Page 51 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

Every surface we pass feels like a temptation. The curved railing of the platform, the sturdy base of the telescope, even the gravel beneath our feet—they all seem like places I could take her, places I could press her against and make her mine. My hands twitch at my sides, aching to grab her, to pull her close, to feel the softness of her skin under my palms.

It would be so easy. So simple.

Fuck, she would feel so good.

She leans into me as we walk, her arm slipping a little tighter around mine, her body brushing against me like she’s testing the waters, seeing how far she can push before I snap. And maybe she doesn’t realize what she’s doing. Maybe she does. Either way, it’s driving me insane.

“Look at this,” she murmurs, stopping at another telescope. She lets go of my arm, her fingers grazing my wrist as she steps forward, her curls catching the faint glow of the moonlight. She bends to peer through the lens, her body curving in a way that makes my mouth go dry.

I force myself to focus on something—anything—else. But the only thing I can think about is how close she is, how easy it would be to step behind her, to press her against the cold metal, to let my hands roam until she’s trembling beneath me.

It would change everything. It would ruin everything.

But fuck, I don’t think I care.

I shake myself out of the haze, forcing my feet to move as I step closer. She’s still bent over the telescope, her curves on full display, and it takes everything I have not to let my gaze linger too long. I lean in beside her, catching a faint whiff of her hair—clementines and honey—and I swear it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever smelled. I don’t give a fuck about the stars, I just want to bury my face in her hair and inhale her until the day I die.

“What am I looking at?” I ask, my voice rough.

Magnolia shifts to make room for me, her shoulder brushing mine. “That star there,” she says, pointing to the lens. “The one that’s flickering. Isn’t it amazing?”

I nod, barely seeing the star. All I can focus on is the way her lips curve into a smile, the way her breath fans across my neck when she leans closer to explain. I want to kiss her. I want to ruin her.

And I want to keep her safe from everything, even myself.

“Yeah,” I manage, stepping back before I lose control. “It’s amazing.”

Her eyes flick to me, curious. Her head tilts, her lips parting like she’s about to say something, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she links her arm with mine again, her touch as light as a whisper. It should ease the tightness in my chest, but it doesn’t. If anything, it only makes it worse.

She leans into me as we move on to the next telescope, her body brushing against mine with every step. Each touch, each shift of her hand against my arm, sends a jolt of heat spiraling through me, winding tighter and tighter in my gut. It’s unbearable—the way she feels, the way she smells, the way she looks up at me like I’m more than the damaged wreck I know I am.

And yet, it’s addictive. Every laugh that spills from her lips, every glance she throws my way—it’s pulling me in, unraveling me piece by piece. I try to focus on the telescopes, on the stars, on anything other than the way her hips sway as she moves, the way her curls catch the moonlight like they were made to be tangled in my hands.

But it’s useless. My wolf is pacing, restless, growling low in my chest with every soft touch and lingering glance. It’s urging me to close the gap, to pull her against me, to press her to the nearest surface and mark her as mine.

“Look at this one,” she says, tugging me toward another telescope. Her voice is soft, breathy, like she’s caught up in the wonder of it all. But I can’t see the telescope. I can only see her—her flushed cheeks, her wide, curious eyes, the way her lips curve as she smiles.

She lets go of my arm to lean over the telescope, her fingers brushing the rusted metal as she peers through the lens. The sight of her bent over like that, her hair spilling over her shoulder, her body curving so perfectly—it’s enough to make me forget how to breathe.

My fists clench at my sides, my jaw tightening as I force myself to look away. But the image is already burned into my mind, and it’s all I can do to keep my hands from reaching for her, to keep from giving in to the urge that’s been building since the moment she looped her arm through mine.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, her voice soft with awe. She looks up at me, her eyes sparkling. “Come look.”

I shake my head. “You go ahead,” I say, my voice rough. “I’ll just—keep watch.”

She frowns, stepping back from the telescope, her brows knitting together. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I snap. Her eyes widen, and guilt twists in my gut. “Sorry,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

She hesitates, her gaze searching mine. I hold my breath, half hoping she’ll press, half praying she won’t. But then she nods, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at her lips as she links her arm with mine again. Her touch feels warmer now, heavier somehow, each soft brush of her fingers sending little jolts of aching desire through me.

We walk in silence, the night wrapping around us, her warmth a constant, quiet invitation. Every time she leans into me, I feel my resolve cracking, splintering under the weight of everything I want and can’t have. The softness of her laugh, the way her scent curls through the cool air, the delicate pressure of her hand against my arm—it’s all pulling me under, dragging me deeper into a need I can’t ignore.

By the time we make it back to the main building, my control is hanging by a thread, frayed and worn from her touches, her glances, her presence. Each step tightens the coil in my chest, and by the time we cross the threshold, I’m a hair away from snapping. My wolf is restless, prowling, clawing at me to take her, to claim her.

Her touch lingers on my arm as we step inside, and it feels like fire, like temptation, like sweetness. She slows as we approach the little nest she made earlier, her eyes flicking to it and then back to me. My imagination takes the opening and runs wild: her beneath me, her hair spilling across those blankets, her lips parted and begging for?—

I can’t do this. Not here. Not like this.

---