Page 61 of Chev's Mate

She rubs herself as I pleasure her, her fingers stroking her clit over her underwear. I want her to remove the fabric so I can see her bare flesh, and I feel all my prayers have been answered when she lightly nudges her underwear to the side so she can better touch herself. Her sex is slick with arousal, and I stare at the pink skin as she presses her fingers against her clit and rubs.

My hand tightens around my cock, squeezing so tightly, I’m sure to cut off circulation, but I don’t care. This female is made for me, and I rub her mark faster to match how she pleasures herself. She grunts when I do so, and I take that as a sign to continue.

When Vanessa’s legs begin to shake around my waist, I know she’s close, and when she curses and goes still, I know she’s cumming. I follow immediately, releasing her neck so I can cup her breast as I spill on myself.

I’m making a mess of my leathers.

Vanessa slumps against my chest, and I happily fold her into my arms. This is the best day of my life.

“You’re a horny female,” I say.

When Vanessa pulls back, I’m happy to see a smile behind her fake outrage.

“You’re no better!”

“I never said I was.” I grab her hips and drag her sex up and down my bare abdomen. “And I’ll be only hornier now that I have my mate’s slick on me.”

Vanessa furrows her brows, staring at my now-glistening torso, before clamoring off me and hurrying to her sink. I’m beyond pleased with myself, and I playfully push her away when she tries to clean me. I’ll not be doing so until the smell of her arousal is gone, and that could be days.

“Back away!” I scream, jumping over the couch when Vanessa gets too close with the wet towel. “I have been a very good male, and I deserve to wear you.”

I love how she continues to chase me, and when I let her corner me and wipe my stomach five minutes later, I’m surprised by how she follows it up by wiping my cum, the back of her hand grazing my soft length.

Chapter Twenty-Four

VANESSA

I LIE BACK in bed and stare at my new phone, unable to stop reading this morning’s articles about Chev and me. I’m always so weak when it comes to them, but I’m pleased with the turn they’ve taken this past week.

Slowly, painfully slowly, public opinion on our relationship seems to be improving.

Chev begs me not to look, but I most definitely read everything being said about us. It’s impossible not to, especially after Chev’s interview. I can deal with people saying bad things about me. It hurts, but what they’re saying is ultimately true. I’m a weak breed, and I’m a damaged, purchased female who struggles with physical intimacy.

It crushes me when people say bad things about Chev. He’s a good man who continually goes out of his way to make me comfortable, but the articles paint him as a horrible mate. They’re lying.

There are rumors that Chev goes around threatening people who speak poorly of me, but he denies it every time I ask. It’s not a good look, and Mammon is starting to publicly accuse him of manipulating the media. Nothing’s going right for him.

A cheesy smile spreads over my lips as I look over the most recent photo of us. Chev’s always watching me with that corny grin of his, and the more I see it, the more obsessed I grow. He’s not what I expected, and I find myself even further tied to him with every interaction. At this point, I don’t think I could ever be without him. I want him. I actively crave him.

“Vanessa?”

I drop my phone onto my chest, my heart pounding as I turn in the direction the voice came from. Why is Chev inside my house? He’s peering through the crack of my bedroom door, his eye barely visible as he peeks in on me. He stares momentarily before pushing the door open, revealing his wide smile.

“Why are you still in bed?” he asks, stepping inside. “You’re going to be late for work.”

His eyes dart around, the shifter not at all subtle as he looks at my things. He’s been joining me for dinner every evening since I made him spaghetti earlier this week, but he’s only been in my bedroom once.

He peers at my dresser, and I resist the urge to laugh when he picks up one of the ceramic birds Charlie put in here for decoration. It’s not my style, but I must admit it’s a cute blue jay.

Chev glares at it like it’s the ugliest thing he’s ever seen. He may be unwilling to admit it, but I’m starting to think he genuinely fears birds. It’s a common joke that shifters don’t like flying animals, but give how he glares at my decoration, I’m beginning to believe it.

Who knew such a large, deadly bear could be so afraid of a tiny bird?

I sit up, and Chev roughly places the bird back on my dresser. He turns to me with a slight frown, but it disappears as my sheets slide to my waist, exposing the top I wore to bed. It’s thin and light, and I can tell it’s taking all of Chev’s strength to keep his eyes above my shoulders.

“It’s the weekend,” I say. “I don’t work today.”

Chev knows this, and I eye his thick hair for any signs of injury. Did he hit his head again? The small bald spots from his injury are impossible to see if you’re not actively looking, but I can usually find one or two when I get close. They healed nicely, which is good, but I still worry.

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