Page 30 of Chev's Mate

I don’t want the attention that will come with that discovery, especially from Chev’s admirers. I groan, throwing my phone on the couch when I find an article listing the women residing within the Wrath facility. My name isn’t included, but this is only the first iteration.

I need to find out who’s leaking the identities of the women inside the facility. This is confidential information, and I’m not going to let the action slide. Somebody’s going to lose their job over this article.

A knock on my front door snaps me from my thoughts. It’s about time Aziel responds to my messages. I called him this morning, but he didn’t answer. I gave him another ring when I got home a few hours ago. I understand he has a family and kingdom to care for, but this is an emergency.

My palms are sweaty, and I wipe them on my pants before opening my front door.

I freeze when I lock eyes with Chev.

He offers a timid smile before awkwardly clasping his hands behind his back. He rocks back on his heels, looking just as uncomfortable as I feel. I instinctively step toward him, the mate bond urging me forward, but I quickly stop myself.

Chev curls in on himself. Is he trying to make himself small? The posture seems unnatural.

His wide, green eyes blink down at me, his expression indecipherable. I’m not nearly as afraid as I was the first time we met, but there’s still fear. The mate bond urges my heart to settle, our pesky connection growing stronger despite the distance I’ve forced between us.

Half of me wants to slam the door in Chev’s face, and the other half wants me to launch myself into his arms.

I lower my gaze, scanning his figure in a way I’m sure is noticeable. Chev doesn’t move, the man as still as a mountain as I let my eyes wander over his frame. He’s wearing Wrath clothing, but they don’t fit him. His thighs are about to bust the seams of his pants, and his chest and shoulders pull his shirt taut.

Shifters are large, the men almost always tall and muscular, and Chev is no different.

My gaze lingers on his thigh. After spending weeks staring at images of him, I know precisely where his animal and mate markings are.

Chev clears his throat, prompting me to look back up. His eyelids have lowered, and this time, it’s me who’s frozen. I feel his warmth, and my pulse races as I realize how close we’ve gotten.

Was it me who stepped forward, or him?

He raises his arm, and I spend too much time looking at his bicep. Why is he so muscular? How much does he weigh? Bears are heavy, aren’t they? I should look that up.

Chev’s fingertips touch my cheek. I gasp, my lungs sucking in a sharp intake of breath. My entire body breaks out in goosebumps, and before I can stop and think of what I’m doing, I throw myself against his chest.

Chev’s reflexes are quick, and his hand is cupping the back of my head before I’ve even processed my movements. My mouth is on his, a kiss I think I initiated, and I hold his biceps as I press my front against his.

His body is just as hard as it looks, and his muscles flex against my fingers. I love it.

Chev releases a low noise that has my body trembling, and I slide my hands to his shoulders as he tilts my head back and claims my mouth. His kiss is forceful, full of need and desperation, but I don’t find myself nearly as afraid of it as I should be.

It’s what I want, which doesn’t seem right. It’s the bond.

It also helps that the men who abused me never kissed me. Chev’s tongue against mine isn’t something I’ve ever experienced before, nor is the hand softly caressing the back of my head. He touches me nowhere else. His other hand hovers beside my waist, like he’s afraid to press against the skin.

I rip at his shirt, hating the barrier, and Chev does the rest. His clothing rips as he hurries to free his chest for me. I feel the fabric disappear underneath my hand, and I flinch as my palm lands on his bare shoulders.

My hands move of their own accord, sliding downward. Chev is muscular, and his abs tighten as I drag my fingers through the hair that lives on his chest. It’s surprisingly soft. He makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat, and his hands finally land on my hips a second later.

His grip is so light, I barely feel it, but he finally tightens it after a second. I never imagined I’d enjoy a man’s touch, but Chev has me desperate for more. I need more of him. It’s not long before I’m panting too hard to kiss him back, but Chev hardly seems to mind.

He trails his mouth to my throat, and when he reaches the spot where my shoulder meets my neck, he licks. His tongue is surprisingly rough against my sensitive skin, which makes me imagine it on other parts of my body. It’s a dangerous thought, one I know I shouldn’t be having.

“Oh,” I gasp.

Chev begins to suck on my neck, surely bruising the skin. I’ve read that shifters like to mark up their mates, but I didn’t realize what that meant until now.

I struggle to suck enough oxygen into my lungs, and my mind goes blank as Chev runs his tongue from my collarbone to my ear. The noises seeping from his chest grow louder, continuing until they’re all I can hear.

Chev’s teeth graze against my neck, the feeling jolting. It’s like a bucket of cold water pouring over my head, and I snap back to reality and push Chev away.

He whines, the noise low and throaty as he steps back. His chest is heaving, and his lips are wet and puffy from their attackon my skin. I hate how much I like it, and I slide my gaze over his exposed chest and down lower.

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