Page 100 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

He steps closer again. His scent is darker now, rich with frustration and hunger andclaiming, curling around me like a rope.

“You do,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “You want to hate me so bad you can’t even admit it. But you feel it. Same as I do. Every time we’re in the same room, it pulls.”

I try to swallow. My throat doesn’t work right.

“You think this is control?” he murmurs, eyes flicking to my parted lips, then back to my gaze. “Lying to yourself, pretending you don’t want me to take it all back. To make it right. To make itoursagain.”

“I’mnotyours,” I whisper.

He tilts his head, studying me.

“Let’s try that again.” His thumb brushes my chin, then drags slowly along the edge of my jaw. “Look me in the eye and say it like you mean it.”

I open my mouth, ready to shove the words out, but all I manage is a shaky inhale and a pathetic little stammer that doesn’t land.

He sees it, and the sight of his lips curving up into that god-awful smirk has me burning hot with irritation.

“I’m not yours,” I practically growl, aiming right for the jugular. “I never have been.”

His eyes flare, and his grip tightens on my jaw, enough to remind meexactlywho I’m dealing with.

“Liar.”

Then helunges.

His mouth crashes to mine, and the kiss is pure battle; all teeth and fury and years of unfinished business. I gasp, and he swallows it, tongue sweeping in to take and punish and claim. There’s nothing soft about it—this is every fight we’ve ever had, every night I’ve dreamt of strangling him and waking up aching for him, shoved between us like a wedge and cracked wide open.

He grabs me and hauls me in so hard I practically slam into his chest. I stumble back into the wall, and he follows like a shadow, a storm, areckoning. His arms cage me in as his knee drives between my thighs, forcing them apart without apology.

“You think this is a game?” he snarls against my mouth. “You think you can fuck them and flounce away like I’m nothing?”

I push at his chest. “Ineversaid you were nothing—”

“You said worse.” His hands are already under my shirt. “You pretended I didn’tmatter.”

“I don’t owe you anything—”

Hegrowls. It’s full-chested and bone-deep, the kind that rattles in my gut and slams through my core, and then heripsmy shirt up, fingers yanking fabric and catching—tearing—right over the scent patch at my ribs.

It comes off with a tiny hiss. A mere flutter of adhesive.

My scent hits him, and his whole body shudders.

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice already shifting—lower, rougher,alpha. “You smell like mine,” he says, biting the words out like they cost him. “Still. Aftereverything.”

“Wes—”

“No.” His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back as his mouth trails fire down my neck. “You don’t get to pretend anymore. Not after what you did. Not after how you’ve looked at me, making me feel like I’m the villain for wanting what’smine.”

“I’m notyours—”

“Say that again.”

I glare up at him, breath hitching. “I’m not—”

He slams his mouth to mine, and I break. My slick’s already blooming, my pulse pounding between my thighs and my knees going weak beneath me.

There’s no pretending now. No fake control, no playing the part of the teasing omega who always keeps her cool. I melt, whimpering and writhing, grinding myself down onto the thigh he’s pressed between mine as if he’s trying to break me in half.

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