Betrayed Forced Mate (Rosecreek Special Ops Wolves #4)

“I could try…drawing the man. That I saw. Maybe that would work.”

“Liv,” Byron says, mercifully dropping the previous topic. “You’re a shit artist.”

“Hey!”

“Remember when we were drawing with Araya and Kaila? I saw what you did—”

“I didn’t want to make them feel bad—”

“Oh, they felt bad, for sure. Bad for you.”

“Okay, but I could try—”

“Let’s just try this again,” Byron says, squeezing my hands in his. “Try projecting an image of the guy to me.”

“Byron,” I laugh, “it nearly killed you.”

“It did not,” he says, his grin infectious. “That’s pretty normal for me.”

“I don’t—”

“Liv.” He says, and when his eyes meet mine, it’s like looking into the sun. I have to blink and look away. “I trust you. Come on.”

Taking a deep breath, I nod and close my eyes.

You ready?

Yes, captain.

I bite my tongue, think back to that night, picture that little old man again. Focus on that mustache, the wrinkled, weathered skin, how the apples of his cheeks were red, like he had just been in the sun. I think about his scent, how there was something slightly off about it, something not unlike Zane’s—

“Holy fuck!” Byron says, yanking his hands back away from me and scrambling off the couch, his eyes wide, his hands slapping to the wall behind him to steady him and keep him from falling. “Liv! Oh, Gods!”

“What?” I ask, scrambling up after him, fear coursing through my body. Is he having another attack? When I reach him, I put my hands on his chest, feeling over him like I might be able to sense whether or not he’s well.

Then, all at once, I feel his heartbeat like it’s my own. Strong and steady, a little fast, but not erratic.

“Liv,” he says, his voice lowering, his hands coming to my cheeks. I look up into his eyes, breathing, feeling everything at once. “You are a genius.”

And then he’s kissing me. And I’m kissing him back.

It’s gentle, exploratory, his lips soft and sure against mine, his hands cupping either side of my face, his thumbs brushing the sensitive spot right next to my ears. When I step forward, pressing my hips to his, he sucks in a breath, and I feel his heart start to speed up.

“Olivia,” he says, walking me backward to the couch. My heart is in my throat, and my entire body feels like warm clay, ready to mold to him. “Do you want to do this?”

“Yes,” I say, and his hands are at the waistband of my sweats, pushing them down. He reaches down to each heel, grabbing them and slipping them away from my body. Every place he brushes against my skin is like fire, sparks, heat.

I feel feverish, thinking about that time in the woods nonstop. Thinking about what it will be like to have him here, alone.

He lowers me down onto the couch, and I grasp at his boxers, gasping when his lips land on the tender skin of my neck, kissing up and down my throat, trailing over my cheeks, peppering me with kisses everywhere he can reach.

“You are making this so hard,” I laugh, finally managing to get my thumbs around his waistband so I can tug his boxers down.

“You’re making me so hard,” he breathes, and I start to laugh again, but it dies in my throat when I get my hand around him. I close my eyes, every part of my body thrumming in anticipation of what will happen.

When his fingers slip inside me, I arch up off the couch, and he uses it as an opportunity to get his lips on my breast, closing over my nipple and sucking so hard I see stars.

“Gods, Byron,” I mutter, and he groans against my chest, sending the rumbles through my body.