Page 17 of Falling for My Shifter Guardian

Before I can respond, he's kneeling before me, his hands sliding down my thighs to bunch up my skirt. His fingers trace the edge of my panties, teasing, before he tugs them down my legs. I step out of them, my heart pounding in my chest, as he tosses them aside.

He looks up at me, his gaze intense and full of promise. "I need more," he says, his voice a low rumble. "I need to taste you."

And then his mouth is on me, his tongue parting my folds to find my clit. The elevator walls seem to spin around me as Derek's tongue swirls around my clit, his hands gripping my thighs to keep me steady. I can barely believe this is happening—just moments ago we were standing in the hallway, and now I'm pinned against the wall, my skirt bunched around my waist as he kneels before me, devouring me like a man starved.

"Oh God," I gasp, my head falling back against the cool metal as waves of pleasure crash over me. My fingers tangle in his hair, gripping the short strands as if I can pull him closer, push him deeper. His beard scratches deliciously against my sensitive skin, and I can feel the heat of his breath mingling with my own.

He groans against me, the vibrations sending shockwaves through my core. His fingers dig into the flesh of my thighs, hard enough to bruise, and the thought of him marking me makes my pussy spasm with need.

"You taste so good," he growls, and the sound of his voice, rough and hungry, makes me clench around nothing. "I could eat this sweet honey for hours."

His words, the filthy, unfiltered desire in them, make me burn. I've never been talked to like this, never been wanted with such raw, animalistic need. It's intoxicating.

He laps at me like a man possessed, his tongue delving deep, fucking me with a fervor that leaves me breathless. My hips rock against his face, chasing the pleasure that's coiling tighter and tighter in my belly.

"Derek," I pant, my voice ragged and needy. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

As if in response, he doubles his efforts, his tongue flicking over my clit in rapid, practiced strokes. One hand slides up my thigh, his fingers teasing my entrance before plunging inside, curling just right to hit that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes.

"Derek," I moan, my head thrashing from side to side as the pleasure builds to a crescendo. "I'm... I'm going to..."

My words cut off on a scream as I come undone, my orgasm ripping through me. Derek doesn't let up, his mouth and fingers working in tandem to draw out my pleasure, to make me shake and shudder and beg for more.

When the final waves crash over me, I slump back against the wall, my chest heaving, my skin slick with sweat. Derek pusheshimself to his feet, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with mine as his steel-gray eyes lock onto me.

The elevator chimes, and that’s when he snaps back to reality, his expression shifting as he seems to fully register what’s just happened.

There’s still a storm of need churning in his gaze, but beneath it, I glimpse something else—guilt. Regret. It’s subtle, like the faintest crack in his armor, but it cuts deeper than anything he’s said or done tonight.

“Why are you...?” I don't even know what I want to ask him. But he seems to understand.

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he won’t respond. But then, with a heavy exhale, he speaks. “This isn’t the place. Not like this,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough around the edges. The words linger between us, heavy and raw, carving through the charged air.

Slowly, he lifts a hand and brushes a strand of hair from my face, the gesture unexpectedly tender against the tension that seems to radiate from him. His thumb pauses on my cheek, just for a heartbeat too long, like he’s trying to commit every detail of this moment to memory. And then, with a quiet resolve, he steps back.

I’m still pressed against the elevator wall, my legs unsteady and my heart racing. My body is still thrumming with the aftershocks of what just happened. I don’t know how to bridge the chasm that suddenly feels so wide between us. My lips part, but no words come out.

Derek reaches out and presses the button to restart the elevator. The soft hum of the machinery fills the silence, but it doesn’t drown out the pounding of my heartbeat or the tension cracklingin the air. His jaw is tight, his eyes locked on the numbers above the door as they start to light up again. He’s deliberately avoiding looking at me, and it makes my chest ache in a way I’m not prepared for.

“Derek—” I begin, my voice breaking slightly. I don’t even know what I want to say. Ask him why? Demand an explanation? Beg him not to shut me out again?

But he doesn’t let me finish. He shakes his head, his expression hardening, though his voice is anything but. “Not tonight,” he says firmly, the words carrying a weight that feels like a door slamming shut. His eyes finally meet mine, and for a split second, I see it—the storm raging inside him. It’s anger, longing, pain… and something deeper, something he’s not ready to name.

The elevator lurches to a stop, and the doors slide open with a soft chime. I step out slowly, the cool air of the hallway brushing against my overheated skin. My legs feel shaky, like they might give out at any moment, but I force myself to straighten, to hold my head high, even as my chest twists with frustration and confusion.

I glance back over my shoulder, needing to see him, needing some kind of reassurance that this wasn’t just a mistake, that I didn’t imagine the connection between us. Derek is still standing inside the elevator, his broad shoulders filling the small space, his hand gripping the edge of the door so tightly his knuckles are white. There’s a tension in his posture, like he’s fighting some internal war, and for a moment, it looks like he might follow me.

But he doesn’t. He stays where he is.

And then the doors slide shut, cutting him off from me, leaving me alone in the hallway with nothing but the echo of my own heartbeat and the weight of everything unsaid.

Chapter 7

Derek

The map spread across the war room table is a battlefield of pins and markers, each one a reminder of how close danger is creeping. Diner. Community center. The park near Olivia’s apartment. My eyes lock onto the red pin stuck into the diner, the place where Olivia spends most of her days. A job she loves. A place she feels safe.

Safe.

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