Page 36 of Wild Card

“I thought you said you quit the DEA?” She repositions her hands lower and circles my stomach instead.

“I did,” I assure her, pinching her lower lips between my pointer and middle fingers. “I’ve got all my licenses up to date. I made enemies over the years. Unfortunately, more than the ones who were brought to trial.”

“Got it.” She stretches up, burying her face in my throat. “Dammit, Thorne. I wish you didn’t smell so good. It would make it easier to hate you if I didn’t have to fight my biology at every turn.”

“I think you’d hate me less if we weren’t so compatible. Shit, that didn’t come out right.” I apply firmer pressure on her lower lips, until they part, and aim one of my knuckles for her clit. “I ached to be with you too. A huge part of me wanted to tell my superiors to fuck off, but if I had left before testifying, I would have been charged with obstruction of justice and anything else they could have made stick. My boss was over my bullshit. I didn’t want to have to change my name and ask you to change yours. Not to mention, some truly terrible individuals would have walked free without my testimony.”

“Not one of your logical points is making me come,” she whispers, flicking her tongue over the skin of my throat.

I chuckle.

She seriously thought I’d ever let her get away?

Fat fucking chance of that happening.

I give her pussy a squeeze with the backs of my fingers. Moving to the top of her leggings, I slide my hand under the material and search for the band of her panties.

I’m not shocked when I don’t find one. No wonder I could feel every detail of her cunt so perfectly under the leggings.

My hand works lower until I can feel exactly how slick she is.

This isn’t just normal arousal.

She’s completely drenched.

The material of her leggings seemed damp, but this is unreal.

I’ve heard the first heat is the worst, but I’ve never participated in one to know.

“Thorne,” she whines, her head falling to the side as she tries to ride my hand.

As if my head wasn’t foggy enough, the sound sends a pulse to my aching cock and makes the edges of my vision blur with a fuzzy haze.

Fuck me.

This isn’t good.

I’ve got a permanent surprise that I refuse to show her until she’s well on the way to forgiving me. That means my cock is out of commission for the moment, so I settle for shoving two fingers inside her.

It takes my breath away, feeling the way her inner walls cling to my digits. It almost feels like I should have started with just one. I can’t fathom how my knot ever fit inside her with the way I struggle to stretch even the two fingers.

My entire hand is soaked by her pussy already, but I’m more worried about the way she slams her face back into the crook of my neck.

“Be careful,” I warn. “My beard left scratches the last time you did that.”

“More,” she begs, moving her hands to dig into my shoulders. My jacket hides some of it, but the scratching sound leads me to believe she’s clawing at the leather. “Thorne, it hurts so bad…” She goes on, but it’s muffled by the way she speaks right against my skin.

My cock throbs against my jeans. It’s trapped to my thigh, and every grind of her ass makes it jump in response.

Knotting would help alleviate the pain she’s in. My instincts are sure of it, and what I’ve been taught of alpha and omega biology says the same.

Goddamn feral alpha logic.

I am not shoving my cock back inside her perfect little pussy until I know she’s willing to at least try to forgive me.

The pad of my thumb bumps her clit as I work my fingers deeper. My free hand wraps in her hair at the base of her skull, giving her a vicious tug.

The dirty little thing moans so loudly, I wish I had a third hand to slap over her parted lips.

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