Page 45 of Forbidden Devotion
“Harder, Mitchel.” He panted, his lungs fighting for air.
Mitchel complied, clenching his jaws. Sinclair rode the edge of pain and pleasure, needing more.
“Do it. Bite me,” he begged, but to his disappointment, Mitchel released his grip and lapped at his neck. That felt good too, but he wanted the teeth back. He wanted them inside him.
Mitchel climbed off his back and settled at his side. Sinclair mourned the loss of his weight and the pressure. He rolled over and stared up at him.
“Oh my god, Mitchel, if you need my permission or something, you have it.” Sinclair sucked in a deep breath. “That was hot.”
Mitchel responded with a needy whimper and licked Sinclair’s cheek, leaving a cooling, damp stripe in his wake. His eyes, normally a warm brown, had turned a burnished gold flecked with brighter specks of gilt. They glowed with preternatural light, aimed squarely at Sinclair with the intensity of a lost love, finally found beneath the silvery shine of the full moon.
Sinclair’s heart pounded in his chest. What did this mean? What had that bite meant? He got the impression of significance but couldn’t let himself believe as much. This new warmth between them, this growing attachment, could it be more?
He had so many questions, but his conversation companion had four legs, a tail, a tongue lolling happily from the side of his mouth, and zero capacity for human speech.
His questions would have to wait.
* * *
They stayed out all night,sometimes joining with the others, sometimes alone, just the two of them. The weather was perfect, a crisp fall evening, leaves crunching beneath their every step. Not too cold. The freedom of the forest, a necessity for the werewolves, pulled on Sinclair the longer he stayed in the forest. He could see himself enjoying this every month. Looking forward to it. Counting down the days as Mitchel had done prior to tonight.
When they ambled their way back to the meadow, exhausted but full of a deep sense of serenity only such an experience could bring, Sinclair barely noticed the naked bodies dragging their clothes on all around him. His thoughts centered firmly on his bed, his sheets, and his pillow. He was tired to the bone. Werewolves sure knew how to party.
The pack might have teased him for being the slowest, but everyone agreed he was faster and kept up better than they’d expected. Nathan slung an arm over his shoulders. “Well done.” Then he yawned.
Now Sinclair knew exactly why their dorm was always so quiet the day after the full moon. Everybody needed a nap.
Eleanor cleared her throat and caught his eyes. Her gaze went pointedly to his neck, and she arched her brows.
Sinclair brought his hand to his throat and blushed. The bite marks. Mitchel hadn’t punctured the skin, but he’d come close. The skin had a sensitive feeling like a shallow bruise. He reveled in it as heat crept to his cheeks.
Eleanor leaned close. “It’s a good look for you.”
Fortunately, the others were too blissed out from their wild night to notice.
The pack split up, each departing for their own rooms, their own beds, leaving just Mitchel and Sinclair alone together in the kitchen.
“I don’t want to go back to my cabin alone. I want you to come with me, but you look like a gentle breeze could knock you over.”
Sinclair was dead on his feet, but he managed a grin. “You could stay here. With me. If you think you can fit in my bed, that is.”
Mitchel grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together. “I’d like that. But why wouldn’t I fit in your bed?”
Sinclair curled his fingers tighter around Mitchel’s. “It’s a loft bed, very small, with a little railing to prevent falls. You’ll have to be the big spoon.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Silence claimed the old church as the sun’s morning rays spilled in through old stained-glass windows. They climbed the wide staircase side by side.
Mitchel barely fit with him in his little bed, but it hardly mattered. They fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the one pillow shared between them.
* * *
Sinclair awokethe next day to find Mitchel’s soft gaze on him from a close range. It was both a little creepy and also kind of sweet. “How long have you been awake?”
Mitchel stretched, bringing an arm around his middle to tug him closer. “Maybe a half hour? I’m not sure.”
“Have you been watching me this whole time?”
