Page 25 of The Gamma's Second Chance

But then he had backed off and left the house, leaving me in a tangled mess of hormones, arousal, and confusion.

Like I am now.

Which is why my dream picked up at that exact moment, I’m sure. My mind is conjuring up an alternate ending to that scene, a fanfiction of our interaction. And now I’m a needy, horny mess. There’s no way I’ll be able to focus on anything today after that dream if I don’t give myself the release I need so desperately. The release I’ll never get at Nolan’s hand. Or mouth.

A groan of pent-up frustration works its way out of me, and I slide my hand down my body and between my legs, letting my mind wander back into that achingly wonderful dream. My fingers trail through my lower lips, and I whimper, arching my back as my other hand squeezes my breast.

My body is overly sensitive, my pussy wetter than ever, like both are begging for my dream to be a reality. Another soft sigh spills from my lips as I continue playing with myself, spreading my arousal up to my sensitive clit and circling it before dipping them into my center. I pump them in and out, adding pressure, my hips rolling and thighs straining as they rub together. My nipple hardens beneath my touch, and I pinch it between my fingers, then move to my other breast, repeating the same motions on it.

I sink my teeth into my lip to keep from shouting. Nolan’s name is on the tip of my tongue, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for me to scream it while my blazing body is tangled in my bedsheets and my hands tease me to an orgasm. But it’s his face I see in my mind, his hands I imagine are on my breasts, his tongue I pretend is between my thighs, playing with my clit and sending pleasure across my heated skin.

Fuck, I want him. I want all that I’m imagining, everything from my dream and everything I’ve conjured up as I work myself into a frenzy. I wish the sweet release I’m hurtling towards was being experienced with my body in his strong, protective arms.

My imaginary Nolan stares up at me, his mouth on my pussy and his fingers tracing my thigh again, just like in my dream. He groans against my center, and I echo the noise, still biting back his name on my lips, pulsating around my fingers buried deep in my pussy as I fall apart. I writhe and whimper and tremble as I come. Each wave washes over me, warm and smooth, like a deep red wine, growing richer over time.

As the last bit of my pleasure fades, I curl onto my side, clutching the bedding to my chest and clenching my eyes shut, feeling sated and yet somehow incomplete at the same time.

I lay there for a long while, attempting to go back to sleep, but it’s futile. I’m wide awake now and still wound up tight, even after my release.

A quick glance at the clock tells me there is still over an hour before we need to leave for the city, which means there is plenty of time for me to go on a quick run and take a shower. My lycan has been itching to get out into the forest here at Crescent Lake since I haven’t had a chance to yet, and there is no way I’ll fall asleep again. I may as well take advantage of this time and give in to my lycan’s needs.

I hop out of bed and dress in leggings and a sports bra, washing my hands to get rid of the evidence from touching myself. Goddess only knows who I’ll run into while on the pack grounds, and while masturbating is perfectly normal, sensitive shifter sniffers make for very nosy busybodies.

Pun intended.

I leave Nolan’s house and take off into the trees, following the narrow path between and around the redwoods that delves deeper into the forest and up the mountainside. I don’t knowexactly where I’m headed, but as I wander through the trees on my run, a sense of rightness settles over me, guiding me through each twist and turn of the path. The forest is cool and calm, filled with the soft noises of small animals—squirrels, birds, and even deer—as they go about their day, building nests, gathering food, or finding a cozy hideaway for a quick rest.

It’s different from the island I grew up on, and yet the forest holds the same familiarity within its depths. The pine needles covering the floor rustle beneath my feet as I run, the wind whistles through the branches, and the gentle splashing of the small waves on the lake create a soothing melody, easing some of the tension in my muscles from the pent-up emotions I’m unsure how to act on.

Or if I even should act on them.

I reach a spot where the path splits off into two directions, and I choose one without thinking. It winds up the mountain, the subtle incline switching back and forth like a snake, growing higher with each curve of the trail. My breath grows heavier with each switchback, my heart working harder with each step I take, but the slight discomfort is a welcome distraction from the need that my self-induced release couldn’t fulfill. And I have a feeling the view at the end of the trail will be worth the effort.

The last bend comes into sight, and I round it, jerking to a stop as soon as I reach the small clearing. The path ends on a small overlook etched into the side of the mountain, with a few trees and a large rock to sit on as you stare out over Crescent Lake. It’s a breathtaking view, with the grounds and the lake and the packhouse sprawling out across the land, the town buildings dotting the hills and valley, and tiny figures in both wolf and human form roaming the forest and the shore.

But what takes my breath away isn’t the view of the pack and their lands. No, it’s the male sitting on the large rock, his back to me as he gazes out at his home, arms hooked around his knees.His white shirt is damp with sweat, and his broad shoulders stretch the fabric across his back. The top of the sword tattoo that extends down his spine peeks out over the top of the collar, the rest of it only a shadow of the weapon of protection he’s inked into the skin of his back.

His expression is serene as he sits there, so different from the normal stoic, impassive expression he wears. And he seems… sad. Or pensive. Or meditative.

I swallow and turn to leave the small overlook area immediately upon arriving. I hate to intrude on his solitude, even though my feet led me here of their own accord. But with how hot and cold he’s been with me, I have no inkling of what his reaction to my being here would be. He’d probably think I followed him here intentionally to annoy him more or infringe on his personal space.

And as fun as messing with him and teasing him is, he seems less guarded here, more open and vulnerable. He’ll just snap his shield into place if I make my presence known, and I want to keep this image of him in my memories. I want to remember this version of Nolan. The version where he’s not annoyed with the world or me, where he’s not hiding the pain and sorrow etched into his face right now as he sits in silence on the side of the mountain. The pain I’m sure he hides from his friends. And everyone else. He pushes it down into the deepest parts of his soul until he’s convinced everyone—including himself—that he’s fine.

As my luck would have it, though, a twig snaps beneath my feet as I leave. His head whips around, the serene spell broken, his eyes locked on mine as I cringe and wince. I expect him to snap his shield up, but for whatever reason, he doesn’t. Not right away, anyway.

No, he stares at me, waiting, silent. The wistful glint in his eyes slowly fades to nothing until I’m sure I imagined it in the first place.

“Sorry,” I say, taking in a deep breath, ending the silence and our staring contest. “I needed a run. I didn’t know you were up here. I just…” I trail off and pinch my lips together. I don’t owe him an explanation. He’s not my keeper. We’re not even friends. He’s just the male I want and can’t have. “I have to run to the store,” I say, even though I had no plans to do that. “I’ll see you later.”

I wave at him over my shoulder as I turn to leave again. But his voice stops me after only two steps. “Are you out of potato chips already?”

My brows shoot up towards my hairline, and I spin around, mouth agape and ready to defend myself, but his eyes glitter, and a silent laugh shakes his shoulders, a subtle smile tilting the corner of his lips up. I match his smirk and cross my arms. “No, actually. I’m out of daisies. And labels for my label maker.”

“Oh well, we can’t have that now, can we?”

I nod. “It would be a travesty. I might wither away into dust.” I almost add,But I doubt you’d notice or mind,but I bite my tongue and stop myself.

His eyes widen, and he gasps in jest as he hops up from his spot on the boulder. “We definitely can’t have that. Do you think you can make it back to town before the wasting away begins?”

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