Mate (Bride, #2) (105)

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I didn’t mean to— ”

Make a mess of the bed.

Make a mess of you.

Get this grossly sick.

Lose my mind.

“I’m going— I’ll shower and call Layla and figure this out and— ”

“Serena, come here.” He scoops me back into him, shushing me with his lips against my temple.

I’m on the verge of tears, and I’m not sure why. “Maybe you could help me to the bathroom— ”

“Hush, killer. I got you.”

He holds me. I’m tacky and gross and don’t want to lean on him, but every inch of contact is pure heaven. “Koen?”

“Relax.”

“I’m really not feeling well.”

“I know.” His nose nuzzles behind my ear. My heart could explode with joy. “You’ll be okay. I’ll make you okay.”

“I need to call Layla— ”

“Sweetheart.”

“It’s just that I need— ”

“You need to do what I tell you.” His tone is gentle and firm all at once, commanding in the exact way I need. It quells my anxiety. Loosens my restlessness. Koen’s scent is so pleased, my body blooms in his arms. “See, killer? We can fix this.” He licks across the gland on my neck, and I slump

against him. It’s bliss. “You don’t need to call Layla. And you definitely don’t need to stay away. You know what you need?”

I shake my head. His cool lips press against my heated, blotchy cheek.

“You need to be fucked, Serena.”

Oh. It makes so much sense, I can finally compute the last few minutes.

Of course. I’m about to go into Heat. Everything I need is here, in this bed.

How did I not realize this sooner? “ I . . . I forgot?”

“I don’t think Heats are when people are at their most lucid.” His laughter rumbles softly against my throat.

“So I just need to . . . ?”

“Be fucked, yes. I’ll be taking care of that. Okay?”

“Please.” I nod, desperate, all brainstem. This is all I want. I’m hollow, and he’s going to fill me to the brim. The prospect scorches me blank. My vision whites out.

I’m also . . . The idea of water sloshing over my body makes me want to gouge my eyes out, but: “Can I . . . shower?”

Koen inhales deeply. Rolls us over until he’s hovering above me, murmuring something about how “fucking unbelievable” I smell. Nips at my jaw, teeth just a little too tight, just this side of dangerous. He could hurt me, but he would never.

“Wait. Before we . . . I’m going to shower.”

Koen props himself up on his palms to stare down at me, mystified.

“What?”

You’re annoying your mate, a pick-me voice whispers in my ear. In your nest, no less. What is wrong with you? I shrug it away, and say again,

“You’d like it better if I washed up.”

A silent snort. “I very much would not.”

I have no idea how to explain what’s happening to me and keep my dignity. “It’s just, I’m sweaty and kind of disgusting, and also . . . You could say that I’m eager, but it doesn’t really convey the depth of my . . .” I shut my eyes tight, mortified. Feel a single, shameful tear slip out of one corner.

“Serena, do you want to shower?” He sounds befuddled. “Or are you asking because you think I find your body disgusting?”

“The . . . latter.”

Koen exhales. Indignant, maybe. “Open your eyes,” he orders.

I can’t. Don’t want to. But realize that’s not an option when he shoves my top up, licks one of my nipples, then bites into it hard enough for my

back to wind high.

“Serena, open your damn eyes.”

I do. For a long moment we regard each other. Then he explains, tone level, “The reason you are so wet is that your body has been preparing for what is about to happen. Believe me, you will need all the slick you can spare.”

Slick. “I feel like I smell . . .”

“Fuckable. You smell ready. You smell transcendent and filthy and delicious. You smell like you’re this close to losing your mind, like you might hurt me if I don’t take care of you, and you know what that does to me, knowing that my mate needs me? You understand what this is for, right? What Heats are for?”

I nod but squirm underneath him. I might be lying.

“You always smell like you were made specifically for me. To fuck. To be around. To worship. But right now, you smell like you’d give me anything I asked for. If that’s the scent you’re planning to wash off . . . don’t do it on my account.” He bends to suck on my neck gland, then lets go with a lurid, popping sound.

I shudder. Watch him take off his shirt. Gaze never leaving mine, he spreads my legs open with his knees. When he stares down at me like that, I feel like I could . . .

He inhales deeply and closes his eyes. Like he needs a minute. “Fuck.”

I watch him stroke himself through the fabric of his sweatpants. I’ve been around Koen a lot in the past week, and I’m not so unobservant to have missed his erections, but the ridge of his cock always gives me pause.