She wanted him. Ached for him. The way he ached for her.
His thumb flicked her tight nub once, twice, eliciting the sweetest moan from her lips. He slid one finger inside of her, soaking in her every reaction. The feel of her clamping down on his finger, the shudder in her thighs, the glazed passion in her eyes. She gripped his arm, holding his hand between her legs, and stared up at him, panting.
“Dammit,” he ground out.
One tug tore her panties free. His hands slid the fabric of her dress up, revealing her abdomen and the prize between her legs. Scars crisscrossed every inch of her. Faint, flat, white, so many. Where had he been when this happened to her? Why hadn’t he been there, to protect her? He’d kill Cyrus for this—no matter what. Ownership rose up.
She was his now. And no one would ever lay a hand on her again.
Ever.
His hand stroked across her stomach and up her side. Sensation was all that mattered. And pleasure. Her pleasure. Whatever her past, her future was his. He’d make damn sure he’d put her first. Starting now.
He kissed along the blade of her hip, ran his nose along the crease of her thigh, and replaced his thumb with his tongue. Honey on his tongue, wet and ready for him. Teeth and lips and mouth, he worshipped her until her hands fisted in his hair and her cry echoed off the walls of his hotel room.
He stood, staring down at the image she made.
Dress tossed around her waist, naked and exposed, and sexy as hell. He traced a hand along her abdomen, gratified by the shudder his touch caused.
She rolled over, reaching up for the tab of her zipper.
He bent, pressing openmouthed kisses to her bare back as he slowly pulled her zipper down. His hands stroked the swell of her ass, the muscles of her thighs. Lips, then tongue, traced the valley between her shoulders and nuzzled the nape of her neck. The taste of sweat, salt, and Ellen had his dick pulsing against the seam of his pants.
She turned, reaching back to grip his neck. He freed her bra strap, his hands cupping her breasts from behind.
“Fuck.” He growled, the feel of her in his hands too much. He bit her shoulder, pressing his straining erection against the curve of her soft ass. She was naked. His pants were definitely in the way. But letting go of her held no appeal.
She rolled over and pushed him back onto the bed. His pants were gone in a matter of minutes. And Ellen was smiling down at him. She put his hands on her breasts, rolling the tips between her own fingers until he was groaning.
Her hand encircled his aching erection, her fingers tracing the length of him, pulling a broken moan from his chest. Every stroke had him stiffening, arching into her hand. And when her lips sucked the head of his throbbing dick into the heat of her mouth, Hollis roared. She smiled up at him, her hands and mouth leading him too close to his own release.
“Ellen,” he whispered, reaching for her.
She straddled him, her fingers offering one last stroke before she slid, ever so slowly, onto his rock-hard dick.
His hands tightened on her, kneading the soft skin of her breasts as he was enveloped deep inside of her. So tight, so hot, gloving him to the root.
She stilled then, balancing herself with one hand on his chest. She moaned, then whispered his name, broken and frantic and desperate.
He stroked the hair from her face so he could watch her. To see everything.
Their gazes locked, her breath hitched, and a powerful shudder racked her body—and his.
“Ellen,” he whispered, pressing his hand against her cheek.
She rocked gently, her eyes closing when he was buried deep.
The words tore from him before he knew what he was saying. “Say it.” He growled, his fingers biting into her hips.
She stared down at him, her eyes blazing into his. “I’m yours.” Her nails scoured along his chest. “And you are mine.”
He thrust up, his hands holding her tightly against him. He loved the groan she made, loved the way she arched forward so he could suck her nipple into his mouth, loved the way her body tightened around him—hungry for him.
Mine. He didn’t say it, but she knew.
She moved then, thrusting slowly, deeply, seating herself on him again and again.
His hands slid along her sides, cupping her breasts, working her nipples, before gripping her hips once more. He was driven, grinding her against him, binding her close—them close. He wanted her to fall apart, to scream his name. He needed it, now. He reached between them, one finger stroking and working her over until she cried out. Rough and raw, her nails bit into his chest and sent his release crashing into him. He came hard, powering into her, arching stiffly until the spasms began to fade.
She fell to his side, gasping.
