Chapter Nine

Everything about the Great Lakes wolves was wrong, and it was making Blake crazy.

Emmett was too sly, too deliberate. Always dancing just shy of rudeness as he surveyed the back porch like a prospective owner and spoke to Lucas as if they were equals. He wanted everything Lucas had—the comfort that came with their money, the security of their home, the respect of a pack.

The young wolves with him respected no one. Not Emmett, not glowering Tim, not each other. If they'd been his pack brothers, Blake would have smacked them into the ground a dozen times over the course of the meal, just on damn principle. And when they turned those disrespectful gazes on Ashley...

He had already bent his fork by mistake, and he'd have splinters embedded halfway through his hand if he didn't stop gripping the edge of the table. His self-control was already frayed, but he'd promised Lucas he would try.

It didn't stop him from intercepting Bryce's next covetous look with a cold glare.

The younger wolf started to scowl, but the one with the eye patch planted an elbow in his ribs, diverting his attention.

Beneath the table, Ashley curled her fingers around Blake's hand and squeezed.

Her touch should have soothed him. It had been enough, the first few times, when his rage was still at a low simmer. But it was the girl—Grace—who was scraping everyone raw now.

She was wary. Wounded. She barely spoke at all, even then only when spoken to, and her gaze stayed fixed to the table the rest of the time. Not out of deference or as a show of submission—there was too much jagged, angry power in her for that.

She was scared. She was hurting. And her supposed pack was fucking well oblivious, ignoring her as she listlessly chased food around her plate with her fork. They were too damn busy trying to devour Ashley with their eyes.

The bastards didn't deserve Ashley. They didn't deserve either of them.

"I should check on dessert," Ashley said suddenly. "Blake, can you help me?"

"Sure." He rose and offered his hand, just for the excuse to keep that calming contact.

She pulled him into the kitchen. They'd left the back door open to the pleasant evening, but she closed it now, leaned against it, and stared at him. "Are you all right?" she asked, too softly for anyone outside to hear.

The smart thing would be to lie. Project confidence, offer reassurances. He tried, but the words wouldn't come. He was so obviously not all right, and the least all right part of the whole fucking mess was his sudden overpowering need to pin her to the door and rub his scent over every glorious inch of her.

"No," he rasped, all but shaking with the need to touch her. "No, I'm not."

She breathed his name, then surged off the door and covered the space between them. Laying one hand on his chest, right over his thumping heart, she whispered his name again. "They'll be gone soon."

They'd be gone, and Ashley would be here. Would be safe, and for a dizzy moment Blake didn't even care that he might not be the one to mate her. Better Lucas or Jud, better Mac or Connor, better anyone than those selfish bastards who were already ignoring one woman's pain.

He wrapped both arms around Ashley and dragged her back until they collided with the open pantry door. One pivot and he had her inside, up against the shelves as he slanted his mouth over hers and let his hard-earned control unravel.

Her hand clenched in his shirt, a mere half-second before she opened her mouth with a sigh and kissed him back.

They were still so close to everyone else. If he concentrated, Blake could hear the rise and fall of voices through the closed kitchen door. Swinging the pantry door shut didn't help much, but it plunged them into darkness and gave him a flat surface to press Ashley against as he tilted his head and licked at her lips in silent entreaty.

This time, when her fingers curled in his shirt, her nails dug into his flesh through the cotton. "They'll hear us."

He didn't give a fuck if they did. But Ashley would, not to mention Lucas, who wasn't suffering through this dinner for his own enjoyment. Blake kissed a path up her jaw, all the way to her ear, even as he slid his fingers down her hip to gather up her skirt. "I can make sure they don't."

She laughed, a quiet sound of lust and longing. "I don't think you're going to be the loud one."

"I know." Slowly, he lifted his free hand and traced his fingertips over her soft, full lips. "I can make sure they don't."

Her ragged breathing hitched, then stopped altogether.

His hand edged under her skirt and encountered skin, the silky smoothness of her outer thigh. "Do you want me to show you?"

Whimpering, she nodded.

He timed it carefully, folding one hand across her mouth to muffle her strangled noise as the other reached the top of her thigh. He worked her just like that, under her skirt, over her panties, reveling in her arousal as he rubbed the already wet fabric gently against her clit.

Ashley arched off the door, her breath hot against his hand, her eyes wide and dark. She watched him, her gaze fixed on his face until a shiver of sensation took her, and her eyes squeezed shut.

Fuck, she was so into it that his cock ached with the need to be inside her. He dragged her panties off one hip, slid his hand inside, and resumed stroking her, circling with his thumb as he teased her entrance with one finger. "You like this, don't you sweetheart? Being bad?"

In reply, she parted her lips beneath his hand and licked his palm.

"Naughty girl," he whispered, letting his approval show as he worked his finger into her. Just one, but her body clenched tight, and he dropped his forehead to hers with a groan. "Just how I like you. So, so wicked."

She moaned and rocked into his touch, taking his finger deeper.

He knew exactly what she needed now. How deep to fuck her, when to add a second finger, when to shift from lazy circles around her clit to a firm, rougher touch. He knew her sounds, even when muffled, knew the way her hips moved when she was getting close, the way her inner muscles rippled around him.

