Page 10 of Stalking His Mate

My heart squeezes, not so much at his words, but the anguished sound of his voice as he says them. His mate. I’m his mate. The other part of his soul. Soulmate.

My arms loosen from where they are tightly folded across my chest as I watch the handsome man looming in front of me. Every day I’ve worked at the diner he’s come in during lunch and ordered a burger and a date. And every single time I turned him down. Refusing even the smallest conversation with him. And why? Because I was afraid. Because there was no way someone like him would really want a worn-out single mom barely able to make ends meet. Because I’ve been burned before, and I told myself that I’d learned that lesson.

“What does that mean?” My voice is little more than a harsh whisper while my mind churns. Soulmates aren’t real outside of fairytales, so what is this beautiful man getting out of telling me this.

His hands, that are still gripping my dress, relax and softly stroke over the sides of my hips.

“Shifters believe that each of us have a fated mate out there somewhere. Someone who’s soul fits ours perfectly,” he explains. “The moment I saw you, I knew that you were mine.”

“But how?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “Instinct, maybe? I don’t know how to explain it. I just—knew.”

“But I’m not like you. What if I don’t feel it, too?”

“Don’t you?” his eyes flash in an unnatural way. Preternatural. “I can’t imagine the Fates being wrong in this. Are you saying you do not feel anything for me?”

My mouth opens but no sound comes out. I can’t even find the breath to lie, because I feel…something.

Oh, please. I’ve wanted to climb him like a tree and ride that tree trunk of a cock that’s pressing against the front of his pants since I first saw him. Every day at the diner, I wanted nothing more than to slide into his booth and curl up in his lap while he feeds me french fries. At night, when I’m all alone in my bed it’s thoughts of him that warm me up.

Each day, he carved a notch out of my resolve to keep my distance, but shouldn’t it be the other way around? Shouldn’t he be the one struggling to feel attraction, not me. He’s the adonis! With his untamed hair and chiseled inked skin. I’m just… me.

Nothing special, Amy.

Got pregnant instead of going to college, Amy.

Couldn’t lose the post baby weight, Amy.

Wasn’t able to keep her husband interested, Amy.

“You’re thinking awfully hard to just tell me ‘No’,” he laughs quietly. His hands are still stroking up and down my hips. The warmth of his hands seeping through the bunched-up skirt and into my spandex covered skin.

“This—is a lot to take in,” I admit.

His hands squeeze before beginning their slow stroking again.

“Shifters are possessive and dominant. Especially when it comes to our mates. It’s rare to see a fated couple stray, although it happens sometimes,” he leans in. “If you’re trying to compare me to your ex, stop that shit right now. I’m nothing like him. I vow to take care of you and your daughter with everything I have. With me, Molly will have a father figure she can look up to. And as my mate, you’ll have my whole heart and the strength of my people at your back.”

My heart lurches at the mention of my daughter and I suck my lower lip between my teeth and bite down, worrying it until the tang of copper hits my tongue. “How do you know about Molly?”

“The day your ex made the scene. The way he treated you. How he treated both of you,” he says before his lips quirk up at the corners. “That was the first day I asked you out, remember?” I do. With a hot flare of embarrassment. “That is what I kept in my mind when I decided to send Yesenia to tell you about the auction, because I wanted to help.”

“Who thinks of a sex auction as a way to help?”

“Me, I guess,” his eyes slide to the side and a light blush tints his golden cheeks. In that moment he reminds me of a chastised little boy and it takes away some of my anger. It’s sincere.

My mouth falls open, but nothing comes out. My mind is like a paint mixer, churning out so many thoughts and feelings…

“And I’ve been watching you,” he continues sheepishly. The gentle rubbing starts to change. His fingertips press harder as he draws them over my hips and down my thighs, then teases with a lighter touch on the way back up, until I’m pressing my thighs tightly together to ease the ache that’s becoming more and more noticeable. “I started following you to make sure you made it home safe.”

I shouldn’t like that. The way he says following me sounds a whole lot like stalking, and that should be a huge red flag. Instead, I lose a little more of the anger I’m trying to hold onto.

Our gazes lock and for several seconds we’re frozen. Staring. Taking each other in.

“Okay.” I hear myself say. I don’t know if it’s an, okay, I believe you. Or an, okay, you can fuck me now. Either way, I’ve decided I’m not going to fight him.

The strong muscles of his throat flex when he swallows and then his focus goes back to my body.

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