He pulled her against him, the newness of their connection demanding no space between them. She didn’t argue. Her head rested on his chest, her fingers stroking along his collarbone as she lay, soft and pliant, against him. He lay still, his heart thundering and his mind spinning.
This was not what he’d expected. The hunger was stronger now. So was the connection. He knew, without doubt, that she was irrevocably tied to him now. It was undeniable. And disconcerting as hell.
Focus. Calm. The beat of his heart echoed hers.
Their breathing synced.
The air grew charged—almost kinetic.
Her hand ran over his chest, her nails toying with the sparse hair that covered his chest and raking his nipple.
His hand captured hers, instantly hard by her touch.
Those bewitching eyes of hers met his, on fire—for him. How could she do that? Turn him on with a look.
He lifted his head and kissed her, hoping to shut down his brain before the reality of what had happened sank in. There was no going back. For either of them. Overthinking it, rationalizing it, arguing about it, wouldn’t change a thing. There was no denying it.
This proud, warrior woman was now his mate. For all time. A tidal wave of thoughts, emotions, and feelings crashed into him, but one thing stood out: for the first time—maybe ever—he felt whole.
And strong.
The look on her face made him fearless in a way he’d never known. Fearless. Strong. Predatory. She did that to him. Her wolf did that to him. Whatever shit came their way—they’d handle it. Together.
With a sigh, she melted against him, resting her head on his chest and threading her fingers with his. He closed his eyes, savoring the touch—this new, fragile intimacy.
Images began to seep in, the sort of images that threatened the newfound warmth he’d found in her arms. Vibrant and sharp, snippets of conversations, scents, and sensations.
The bond was sealed in several ways. Mating—something they’d repeat shortly. Sharing memories—life changing, important—those that formed who they were and shaped their wolves. Finally, a shared mark. Ellen was a born wolf, she had no origination bite. The twinge of regret that stirred was quickly snuffed out when he realized she would bear his. One more scar. One more wound. His fault this time. Would she mind?
The room, the bed, and the world around them faded and he was living her memories. The more he saw, the closer he came to falling apart. He’d understood the concept, but this—the reality of what that meant—fuck no. His heart was ripped open. There was no way to stop it, to buffer the brutality or make it easier to bear. There were no words to express the grief and suffering.
She had a baby. A daughter. Ellen’s whole world. Isabel. He felt her in his arms, knew her scent, and fought to keep her from Byron. He couldn’t of course. These were memories. And Ellen’s screams, when the lifeless body was returned to her, broke something inside of him.
Her mate. William. Strong. A warrior. A proud man. Easily baited into a fight. He’d refused to beg for her, refused to beg for Isabel. She’d been forced to watch as he’d been tortured, skinned as a wolf, and had his head chopped off. His hide still hung on Cyrus’s wall, baiting Ellen. Reminding her of William’s last words, “Avenge
me. Avenge our daughter.”
He’d left her to bear that? Left her alone to face the monsters?
“Jesus Christ,” he ground out, on sensory overload. He was there, trapped inside, drowning in the shitstorm of Ellen’s past.
It kept going. The feel of a bite. The slice of a blade. Beatings. Being used by the pack. Byron. Cyrus.
So much Cyrus. He treated her differently? Why? Biting her—covered in her blood—drinking it? His fucking smile… Rage kicked in. His rage. Hers. Her need for revenge was almost secondary to death. Almost. Death would be giving up. And she was a fighter.
Now he knew where her scars came from. He’d never fucking forget. No matter how badly he wanted to.
Cyrus. That smile. Motherfucker.
Fury consumed him. He stared blindly at the ceiling overhead, fighting back nausea and hate. Lungs aching, fighting for air, fighting against the pressure on his chest. Heart twisting sharply, clamping down so tight he saw stars. Skin tingling, tightening, stretching until he knew it would split. The snap of bones. The tearing of muscle. His body seized. Twisting, snapping, and forcing a groan from deep inside.
…
She lay, sprawled across his chest, fulfilled and sleepy. Her wolf had chosen well.