He knew her, how to please her, how to make her shake and scream, and it was the purest, best part of him. Even his selfishness was for her pleasure, her release. So many years spent learning how to hurt and conquer, but this was what he'd been made for. Knowing her, indulging her, having the skills and knowledge to bring her to that peak...

And the self-control to give her every damn fantasy, exactly the way she wanted.

Blake eased his grip on her mouth just enough to let her answer a question. "Do you want to come around my fingers or my cock?"

Her head hit the door with a thump. "Oh God."

"Shh. Which one, Ashley?"

She tugged at his shirt and shuddered as her hands slipped beneath the fabric. She scratched his sides, his chest, and finally licked her lips. "Both."

"That's my girl," he murmured, covering her mouth again.

And then he gave her what she wanted—what they both wanted. Her, writhing against the door as he drove her over the edge, grasping and clinging. She sank her teeth into his hand as she came, and he still had to clamp his hand down hard over her mouth to muffle her cries.

She was still shuddering when he dragged his fingers free of her pussy and reached for his belt. "Help me."

Her hands trembled on the leather as she jerked his belt open. "Christ, I missed you."

"I know." There was no doubt between them now, no hesitation or worry. Just the shared goal of shoving aside enough clothing to get him inside her. Not because of the mating heat, but because it was the only thing that felt right.

"You don't know." She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her body tight against his. "You have no idea."

He hoisted her up against the door, biting back a loud groan as his cock ground against her softness. "Tell me."

"I felt—" She dropped her head to his shoulder, burying her face against his neck. "I felt like part of me was missing."

It was how he felt every damn time a door shut with her on the other side. He slipped his fingers into her hair and tilted her head back again, far enough to let him claim her lips. Soft at first, sweet, until she moaned something that sounded like his name, and then it was hard and deep and still sweet, because she was.

Ashley rocked between him and the door, using the leverage to glide her slick pussy up and down the length of his shaft. They both groaned, the sounds tangling together, stifled by their kiss, and Blake couldn't hold back.

If being apart from her meant something was missing, sliding into her meant coming home. Even like this, fast and rough, driving her back against the door as he sank deep.

She was sweetest like this, his lips muffling her eager moans as her body welcomed him. Her fingers slid into his hair, stroking, clutching, and her legs tightened around his hips, all of it a silent plea—don't stop.

He couldn't. They didn't have time for slow and teasing, and neither of them wanted it. He curled his fingers under her ass and held her steady for his swift, hard thrusts, already lost to her heat, her tightness, the way they fit together.

She tore her mouth from his, silent except for the panting she couldn't control, every rough breath urging him faster, harder.

The pantry door rattled under the force of their fucking. He freed one hand to brace it, silencing the sound, but there were so many more. Their unsteady breathing, the slap of flesh on flesh, the growling snarl of satisfaction he couldn't choke back every time she squeezed his cock tight. "Come on, sweetheart. Let go."

"Blake—" Her voice broke, shattering around his name. "Blake."

He claimed her mouth again, swallowing her cries as she tensed in his arms. A heartbeat later, she was shaking apart, clenching around him as she came.

For him. All over him. The heat and the friction were too much, especially combined with the gratification of her writhing body and helpless noises. He slammed into her, grinding deep, and let release drag him down into a dark peace that was almost, almost perfect.

Almost.

Her nails scratched over him, edging beneath his collar to stroke skin. Shuddering, Blake dropped his forehead to hers again, loath to pull away even though he knew their time was limited. They had to rejoin the others, and he had to pull himself back under control and not kill them for the crime of looking at Ashley.

But for now, in this moment, she was his. Even if she wasn't.

"Not yet," she whispered.

The words could have been an answer to the longing filling his chest, so he silenced her with a soft kiss.

But Ashley turned her head. "I mean it," she insisted. "We don't have to go back. We could stay here a while."

If only. "Lucas will send someone for us soon. I need to be out there. I'm his second."

She moaned, a sound full of regret, not pleasure. "You just got back. I haven't even had a chance to—" She bit her lip.

She looked shy, almost hesitant. He swept his finger along her lower lip, gently freeing it from the bite of her teeth. "What, sweetheart?"

"I figured something out while you were gone. I..." Her voice faltered, and she shook her head. "It's nothing. It can wait."

"Hey." He tilted her chin up. "They can wait, if this is important to you."

She stared at him, her eyes wide, her heart thumping. Then she smiled and shook her head again. "You're right. We'd better hurry."

They did, putting their clothing to rights as quickly as possible. Not that it mattered—even smoothing Ashley's hair into place and straightening her dress didn't make her look any less thoroughly ravished. And nothing short of a long shower would erase the tangle of scents, his and hers and theirs.

Blake found that more satisfying than he should have.

Outside, his satisfaction cooled a bit as Lucas fixed him with a pointed glare.

Control yourself. His alpha didn't have to say it, and he shouldn't have had to imply it. For years, Blake had been a solid second, a steady right hand. He'd had perfect control.

When it came to Ashley, he didn't have any at all.