hear him say, “ Fuck .”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I didn’t mean to— ”

Make a mess of the bed.

Make a mess of you.

Get this grossly sick.

Lose my mind.

“I’m going— I’ll shower and call Layla and figure this out and— ”

“Serena, come here.” He scoops me back into him, shushing me with his lips against my temple.

I’m on the verge of tears, and I’m not sure why. “Maybe you could help me to the bathroom— ”

“Hush, killer. I got you.”

He holds me. I’m tacky and gross and don’t want to lean on him, but every inch of contact is pure heaven. “Koen?”

“Relax.”

“I’m really not feeling well.”

“I know.” His nose nuzzles behind my ear. My heart could explode with joy. “You’ll be okay. I’ll make you okay.”

“I need to call Layla— ”

“Sweetheart.”

“It’s just that I need— ”

“You need to do what I tell you.” His tone is gentle and firm all at once, commanding in the exact way I need. It quells my anxiety. Loosens my restlessness. Koen’s scent is so pleased, my body blooms in his arms. “See, killer? We can fix this.” He licks across the gland on my neck, and I slump against him. It’s bliss. “You don’t need to call Layla. And you definitely don’t need to stay away. You know what you need?”

I shake my head. His cool lips press against my heated, blotchy cheek.

“You need to be fucked, Serena.”

Oh . It makes so much sense, I can finally compute the last few minutes. Of course. I’m about to go into Heat. Everything I need is here, in this bed. How did I not realize this sooner? “ I . . . I forgot?”

“I don’t think Heats are when people are at their most lucid.” His laughter rumbles softly against my throat.

“So I just need to . . . ?”

“Be fucked, yes. I’ll be taking care of that. Okay?”

“Please.” I nod, desperate, all brainstem. This is all I want. I’m hollow, and he’s going to fill me to the brim. The prospect scorches me blank. My vision whites out.

I’m also . . . The idea of water sloshing over my body makes me want to gouge my eyes out, but: “Can I . . . shower?”

Koen inhales deeply. Rolls us over until he’s hovering above me, murmuring something about how “fucking unbelievable” I smell. Nips at my jaw, teeth just a little too tight, just this side of dangerous. He could hurt me, but he would never.

“Wait. Before we . . . I’m going to shower.”

Koen props himself up on his palms to stare down at me, mystified. “What?”

You’re annoying your mate , a pick- me voice whispers in my ear. In your nest, no less. What is wrong with you? I shrug it away, and say again, “You’d like it better if I washed up.”

A silent snort. “I very much would not.”

I have no idea how to explain what’s happening to me and keep my dignity. “It’s just, I’m sweaty and kind of disgusting, and also . . . You could say that I’m eager, but it doesn’t really convey the depth of my . . .” I shut my eyes tight, mortified. Feel a single, shameful tear slip out of one corner.

“Serena, do you want to shower?” He sounds befuddled. “Or are you asking because you think I find your body disgusting?”

“The . . . latter.”

Koen exhales. Indignant, maybe. “Open your eyes,” he orders.

I can’t. Don’t want to. But realize that’s not an option when he shoves my top up, licks one of my nipples, then bites into it hard enough for my back to wind high.

“Serena, open your damn eyes.”

I do. For a long moment we regard each other. Then he explains, tone level, “The reason you are so wet is that your body has been preparing for what is about to happen. Believe me, you will need all the slick you can spare.”

Slick. “I feel like I smell . . .”

“Fuckable. You smell ready . You smell transcendent and filthy and delicious. You smell like you’re this close to losing your mind, like you might hurt me if I don’t take care of you, and you know what that does to me, knowing that my mate needs me? You understand what this is for, right? What Heats are for?”

I nod but squirm underneath him. I might be lying.

“You always smell like you were made specifically for me. To fuck. To be around. To worship. But right now, you smell like you’d give me anything I asked for. If that’s the scent you’re planning to wash off . . . don’t do it on my account.” He bends to suck on my neck gland, then lets go with a lurid, popping sound.