When bits and pieces of Hollis’s life reached her, she welcomed them, getting lost in what she assumed it meant to be a human. The images swept her away. His life had been so different from hers—not necessarily easier, just different. He’d had parents who adored him, but that hadn’t made the bullying he’d endured any easier. Or eased the pain he still felt at losing his big brother, Sean, when his helicopter was shot down in Afghanistan. It had hit Hollis hard, prompting him to take a midterm trip with Finn and a few college buddies. That trip changed their lives forever—that trip was when Finn found the bone.
The attack, through Hollis’s eyes, was horrific. Finn was his best friend, the only person who’d accepted Hollis just as he was. To be attacked by him, to see Finn crazed, shifting, hunting down his friends through Hollis’s eyes was nightmarish. Horrible.
“Hollis?” Ellen whispered, tilting back to see him, needing to offer whatever comfort she could.
One look told her he was gone. His body was here, but his mind not. Clouded eyes, clenched jaw, harsh breathing. Something was wrong. His muscles began to spasm. Neck taut, corded, and strained. Head pressed back and jaw locked tight. Very wrong. Even his breath irregular and harsh. “Hollis,” she pleaded, shaking him.
Her palms rested on his chest, invading his mind for answers. What was happening to him?
What she saw… No. No. He knew. The realization slammed into her, enraging her—and stealing the calm of their mating. He knew. Her secrets. Her shame. Her past would haunt him forever. Nothing she did or said could erase it from his mind. A chill stole over her as his hands slid from her, grabbing fistfuls of the comforter as his body seized, the muscles clenching and tightening.
Whatever they’d shared was tainted now. Her wolf slunk away, curling in on herself and leaving her to cope on her own.
“Fuck you, too.” She growled, sliding from the bed. “He needs us. Stop being a coward.”
A strangled sound tore from his throat. The change? Even if it was natural for their kind, could he survive it? There was nothing natural about the odd jut of his chin or how his eyes rolled back in his head.
“Hollis.” She ran a hand over his chest, refusing to give in to the panic of her wolf.
The rasp of his breath was thick, choked. Dammit. The muscles of his chest continued to tense and roll beneath her touch.
“Listen to me.” Her voice was steady. Her shame, memories, and past didn’t matter now. Not now. Only he did. His heart shuddered. Irregular. Rapid pulse—too rapid.
“It’s not real. None of it is real.” she spoke softly. “Can you hear me?”
His head turned toward her, but his body wasn’t responding.
“Breathe.” Softer. Almost a whisper. Tearing his hand free from the comforter, she pressed his hand against her chest. “My heart.” She leaned closer, running her nose along his temple. “My scent.” Her eyes were burning as she kissed his lips. “You’re here. Safe. With me.”
A ragged breath in. Deep. Then out. In.
His eyelids fluttered and then his body slumped against the mattress.
“Good,” she murmured, squeezing his hand. “Slow. Be easy.” She perched on the edge of the bed, hoping. It took time but, slowly, the hammering pulse in his throat grew steadier.
His hand clasped her wrist. Tightly.
“I’m here.” Startled by the ferocity of his grip and freaking the fuck out, but there.
How did this work? This connection was unlike anything she’d had with William. They’d never shared memories—that she remembered. Could he read her now that they were mated? Was it based on touch? If so, it would be best for him not to touch her. Not when her wolf was frantic, pacing, whimpering—fearful of losing him. He needed strength, not cowardice.
Not that she was feeling strong at the moment.
His gaze cleared, fixing on her, but his breathing remained unsteady. And the weight of his gaze was crushing.
She eased her hand from his hold and stood, at a loss for what came next.
The longer he lay there, staring at her, the more anxious she became. While his breathing steadied and his pulse returned to a non life-threatening rate, she was fighting the urge to run. Far, far away.
“I’m sorry.” The words were raw.
Sorry? She stiffened, glancing at him before pacing to the balcony. “I do not want your pity.” Her voice cracked, exposing the chasm of grief she grappled with daily.
Silence stretched on, making her shift from foot to foot. He was watching her, she could feel it. But she couldn’t face him—not yet. Not unless she wanted him to see just how pitiful she truly was.
“Ellen.” He growled.
Stand tall. Arms crossed. Chin up.
