Page 82 of Lost Touch

“I can’t wait to see it.”

Drew shuddered, his lips latching onto the bite mark again. “It’s beautiful.” He kissed me again. “You’re beautiful. And you’re mine. Gods, you’remine.” He sounded awestruck, as if he couldn’t believe his own luck.

That made two of us.

“And you’re mine?”

His arms tightened around me, cradling me close. “So very fucking yours.”

Mine. That sounded amazing.

I closed my eyes and snuggled deeper into him, his warmth and strength and comfort.

I didn’t need anything else in the world.

Chapter 23

That’s the Spirit

Real life didn’t intrude for the rest of the day, and I didn’t rush it.

Having an alpha mate turned out to be pretty fucking fantastic. For one, I didn’t have to walk anywhere anymore, it seemed like. He carried me to the shower, washed me in the least efficient way possible—I mean, tongue baths worked for cats, but did it actually get you as clean as soap? I doubted it, not that I complained—and then carried me back to bed, where he got me even dirtier. At length.

For another, I didn’t need to feed myself. Drew ordered pizza, put on a pair of pants just long enough to collect it at the door, and then brought it to me in bed. I wouldn’t let him actually hand-feed me, even though he tried, but—pizza. Without even getting out of bed.

The list would’ve been a lot longer if he’d given me time to think about it.

He didn’t.

But the sun finally rose on the next day, and I blinked my eyes slowly, adjusting to the light. We’d ended up in the bed I’d started in because the sheets were a little less thrashed, but we were still nested in a heap of rumpled blankets and disarranged bedding, my head on Drew’s chest in lieu of one of the actual pillows.

Most of those were on the floor by now anyway.

Our tangled limbs probably looked more like some kind of human/octopus hybrid, given how inextricably we’d wrapped ourselves together.

I made a mental note to look up whether wereoctopi existed, and then realized I’d rather not know.

More blinking. It was taking me forever to wake up, probably because I’d been woken up approximately every hour the night before, usually with Drew’s head between my legs. Either head, actually. There had been some of both.

When I tipped my head back onto his bicep and peeked up at him, I found him gazing down at me with the kind of smile on his face that made him look even more like a magazine cover.

And it was all for me.

I smiled back, forgetting to worry about my snarled bedhead or flushed face or gummy eyes. Or whether I’d drooled on his chest.

Because no one who looked at me like that would care.

“I think it’s time for another shower,” Drew said by way of good morning, in the tone of a man who really meant “I think it’s time for me to fuck you in the shower.”

Not that I’d objected the day before, or even the night before—if the hotel went bankrupt from its water bill this month, we were responsible—but…

My face must have given something away, or maybe the bond pulsing softly between us, because Drew kissed me on the forehead and said, “Nothing goes in your ass for at least twelve hours, promise.” He paused. “Except my tongue. Other than that.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m glad you have rules in place for my ass, Drew.”

His own eyes gleamed, a little bit alpha and even more pure wickedness, and he rolled me over and underneath him, propping himself up and looming over me. One hand slid beneath me, and he squeezed a generous handful. “I own you, remember? It’s mine. You’re mine.”

My breath caught. And I almost spread my legs and told him to fuck me again anyway, because yes, he did own me, and I’d agreed to it and wouldn’t take it back for anything—even if he’d let me.

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