Page 12 of Dawn of the Pack

And without another word, we turn and start picking our way up the hill.

Chapter Five

Milo

My gaze darts to Lily when we pull into my drive, but she doesn’t react to the surroundings. I’m not even certain she recognizes it, since our last time here was at night. A quick flash of memory short circuits my brain—the way she looked under the warm lights, her creamy skin bare, head thrown back in pleasure as I feasted on her. My body reacts viscerally to that mental image, blood rushing with immediate lust. It doesn’t help that the scent of her fills my senses in the cozy luxury of my car.

I force myself to breathe slowly and press back the rush of desire; that’s not why we’re here today. Her needs right now clearly lay along the emotional line, not the physical. Lily was quiet for the entire ride, arms crossed, her usually bright emerald eyes thunderous with frustration. I don’t need the ability to sense her emotions to understand what she’s feeling.

This time, we head for the large front door instead of around the back. She already had plenty of time outside today, and it’s growing colder; I don’t think more fresh air is what she wants. A sudden bout of nerves rushes through me, and I realize I’m about to show her into my sanctuary for the first time.

Not that I have anything to hide, or don’t want her to see it; she’s my mate, and although she hasn’t officially accepted me, I already belong to her body and soul. But for some reason, this feels like a tremendous moment, like it’s the last part of me she has yet to touch. I’m suddenly, inexplicably apprehensive that she won’t like it.

We pass through the cold modern space that is my parents’ house, and I try to speed her along without making her hurry. She doesn’t seem interested in looking around at the steel and concrete decor, following me instinctually while her thoughts clearly wander somewhere else. Once downstairs, I hold the door open for her, guiding her into my room with my heart in my throat. I get another whiff of her cherry vanilla scent as she passes, but at this moment, my need for her acceptance is even stronger than my desire.

I wish I could read her thoughts; her silence as she examines my room with crossed arms is deafening. Fortunately, I’m always neat, so there are no embarrassing piles of soiled underwear or half-eaten pizza crusts on display like a certain football player I know.

However, there are things in this room that reveal a lot more about me than I’ve even told her. It didn’t seem pertinent at the time; all I wanted was to get to know her and what she needed. But now I realize she might feel like I’ve been keeping secrets.

She spins slowly in the center of my room, her tiny feet sinking into the plush area rug. My gaze trails hers, taking in the rich wood accents that run up the wall, my platform bed neatly made with the thick forest green duvet, a gas fireplace that I flicked on as soon as we entered the room, the side table with my grandfather’s record player, and finally the desk with my sketchbook on top. Her head tilts back as she takes in the frames lining the far wall, forming a grid nearly floor to ceiling, and I swallow thickly, my hands tucked into my back pockets to affect a posture of complete ease despite my racing heart.

Without a word, she crosses to the desk for a closer look, inspecting the drawings at her eye level. My heart is beating a mile a minute; surely she doesn’t hate me for not saying anything? Her silence has become very difficult to interpret. I’m not sure if I should try to distract her with a drink and offer her a seat on the low couch by the fireplace, or continue standing here, awkwardly, waiting for her to say something.

“Did you draw all of these?” She asks softly without turning toward me, almost as if she’s asking the pictures themselves.

“Yeah.” I don’t know what else to say.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She steps to her right, following the line of pen and ink studies closer to the fireplace.

“I…” I clear my throat, searching for an explanation. “I don’t know, honestly. I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret. There just didn’t seem to be a time to talk about it.” She’s getting closer to my most recent work, and my nerves kick it up a notch.

I have little rhyme or reason for where I put each drawing. I’ve been switching them out for years; when I finish one and am happy with it, I just pick a frame and replace the older piece with the newer. They’re all sorts of subjects: landscapes, portraits, buildings, animals, still lives. Lately, however, one particular subject has occupied my mind, and she’s about to discover it.

It’s obvious when she realizes; she was walking slowly, examining the detailed drawings casually, and her entire body freezes. My body is radiating so much heat I question if turning on the fireplace was a good idea. Lily’s gaze is traveling up the wall, taking in each miniature recreation of her in black and white.

I hadn’t done it with any actual intent; my hands just seem to shape a subject and it flows from brain to fingers with very little input from me. That’s actually one reason I stopped taking art classes, since I was terrible at completing assignments and was really not interested in any other medium. I just wanted to sketch whatever popped into my head at the moment, and I’ve always been content with pen and ink.

I’m braced for some sort of outburst, or question, or accusation of being a liar or a psychopath, but none of those happen.

She turns toward me, drops her arms to her sides, and bites down on her bottom lip. My breath catches; there’s something in her gaze that I’ve never seen before, a well of vulnerability and emotion, blended with unmistakable lust. Prickling energy crawls across my skin, sinking beneath my flesh to electrify my insides.

With a barely audible growl, she launches herself at me, looping her arms around my neck and straddling my hips. My palms instinctively grab her lush bottom, holding her against my body, as her mouth crushes against mine in a desperate kiss.

Momentarily startled, I freeze for a second as my brain struggles to catch up. Lily is impatient, and her tongue slides along the seam of my lips, begging for entry. In seconds my earlier lust resurfaces, and I’m kissing her back.

Our tongues tangle, vying for dominance. Her sudden attack is surprising but certainly not unwelcome; I’m even more turned on by her overt demonstration of attraction for me. I squeeze her perfect ass with both hands, turning to press her against the door without breaking the kiss. A primal, possessive growl rumbles deep within my chest, shocking in its intensity. Her answering moan sends more heat rushing through me, hips grinding my erection against the answering heat between her legs.

This is nothing like I imagined. Our previous intimacy has been so gentle, so measured and calculated. My plans to delicately and respectfully woo her are completely out the window, and instinct has taken over. Her hands skim across my chest until she finds my shirt buttons. Frantically, she pops them open one by one, working her way down until she’s undone them all and runs her hands across my bare flesh. We continue kissing without coming up for air, and she presses herself against me, breasts pinned between us while her nails rake down my back. The sharp sensation isn’t painful, but it seems to energize my inner beast even more. I wrap my arms around her firmly and pull away from the door, carrying her across the room before I lower her onto the bed.

One press of her hand to my chest has me immediately standing back up. “I’m sorry, I got carried away,” I apologize automatically, panting.

Lily stands as well. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, but she doesn’t look upset—the only thought that comes to my mind is that her eyes look hungry.

Without a single word, she grabs my face and kisses me deeply, then pushes my shirt off my shoulders and drops it to the floor. Her fingers hook in my belt loops and she tugs me toward her as she sits on my bed, gaze dropping to my waist.

At this point, I have no words, so I follow her silent instructions. Her fingers swiftly unbuckle my belt, letting it hang open while she unfastens the button and slides down the zipper. I can barely breathe, and not being in charge means I don’t know what to do with my hands. They hang limply by my sides while she dips her fingers through the opening of my boxers, her fingers grazing my sensitive, swollen head. A shudder of pleasure zips up my spine, but I force myself to put together a rational thought.

“Lily.” I tip her chin up with one finger, forcing her to meet my gaze. I’m trying to understand this sudden change. “What are we doing?”

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