Page 34 of Broken Pregnant Mate
But he doesn’t mention his mate. “I would never do anything to hurt you, Emaline. And I’m worried that, in this state, you might be vulnerable. That you couldsayyou want something when you don’t, because of the heat.”
“Does your bodily autonomy fly out the door when you’re sick?” I ask, hands shaking with a mixture of want and fury. Through all of this, need is pulsing low in my belly, and it takes everything in me not to lean forward, drop this sheet, grab Aidan’s large, rough hand, and bring it to my breast. Not to beg him to take me right here and now. “No, it doesn’t. Just because I’m in my heat doesn’t mean my brain doesn’t work. What, you get a hard-on and you’re incapable of making decisions?”
I resist the urge to look down, to see if he’s sporting one right now. The answer might crush me if he’s not feeling the way I am, the gravitational pull between us feeling unavoidable.
“No,” he finally says, swallowing again. “No—that’s not what happens. I’m sorry, Emaline. I didn’t mean to imply that.”
“I’m clear-headed,” I whisper, dropping my pitch and leaning forward, so my chin is near his shoulder. He sucks in a breath, holding still while I whisper, “And I know what I want, Aidan. I know it’s not permanent. I know it’s a temporary thing. And I want you for as long as I can have you.”
This time, when he swallows, I hear it, feel the whisper of the movement.
And his hands rise, finding my hips under the sheet.
I pull back, and our eyes lock. He’s already starting to breathe hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and the sight of him like that—barely holding himself back—makes my throat thick.
Time stretches out, and I plead with the Gods not to make him pull back right now.
And then, miraculously, he doesn’t. Instead, moving slowly enough to make me hysterical with frustration, he drags his hand up my body, from my hip and over my side to the spot just under my breast.
Swiping, he runs his thumb along the underside of my breast, over the sheet. Even with the material between us, the result is fireworks exploding inside my body.
I feel the slick between my legs get thicker, and watch Aidan’s nostrils flare at the scent of it, which is likely filling the room. Vern used to wrinkle his nose at it, tell me to clean myself up, but Aidan’s pupils flare dangerously, and he sways into me.
“Emaline,” he whispers, and it sounds, for all the world, like he’s whispering a prayer.
Then, he takes my jaw gently in his hands, tips my head back, and brings his lips to mine.
Chapter 15 - Aidan
Emaline tastes like jam.
Like blackberry, blueberry, strawberry, cherry, a twist of lemon. I kiss her, and kiss her, holding her head as gently as I can in my hands, pressing my tongue into her mouth, only becoming hungrier and hungrier for her with each swipe of my tongue.
She tastes like summer. Like childhood, like running in the yard together behind the home. Emaline smells like flowers and tastes like berries, and I want to keep her tucked up away from the world forever. I want to keep her soft and simple.
I could stay like this forever, caught in the warm glow of kissing her, but her hands loosen, and she drops the sheet away from her body.
Opening my eyes, I pull back and take her in, a knot immediately forming in my throat.
She’sgorgeous, her breasts just big enough to fit perfectly in my hand, her nipples taut and pink, her stomach smooth and glowing in the light, her hips begging to be touched. Her knees press into the mattress, the charcoal gray sheets contrasting with her pale, freckled skin.
When I see her body, I know it was made for me, and I wonder if she’ll see me and know that I was made for her, too. The sight of her on her knees like this does horrible, fucked things to my mind, and my cock is so hard it’s nearly to the point of being painful.
If I’m being honest, I started getting hard the moment I smelled her, right after I walked in the front door.
I grit my teeth, force myself to take it slow. Gently, I lift my hand, trailing a knuckle up from the bottom of her stomach to the flat plane between her breasts. Her entire body shivers in response to the touch, and, breathing steadily, I cup one of her breasts in my hand, closing my eyes and biting down on my tongue.
The wolf inside me demands that I take her, get her down on the bed, and find myself inside her. He doesn’t care about the past, or the future, or the fact that this might be the only time that I get to be with her like this.
But I do. And I know she hasn’t been treated well in the past. Right now, I want to bring her pleasure, to make her feel safe, to communicate with every touch that I would never, ever hurt her. I want to earn her trust and keep it with me, the most precious honor I could ever acquire.
“Aidan,” she rasps, and I let out a breath, forcing myself to focus on the softness of her, the tenderness of her skin, how delicate she is. I keep the wolf at bay and skim my fingers over her skin, touch her, taste her, drawing my lips and tongue down over her collarbone.
Then, the urge to bite her surfaces so suddenly and completely that I’ve opened my mouth and set my teeth to her skin before realizing what the hell I’m doing. She lets out a low moan, leaning into the touch like that’s what she wants—like she would want me to mark her, and I have to get away from the feeling. There’s no way that’s what she wants.
She said herself that this is temporary.
To distract myself from the urge to mark her, I drop my hand between her legs and press my fingers to her core. She gasps, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around me, andthe feeling of her slick, warm, and silky—against my fingers makes me nearly delirious with want.