I shudder. Watch him take off his shirt. Gaze never leaving mine, he spreads my legs open with his knees. When he stares down at me like that , I feel like I could . . .

He inhales deeply and closes his eyes. Like he needs a minute. “Fuck.”

I watch him stroke himself through the fabric of his sweatpants. I’ve been around Koen a lot in the past week, and I’m not so unobservant to have missed his erections, but the ridge of his cock always gives me pause. He is . . . large. Perfect. Already leaking through his clothes.

I want to touch him. I want to do everything with him. Anything he asks for, he can have.

“Is this what worries you?” he asks. “That you’re too wet?”

I nod. Cannot bring myself to say anything.

“You really have no idea, do you?”

A moment later, his face is in my cunt. His eyes drift shut as he laps, sucks, presses kisses against it. I can’t tell whether he’s doing this for me or for himself, but I arch in a surge of pleasure and tremble, gasp, beg for more. He pulls at my clit, strokes every fold with his tongue, and bites my inner thigh. The noises he makes are fearsome. Animal. They should make me flinch, but . . .

“Please,” I keen. Fist my hands in his hair. Grind his face against my mouth. But my ass is in his hands and he controls my every movement. “Please.”

“Wanted to wash this off, huh?” he growls against me.

“I— Yes.”

“Good. Just helping you out, killer.”

I nod, breathless, and fist the sheets as he eats me— wolflike, with teeth, feral, the rough flat of his tongue scraping against me over and over, teasing the fluttering rim of my hole until I’m puffy and pink and taut, a violin string begging to be snapped. I chase the end of it, press my heels into the meat of his shoulders, feel the pressure balloon inside me, building up and up and . . . “Why can’t I— ” I writhe, desperate, frustrated. He is ruining me. I feel the slide of his thumb through my slit, the broad first joint slowly pressing into my entrance.

“Tight,” he mutters. But he pushes it deeper, then hooks it just a little, and the pleasure crests so high, I know I’m there. I should be there.

Why can’t I? “Koen,” I whimper.

“I know. I know.” He drinks more of me. I’m trembling, right on a cliff. “You can’t come from this, killer. Not when you are so close to Heat.”

“Then why are you— Please, I need you to— ”

One last bite, strong enough to quiet me down. A warning. Be obedient . “You just want to be fucked, don’t you?”

Yes. Please.

“We’ll see about that.” His tone is ominous, but I exhale in relief as he pushes down his pants. He lowers himself on top of me, and his scent is breathtaking . But when I look down at the space between us, I see him nudging my opening with the blunt head of his cock, and . . .

My breath hitches.

“This is why,” he says, stroking himself.

He’s faintly terrifying. He pushes against me, but instead of slipping inside, he goes nowhere. I cant my hips to help, but nothing happens. A mewling sound rolls out of me. “Is it— ” Normal? Am I fucking this up?

“It’s not you,” he reassures, leaning on his side, along my body. “Never been easy.” He braces himself on his forearm. “I hoped it would help, that you’re almost in Heat, but . . .” His hand spreads against my belly and slides down. He sinks a single finger inside me, and it’s so much bigger than one of mine. When his progress stops, he gently works me open. Licks my gland, a broad swipe on my neck, and maybe half an inch gives. A single step on the staircase to Machu Picchu.

“It hurts,” I sigh.

“Does it?” He kisses my cheek. “Are you too full? Or too empty?”

“I want more.” I try to take it, too, thrusting my pelvis upward. Koen stops me so easily, it’s embarrassing.

“Hey,” he says, soothing. “I want to fuck you really, really bad. You know that, right?”

I nod.

“Good. I can’t rush this, killer, because if you become sore or hurt or God fucking forbid, torn, you’re not going to get a couple of days to recover. Once your Heat starts in earnest, you’re going to want me inside you, whether it’s painful or not. So I’m going to move slowly. And I need you to do what I say. Okay?”

