Page 45 of The Princess and the Pack

“I feel it too, you know?” I admit in an attempt to steer my mind back to important matters. “This pull to each other is how it should be between mates—part of Fate’s gift to remind us that we’re destined. I try not to overthink the whys of it all. Love doesn’t have to be some difficult thing.”

Ivy shifts in my lap, furrowing her brow as she looks up at me. “You don’t know me well enough to love me.”

I shrug, running my fingers through the silk of her earthen hair. “I’ve known about you for a year—watched you long before you ever noticed me. When you were gone, I thought of you every day and every night. I’ve been learning your heart for so long and I’m eager to show you mine.”

Ivy’s lip trembles, tears forming in her eyes. “I’m honored,” she whispers, unsure. “But love?”

I hum, tracing the length of the button nose I desperately want to kiss. My sweet, beautiful girl is so confined by these ideas of what she should and shouldn’t do. I don’t need her to love me yet—just want her to leave room for it to blossom.

“Love isn’t some finite thing. Today it may be a seed, but I’ll water it. Tomorrow I’ll do the same, and the next day, and the next—until it grows into something as grand and mighty as this oak tree. Love has to start somewhere, and I won’t deny what I feel because there’s work to be done.”

We fall into silence then, her watching me—those mesmerizing ocean eyes wild with wonder as she catalogs each of my features. I cup her cheek, stroking with my thumb and fighting every instinct that begs me to kiss her sweet mouth. I want to touch her—possessher—body and mind. But I won’t cross that line until she’s sure of her desires.

“You’re quite the poet,” she says in a soft exhalation.

I chuckle because it couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m not a man of many words, preferring actions to empty promises. But I’ll be anything she wants, so long as she’ll be mine. “It’s easy when I’ve got the perfect muse.”

“You’re too sweet, alpha. My teeth are practically aching,” Ivy quips, smiling.

I groan—she has no fucking idea.

“Nottoosweet. I want to doverywicked things to you, omega.”

She bites her plush bottom lip, looking up at me from beneath long lashes. I’m such a fucking goner for her.

“I think I might want that, too?—”

“Be certain, Ivy,” I interject, desperate. “Because if you give yourself to me, I’m never letting go.”

The soft sound of my mate’s breathing hangs heavily in the charged silence between us. Her blue eyes gleam with unguarded interest as the covetous promise of my claim settles on her skin.

“Sloan,” she breathes. Her heady scent and heaving chest are answers in their own right. She won’t deny me, but I need her to?—

“Say it.” I whisper the command, pulling her onto my lap so her thighs frame my hips. I’ve never been so close to a fucking rut in all my days. Every agonizing moment spent waiting propels me closer to submission—the call of my instincts too strong to ignore.

“Please.”

Ivy’s skin is so warm, her scent so decadent as she threads her hands into my hair. Our lips brush in a teasing touch that makes all the blood rush from my head. Her heat is spiking again—I can taste her need on my tongue. If I lose myself to this rut, I can’t be sure of what will happen.

“You want your alpha to lay you down and have his wicked way with you, omega? Hmm? Want me to knot your slick cunt and make you mine?” My voice is rough—a barely suppressed hunger evident in every word.

“Yes,” she pants against my waiting mouth. “I’m yours.”

Fuck. Nothing has ever sounded so sweet.

With her concession, I close the distance and press her lips to mine. This is no delicate kiss, but an alpha taking his fated omega in the most primal of ways. Teeth clash; my tongue slides against hers, tasting—savoring—as needy little whimpers escape her throat.

I’m as powerless to the whims of Fate as I am to the goddess in my arms. My hands traverse the lush expanse of her soft body, pulling her off her gown—her pretty underthings—until she’s beautifully bare and on her back for me.

Every inch of skin is a temptation meant to lead me down the path of madness. I’m lost in the fog of her apple-cinnamon scent—the only path forward clear.

Touch her.

Taste her.

Claim her.

And when my omega parts her pretty thighs in offering—welcoming me into the wet wonderland of her glistening cunt—I finally surrender.

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