Mate (Bride, #2) (112)

“Poor killer.” He hugs me and kisses my cheek. “She didn’t do as she was told, and now look.”

It doesn’t feel like punishment, not when his knot grinds inside me. That little bit of friction, coupled with his hand strumming my clit, makes me come so many times, I don’t even remember making it back to the bed.

ON THE MORNING OF THE THIRD DAY, THE URGENCY SUBSIDES. Somewhat.

“Is it over?” I ask Koen.

He scoffs. Twenty minutes later, when I climb on top of him, desperate for relief, I understand why.

But it is getting better. Less intense. With longer spells of normalcy. The fuck or die is waning in favor of . . . “Fuck or cry, maybe?” I tell him, and he laughs.

The end of this is in sight, and I do not want to look at it.

I feel good enough to take a shower, but Koen tries to talk me out of it, protesting that I won’t smell like him anymore.

“We are in your house. You are right here. There’s no way I’ll smell like anyone else.”

He grumbles for a while, even as he joins me and helps me clean up, looking morose the entire time.

Cute. He’s so cute.

For the first time in weeks, the water doesn’t sucker punch my skin into submission.

“What came before Neanderthals?” I ask him afterward.

He shrugs. Pouts.

“Whatever they were, you’re the one before them.”

He tosses me an apple, and his shut up and eat look is wry enough, I think I’m forgiven. But I’m deluding myself, because afterward, once the fever rises again, he makes me pay for it with his mouth on my cunt.

“I didn’t mean to— ”

“You didn’t mean to wash away my come like it’s a bad thing?” He sucks on my clit so hard, I almost pass out.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Koen, please, you said— ” I sob. It’s too much.

Too good. Is this what happens when people slowly descend into madness and despair? Is this the feeling? “You said that I can’t come from this.”

“You can’t.” He leaves a bite on the tender strip where my thigh and my abdomen meet. I yelp, even though the pain is better than the constant, unbreakable tension.

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Because unlike you, I can.”

He can. And he does. A minute later I watch him, wide-eyed, as he comes just from eating me out. He growls his orgasm into my flesh, twitching with pleasure, kissing me throughout, and even though I’m left

trembling and unsatisfied, even though I’m still in my twenties, I know that it’s the most erotic thing I’ll ever experience.

When he moves up, he’s still hard, tacky once again, and I cannot look away. My hands shake. I’m rapidly approaching the point where I’ll beg him, but this is my first chance to truly look at his knot. Since it’s usually inside me.

“Can I— ”

He sits back in the nest. Pulls me into him, wedging me under his chin.

“What?”

“Can I touch it?”

“My cock?”

“No, your . . .”

He laughs. “Out of all the things to ask permission for, touching my knot is not one you need to worry about.”

“Is it sensitive?”

“I’m not sure. The knot and I are still making each other’s acquaintance.”

I peek up at him. “Does celibacy include . . .”

He snorts. “No. Though the Assembly would love to monitor the frequency of me jerking off.”

“Then . . . why?”

“It only happens when we’re with our mates.” His pecs rise, then fall as he catches his breath. “Or after we find them, anyway.”

“Oh.” My chest tightens.

“It’ll go down soon. Never lasts as long when I’m not inside you. Or maybe it won’t. It gets really happy when you’re around.”

I sit up on my knees. Observe him, fascinated by how free he is with his body. Even after three days naked, I still feel a little bit shy when I catch him staring.

But he said I could. Or, he said I didn’t even need to ask for permission.

So I reach out and gingerly run a finger down his cock. The soft heat of him is a small shock, and I realize that I haven’t done this yet. Touched him.

Enjoyed him.

I trail down to the base, where his knot is still distended and dark with blood. Koen shudders, eyes fluttering closed. His hand white-knuckles the comforter.

“Does it hurt?”

The question amuses him. “No.”

It’s an impulsive decision, leaning closer. And maybe the twenty years of forced celibacy did leave a trace. Maybe teenage Koen didn’t do it all and left some things off the table. I can point my finger at the exact moment his quiet, curious expression morphs into wide-eyed understanding: not until my mouth is just a hairbreadth away from his cock.

Caught by surprise, at last.

“Serena— ” he starts, then stops with a choked groan.

I swirl my tongue around him. Suck a bit. He tastes like a drug. Pulsates in my mouth. Sends me into a stupor.

“Fuck,” he swears.

I don’t attempt anything fancy, but Koen seems dazzled enough.

Speechless. His neck falls back, brow drawn tight and beaded with sweat.