Another, more subdued nod. A “My good girl” brushed against my jaw helps his finger sink deep enough that he can slowly, relentlessly work another one inside, tucked next to the first. I clench around him hard enough to make him grunt. The stretch burns so nicely, I cannot help but squirm. My fingernails dig into his arm, his wrist, searching for purchase, a counterpoint. My hips won’t stay still, my entire body twitches, I still need more , but I’m being good. I’m doing what he says.

“Yeah, you are.” His laugh is rough and shaky. Another loving, soft kiss, this time on the corner of my mouth. “You were born for this. A little more, huh?” Reality fuzzes over. Sweat drips from his body onto mine. I shake head to toe, contracting around fingers that are too thick and not thick enough. I’m on the edge, and the finish line keeps moving farther and farther, and—

“Can’t come like this, either, sweetheart? It’s okay, almost there. Take them a little deeper, and we can try again.” A few low encouragements— yes , good , look at you , just a little more — and then he’s on top of me again, biting my lower lip as he eases inside. This time, the first couple of inches slip right in.

“Yes,” I say, drawing up the knee he’s not pinning to the mattress. “Yes, yes, yes .”

He winces and smiles at the same time, and there is something youthful about it, something that looks fresh on Koen’s face. “See, we’re getting there.” Teeth close around my earlobe. “You just need to be patient. Don’t you?”

Yes.

“I thought so.” He wraps his hand around my throat, thumb and index finger on either side of my jaw. He doesn’t press, but it’s a warning, a reminder of who’s in charge. I wonder what’s wrong with me, that I experience so much gratitude for it, tears stream down my face.

We are not Human.

We really aren’t. I am not. I’ve never felt it so much as right now, with Koen licking the tears off my temple. “Quiet,” he whispers against my ear. “Don’t make me come too soon. Let me get you used to it.”

I still my lower body, obedient. Or not. When I tip my head to the side and scrape my teeth around the gland on his throat—

“Fucking hell.” His control vanishes. Our eyes meet. His hold on my neck moves upward, fingers splayed open, pressing on my chin. Index and middle dip in my mouth, slide over my tongue, the grip tight enough to stop me from moving my head again. Then his cock drives deeper inside me, sustained, unrelenting, long and fat and far too much. I beg for more of it around his fingers, even as every sinking inch has me pushing my palms against his shoulders to shove him away. My heels twist against the sheets. I try to make room that doesn’t exist.

“Breathe,” he tells me. “Just breathe, Serena.”

I’m trying , I can’t bring myself to say. I want everything. Nothing. No— everything. I babble things that make no sense, clawing into the muscles of his upper arms, holding on to the large expanse of his upper back until the sweat makes my palms slip. All throughout, Koen does exactly what I need. We’re past words and gestures. Past the ability to lie. We’re Weres, and we communicate through scents.

He understands what I want: to be broken in. “It’s okay, Serena. Almost all in. Easy.” A little more. A little more. There’s no room, but he’ll make it. One tweak of my nipple, one kiss to my gland, one flick on my clit at a time.

“I think I like this,” he says, strained. Hazy eyed.

“You t- think?” The words muffle against his fingers. My internal muscles are overextended. “T- that’s flattering.”

His laughter is a choked huff. “I meant— having you this way. Exposed. Pinned.” His hand slips to cup my head. He kisses my lips, gentle. “In a matter of days, you’re going to leave, and I’ll spend the rest of my life as your fucking servant. Whatever you ask me for, you’ll have. But here you are. Defenseless. Mine for a short time.”

He almost pulls out. Pushes in again. My moan meets the air rushing out of him. He repeats the same motion, wild eyed, lips curving in a dumbfounded, incredulous smile. I feel him rearranging my cunt, my soul, my entire damn life, and lose control of my body. My head falls back. My thighs tremble. His thrusts are slow. Shallow. Redefining.

“’S good,” I say, meaning that it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life, bar none.

“It’s good,” he agrees, looking like he means the exact same thing.

Another stroke. Another one, slow, like he wants to make each last as long as possible. He luxuriates. Indulges in every second of friction. “Serena,” he breathes out against my cheekbone. “I think this might be it, for me.”

