“You aren’t funny,” I spat, eyebrows clenched together, arms hanging limply.
“I happen to think I’m hilarious.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Put me on the ground.” He reached down and placed his arm under my shoulders, cradling me like a child.
“Don’t be mad, pretty girl, I like your smile better than your frown,” he pouted, setting me upright.
“Well, then maybe you shouldn’t throw people around like they’re a sack of potatoes.” I yanked my shirt into its proper place and stalked away from him.
“Where are you going?” he called after me. I turned and glared but kept walking. “Sloane, come back.”
“No.”
“Please?” he sang.
I huffed and leaned against a tree. I felt his breath on my neck but didn’t move. He moved my hair off my shoulder and leaned down. His nose touched the crook of my neck, and I froze.
“What are you doing?” I breathed out.
“Don’t be mad at me,” he murmured just before he placed a small kiss. Whatever anger was in my body immediately disappeared.
“I’m not,” I assured him, leaning back into him.
“Good.” His arm slithered around my waist and pulled my back taut against his body. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. His other hand reached up and traced the side of my forehead.
“Rush,” I said, not really knowing what I was going to say after it.
“Mm,” he responded against my skin.
“Where are we going?”
He moved and pressed me up against the bark of the large tree and leaned his head down. His arms were on either side of my head; I was trapped.
“Why do we have to be going anywhere?” His forehead touched mine. I spluttered out something as a response, but it was unintelligible. He smiled. “I like the effect I have on you.”
“You don’t have an effect on me,” I said half angrily, furrowing my eyebrows.
He continued to smile; his hand touched my cheek. “Don’t worry, you have the same effect on me, probably more so.”
My left hand reached up and stroked the side of his face, rubbing slightly over the stubble on his cheek. The feel of his skin against mine was more than pleasurable, it was insatiable. Finally, after moments of me silently begging, he bent his head down, and he kissed me.
I had never felt anything so warm as the way he made my body feel. The first touch was soft and gentle, and then, like a spark was ignited, his hand grabbed my hair, and his other arm lifted my waist from the ground.
His body held me against the tree. My arms desperately wound around his shoulders and held him closer. Our lips were crushing each other to a bruising, satisfying degree.
His arms left my body for a second and grabbed my thighs, throwing them around his waist. I clenched them as he moved away from the tree. His greedy hands pressed against my back as he walked.
He knelt and leaned his body over, laying me on the soft grass as he hovered over me. Our assault continued, gripping, pulling, tasting.
He finally let out a deep breath and pulled away from me. His chest heaved from the lack of air, but he didn’t move away from me.
“If that’s how you make things up to me, I want to fight with you every day,” I said honestly, squinting under the sun to see him. His smile was blinding as he leaned down and kissed me one last time.
Contention
We strolled back to the packhouse with his arm slung around my shoulders. A man was getting out of a car in front of the yard, and Rush straightened up as we approached him.
“Rush,” the man greeted happily, tugging a suit coat out from the seat next to him.
“Hey, Dad,” he said, forcing a happy tone over a sad look in his eyes. His dad noticed and closed the door.
“What’s wrong?”
“Mom,” Rush grumbled and rolled his eyes.
“Ah.” His father nodded his head. “I assume this is the mate, then?”
Rush nodded and breathed out a laugh. “Dad, this is Sloane. Sloane, this is my father, Hollis.”
“Lovely to meet you, dear.” Hollis pulled my shoulder in for a quick hug and released me. The connection Rush had to his father made me both optimistically happy and dreadfully jealous.
“Likewise, I can see where your son gets his good looks,” I said, grinning. Rush’s hand found its way to my waist, and he yanked me into his side. I nearly stumbled, and Hollis shot his son a perplexed look.
“She’s not your shadow, Rush, give her some damn space.” He laughed, shaking his head. Rush looked down, scorned, and chuckled. He didn’t release me, but his thumb began rubbing circles on my stomach.
“I like being close to him,” I confessed. Rush perked up, his ears turning a sweet shade of red under his tan skin.
“You hear that, Dad?” He smirked. “She likes her mate best, unlike some people.”
“Your mother likes me,” Hollis shot back, his voice wavering in falsehood. “She’s just, reserved.”
“If that’s what you want to call it.” Rush looked down at me and kissed my forehead unexpectedly.
“I’ll see you later, Sloane,” Hollis said as he drifted into the packhouse with a briefcase and his suit coat.
“Goodbye, Mr. Weston,” I said charmingly.
The sun had begun to lower in the sky, sending a warm, honeycomb glow over the house. I stopped moving and stared at the sheer size of the building. Rush stayed by my side, admiring his home as well.
“It’s so big,” I said in awe.
“My grandfather built it with his brothers, it was meant to keep the whole pack inside to keep them safe,” he explained. “But now the packs a bit too big, and we don’t need to hide anymore.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” I denied. He looked at me strangely but didn’t
