Chapter 33

Bruin whistled to himself in his brother’s kitchen, cooking eggs in a basket for his mate. Willow. His mate. Him. The BOGI. Bruin chuckled and shook his head. Who would’ve thought? It didn’t matter what the job or title was. If it included Willow, he would rock it.

They’d slept for more than twenty-four hours, and it was morning again, but no one had called him, which was cool with him. He knew exactly what he planned on doing all day.

He heard the snick of the bedroom door opening in the hallway, and Willow’s footfalls approaching the kitchen. His cock swelled in his pants immediately and he stared at it for just a moment. Can’t even let her eat breakfast, huh?

But he couldn’t. Being inside her had been mind-blowing, amazing, better than he’d ever imagined all those years when he’d taken himself in hand and imagined what his mate would be like, how she would sound and smell and talk and walk. Fate had done a bang-up job with Willow. She was exquisite. So perfect for him and perfectly his. They fit together like lock and key. Honey and jam. Berries and pies.

He’d been up for an hour, and all he’d been able to think about was claiming her. Would she bleed? Did he actually have to bite her?

Willow came up behind him and wrapped her slim arms around his midsection. “How do you feel?” she asked, then, almost immediately, she stiffened, like she’d seen something that surprised or worried her.

She stepped back slightly, and he turned around, sorry for the tent in his boxers, but unable to do anything about it. When he saw she was as naked as he’d left her the night before after cleaning her up, the purring started in earnest.

She was looking just over his shoulder, her hands up to her mouth. “You’re going to bite me?” she said, fingers fluttering to her neck. Bruin wanted fiercely to be understanding of her worry, but when his eyes took in the smooth skin of that spot where her shoulder met her neck he licked his lips. He couldn’t help it. Bite. Yes. Hard. Yes. Now.

He could at least explain it gently. It couldn’t sound that bad, could it? He turned off the stove and dropped his spatula on the counter, but when he turned back to her, her eyes were on his dick and she was the one licking her lips. His breath stuttered. “You want that,” he said, fierce joy at his mate’s desire for him filling him.

Instead of answering she reached for him, her small hand incredibly dainty against the silk of his boxers, then his skin as she pulled them off. He gritted his teeth and leaned against the counter, watching her delight with lidded eyes. He’d never known anything could feel quite so amazing as the somehow tentative yet assured exploration of his cock by his mate.

She went to her knees, pulling at him, and he followed gladly to where she led him; her mouth. Her hands fluttered to his balls and he gritted his teeth and moaned against her. She was killing him. The night before, he’d come for the first time with a female, inside his very own fated mate, and he could not deny the attraction. Nothing had felt quite so good to him as that. Until now. Her pink tongue flitted against him and made his cock jump and swell till she could barely fit it in her mouth.

He found that spot on her neck again and his mouth watered, his fangs growing long, surprising him, but not enough to pull him out of the moment. He growled, then purred, then growled again and she took his cock out of her mouth to stare at him, transfixed.

He grabbed her, lifting her to her feet, then pressing her against the counter, holding a hand to the nape of her neck and nudging her legs apart, overtaken completely with an undeniable urge to claim his mate. He stopped for only a second, lapping at the spot with his tongue. “A week ago I might not have been able to do this,” he growled into her neck, not having to wonder if she wanted it like he did. Her scent flared, filling the kitchen with the scent of wild berries and sweet, thick honeydew melon honey.

“And now?” she asked, her chest heaving, her cheek pressed against the counter, her center on display for him to admire at his leisure.

He took his cock in his hand and fit it against his mate’s entrance. His sweet Willow. Then he bent and tasted the site where his mark would go again. “Now,” he breathed, “I’m going to enjoy the hell out of it.”

He thrust, slow at first, then emboldened by his mate’s panting and moving backward into him. He held her shoulder crossways across her body and her hip with his other hand and thrust deeply into her, giving her everything he had to give, and then he fell upon her, his purring and growling coalescing as his teeth penetrated her skin.

She cried out and her sheath clenched madly around him. He could do nothing but hold on to her with his fangs and his hands as heavy orgasms ripped through both of them.

Angel wings made up of nothing but light erupted from her shoulders and he almost yelled. He’d heard this happened, had been expecting it, and still nothing had prepared him for the power and beauty of it. His cock pulsed inside his mate as they were lifted from the floor and gently rocked in the air, then returned to the kitchen floor.

Bruin dropped his forehead to Willow’s back as she pressed her cheek onto his kitchen counter and flexed her fingers, her body relaxing, her eyes going half-lidded. “That was claiming, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“When can we do it again?”

Bruin laughed, but lifted his head, just the same, to assess the damage. No damage. He tasted her blood on his tongue, but her shoulder was already healed, the scar there reflecting his bite perfectly. “You’re healed,” he said softly.

She wiggled against him like she was ready to go again.

Bruin pulled out of her and picked her up. He was going to make love to her all day and night long, longer if no one bothered them.

He carried her into the bedroom.