His arms slide under my back before I can ask him what he means. Gather me up in a viselike embrace. The drag of our skins. Wet noises. A terrible, all-consuming heat. His eyes, never leaving mine. It all whirls together and winds down to the place where Koen is fucking me.

“I’m going to come,” I gasp, and convulse around him before I’m even done announcing it, pawing desperately at his shoulder. He stays still while I do, waits it out crammed inside, pressing against all those spots.

When I’m done, he kisses my cheek, tells me how beautiful I am, and orders, ruthless, “Again.”

I want to laugh at him, but he makes me come in less than a minute with slow rolls of his hips and watches every second of me falling apart.

“Serena,” he says, except there’s no sound other than the whimpers in my throat. “Again.”

“I can’t,” I tell him, but I’m so wrong, and his pace is measured, a patient, unforgiving rhythm, and this time my release is so intense, I forget to breathe.

“Absurd,” he says, and I know he’s going to ask me for more. It occurs to me how terrifying it must be, for an Alpha whose existence is predicated upon control, the unraveling that comes with pleasure like this. I wonder if he knows. I wonder if anyone has seen him this vulnerable in the past two decades.

I reach up to cradle his face in my hands. Kiss his hot lips. Say, “Koen. Next time, I’d like for you to come, too.”

He can’t say no to me. The steady, controlled movements become frantic, pounding, the thick of his cock filling me over and over, words of adoration and filth murmured in my ear. Another orgasm crashes into me. His cock gets even bigger and fuller, and—

My breath catches in my throat. “What— Koen?”

He kisses me, deep. Lovely. He’s not really moving anymore, just grinding inside me, trying to find a perfect spot, and the feeling of fullness becomes unbearable. I feel a tinge of alarm. Stop , I should say. Stop. It’s not normal. It’s too much. But it’s not. And Koen knows it.

“Take it.” He shoves deeper. “Be good and take my knot.”

“I— I don’t— ”

“You do . You were made for it. How could I ever think of fucking anyone else, when you take it so well?”

His cock starts jerking, and he holds me tighter, groaning against my gland something about his “perfect mate” and her “perfect, tight cunt” that almost sounds like poetry, and his orgasm lasts for . . . for minutes, I think. “That’s it,” he grits out. “That’s where my come goes.”

It’s perfect. I comb a hand through his hair and wrap my arms around him, feeling his heavy breaths reverberate through me, the sounds of his pleasure. Being filled up, witnessing him let go, it’s all so good, another orgasm crashes into me, so violent that everything goes blurry around the edges.

I stay there, spasming, holding tight, for a long time.

So long, I startle when he says, “I’m crushing you.” He rolls me on top of him, my breasts flattened against his ribs, and he’s still inside, still as hard as when we started. In fact . . .

I squirm. Shimmy my hips. Tug at whatever is happening down there, whatever is making it so that we can’t quite separate yet. It’s like he’s lodged inside me. Locked.

I test the connection, finding that it holds strong. The rational part of me says that I should be panicking, but my hindbrain is in charge at the moment, and it’s profoundly okay with what’s going on.

Instincts , Layla said. And one of them is to squeeze my internal muscles to make sure that there is no give.

“Fuck,” Koen swears, and he’s coming again, a short burst that has him driving his hips up into me, and he mumbles into me that “there’s no need,” that he’s “already fucking gone” over me, that I’m “so good,” it’s going to “destroy” him. So I do it again, just to watch the way the pleasure transforms his face, the tendons of his strong neck in relief as he arches back, his muscles tensing and releasing.

And once more, because he’s losing his mind , and I love it.

I could continue. Instead, I ask, “Koen?”

He’s too out of breath to reply, but he presses a kiss of acknowledgment against the crown of my hair.

“Please, don’t take this as a complaint.”

His hand was tracing my spine, but stops. “Did I hurt you?”

“Nothing like that. But I think I’m going to need a Were anatomy lesson before we . . . Actually, I think I’m gonna need it right now.”

His chin dips. He studies me to figure out whether I’m joking.

“Well,” he says at last. “Fuck.”