Page 46 of Chomp's Challenge

It’s been hours since we left the tub and the bubble bath he drew for us. In all fairness, there wasn’t much water left by the time we exited. I don’t think Chomp minded the mess. He was beaming a wide grin as he picked me up, wrapped a towel around my wet body, and carried me into the bedroom. We’ve made love three more times since then and fell asleep, waking to birds chirping outside the windows.

It’s perfect. I’m so happy I feel like I’m floating on the clouds. “I’m wonderful. Better than wonderful,” I admit as I lift my head, staring into the warm brown eyes that I adore. For a brief second, he blinks, and I see the gator’s eyes. He never lets me forget that he’s there too. To protect, defend, and ensure I’m safe.

“We should eat something,” Chomp murmurs as his stomach rumbles. “We’ve burned a lot of calories.”

I feel my cheeks heat. “Yeah, I guess we did.”

Not that I’m complaining one single bit. Never in the history of ever did I think that sex would be that magical or explosive between two people. It doesn’t hurt that in addition to being sexy as hell, Chomp is a kind and considerate lover.

“I’ll cook anything you want,” he offers, and I know he will.

This time, I want to cook for him again. “You should know I make the best baked spaghetti and homemade garlic bread.”

His lips curl as I see the hunger enter his eyes. It’s for more than food. “My dove, you can make anything you want. I’ll just sit back and watch that sexy ass as you cook.” He gives my bottom a slap to prove his point. “I’m addicted to having you in my bed.”

“It’s a good thing I never plan to leave it.” Well, for sleeping anyhow.

“Keep talkin’ like that and we’re not going anywhere,” he whispers huskily as his tongue licks up the side of my neck, causing a shiver to ghost along my spine.

I push him away as he pouts. His stomach growls a second time. “See? You need to feed that gator.”

He doesn’t argue. “Fine, but you should know Gator says he’s wasting away, and you should be impressed with our prowess.”

I snort. That gator.

Shaking my head with humor, I scramble from bed and pull on one of his shirts and a pair of my shorts. On the way out the door, I spot a hair tie and throw my long locks into a bun. When my gaze lands on my wrist, I feel tingly all over, and warmth spreads through me. My heart is so full.

I’m mated. To a gator. A biker. And an intense, muscled, and inked hunk of man. Wow.

I sure won the lottery when it came to Chomp.

Chomp let me cook for him, but he definitely assisted as well. He makes a good sous chef as I put my sauce on a low simmer after tossing everything into a huge pot. I’m actually impressed at the size of this thing; I feel like we’ll be eating pasta of some sort for days with how much I made. Now, Chomp is dicing up onions so I can cook some meatballs to add protein to the meal. I’ve come to learn that he needs a lot of it to sustain himself since his metabolism is so high.

“Chomp?” I ask as I brown more meat to add directly to the sauce.

“Yes, Dove?” he replies, busy wiping down the countertops since everything’s waiting for me to create the meatballs. The spaghetti is already cooked and waiting for me to finish with the sauce, so I can put it all together, then bake it. I’m still going to have more than enough sauce left for us to freeze, I suspect.

He cooks like I do; he cleans as he goes, which makes it far more enjoyable in my opinion. “With us being mated now, will I shift? Callie says that she does since she and Kodiak mated.”

“Gator says you’re going to be absolutely beautiful, and I agree, and that he’s planning to teach you everything you need to know about shifting and frolicking in the lake,” he says, chuckling while shaking his head.

“Will my gator talk to me, do you think?” I muse as I start smushing up the concoction and quickly put meatballs on a tray to slide into the oven. I’ll get them browned on all sides, then they’ll finish cooking as the meal itself bakes. I still need to make the cream cheese mixture that’ll have seasonings and add a creamy layer to the baked dish.

“I imagine so, but hopefully, yours doesn’t become so overly dramatic as mine,” he replies.

I giggle because even though I can’t hear his gator, I can only imagine, based on how he reacts sometimes, that he’s getting an earful.

We finish the meal and clean up, and sit down to eat, scooping the first few flavorful bites into our mouths. It’s nearly heaven with the homemade garlic bread and tossed salads we made. We’re both so hungry that we clean our plates. I almost contemplate licking mine.

Chomp adds a generous second helping as I pick up my glass and sip on sparkling strawberry-flavored water. It’s the most I’ve eaten in a long time, and I have to wonder if being a shifter’s mate means I’m going to have a healthy appetite like Chomp.

“I have so many questions,” I murmur as I watch him eat his second helping.

“Ask away, Ariel,” he says between bites. “If I don’t know the answer, I’ll figure out who we can talk to, okay?”

“It’s a lot to take in, Chomp, but I honestly couldn’t ask for anyone better to help me navigate all of this than you and Gator, of course.”

While I can admit that Gator is sometimes extreme in his behavior, what I know about mates, which could admittedly fit in a thimble, is that males are always zeroed in on their female. They worry about them, and with how Chomp and I met, I understand why he’s almost overzealous with my protection and safety. That thought brings up another question that I blurt out. “I’m a little nervous about going to see a therapist, Chomp. I mean, I know I need to do it to get past all the crap that was shoveled down my throat that I believed as though it was gospel, but I’m not having nightmares any longer. Do you think it’s really necessary?”

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