“Ellen.” Firmer. Commanding. Oddly desperate.
It was a mistake, but she faced him anyway. The warring anger, sadness, frustration, and confusion lining his face didn’t help. Deep inside he fought a new battle—because of her. The muscle in his cheek jumped as he reached for her. “Come here.” It wasn’t a request.
Her wolf perked up instantly, refusing to deny him. Still, standing by the bed, she hesitated.
She waited. What he’d experienced was similar to her reading—only he’d experienced things no one should go through. All at once, with no warning, it was no wonder he’d reacted so strongly.
Fear rolled over her. If she and William could choose to become mates, could Hollis choose to end their bond? Would she blame him if he did? How could he stay with her now?
“I….” The muscles of his throat worked. “I never—”
“No.” Her arms tightened around her waist. “Why would you?” And how could he bare to look at her now that he knew?
A roar tore from his chest. Primal. Pure frustration and rage.
“This was not the way to answer the questions you’ve been waiting to ask,” she whispered. “But I couldn’t…?” She broke off. “Some things are best unsaid. You see that now.”
His eyes closed. “I see a lot of things.” A hard laugh followed. “Like I’m a fucking asshole. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
“It doesn’t matter.” It was hard not to reach for him. His touch had been the first to comfort her in so long. Right now, she wanted comforting. “I can’t erase what you’ve seen or…make it easier to bear—”
“Don’t.” Hollis sat up, his green eyes boring into hers. “Make it easier for me to bear?” He broke off, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
“Careful,” she murmured, the image of him contorted and twitching all too fresh.
He stood, scowling. “You don’t have to be strong. Not with me.”
He didn’t know what he was saying. Being weak wasn’t an option. Being strong, angry, was her only optio
n since she’d lost Isabel. Cyrus. Byron. The Others—weakness would have made the target on her back that much bigger.
But words were impossible. A shake of the head was all she could manage.
The muscle in his jaw clenched as he reached for her. His hands, warm, on the back of her shoulders, pulling her closer. “I’ve got you, Ellen,” he whispered. “Let go.”
Here, now, in Hollis’s arms, there was no target. “I can’t,” she whispered, throat tight, painfully tight.
“You saw it. Felt it. What I’ve done—”
“You? You fucking survived.” The word was a rasp. He tilted her head back, his gaze blazing into hers. “Cyrus.” He tensed, his face flushing red and his breath kicking up. But his eyes…his wolf was looking back at her—pushing to come out. “He doesn’t deserve to live.” His arms tightened, a low rumbling coming from deep in his chest. He was struggling for control, struggling against his wolf. A wolf that was ready to defend and protect her. If she needed protecting—which she didn’t.
His words were a growl. “Seeing you in harm’s way is more than I can take.”
“So was watching you battle your wolf.” She challenged.
He shook his head. “We’re not going there. Not now.”
Fine. “I’m not in harm’s way. Not this time.” Surely now, he’d understand. Killing Cyrus was a vow she must honor. “If I can get close enough, I can fulfill my promise—”
“To William. I know.” His nod was tight. “I know. And I will help you.” His hand gripped her chin.
She shook her head. “It was my promise.”
“As much as I want to tear him to pieces for what he’s done to you, I won’t take that from you.” His gaze pierced hers before he released her. “Let me help you. Whatever you need.”
He meant it. Naked and glorious, his hands hot on her skin, the ferocity of his words—his gaze—chased away any lingering guilt or shame she and her wolf were grappling with. She wasn’t alone anymore. If she hunted, she’d have a partner.
He brushed the hair from her temple and leaned forward to breathe her in. The simple action that revealed so much. “What do you need?”
Her wolf responded. His scent. His touch. His taste. Her wolf had very definite ideas about what they needed. And, this time, she agreed. “Now? You,” she whispered, tilting her head back for his mouth. She welcomed the crush of his lips on her, the taste of his skin, and urgency in his kiss. His fingers traced the outer swell of her breast, cradling the full weight in his palm as his thumb teased the tip into a hardened peak. She arched back in offering.
Protecting the Wolf's Mate (Blood Moon Brotherhood) Page 15
