Rejected Mate (Feral Shifters 1)

“Me too,” I gasp. “Please. Kian, fuck, please…”

I want to come for him.

I want to come with him.

I want to feel pleasure pour through us both, and I never want it to stop.

Because he’s mine.

That thought—that certainty—hits me square in the chest, nearly knocking the wind out of me.

He's mine.

Kian is my mate.

A rush of emotions surge in my chest, matching the flood of pleasure racing through my veins, and combined, it’s all too much. I bury my fingers in his hair and buck beneath him as white-hot pleasure erupts inside me.

He lets out a deep groan, pounding into me before burying himself to the hilt. His face drops to my shoulder, and he bites down on the spot low on my neck, sending another jolt of sensation shooting through me.

“Mine,” he grinds out, and the word sounds like it comes from the depths of his fucking soul.

His.

Mine.

He knows it too. He felt the same thing I did.

Our sweat-slicked skin sticks together as he rests on top of me for a moment, then he slowly pulls out and collapses to the mattress next to me. Breathing hard, I stare at a crack in the ceiling, trying to focus on slowing my heartbeat and getting control of my breaths. Every part of me aches in all the best ways, and that transcendental orgasm still quivers through me in tiny aftershocks.

I had no idea sex could be this incredible. That anything could be this incredible.

Kian rolls over and wraps his arms around me, tugging my body against his. He peppers kisses along my shoulder, though his eyes are half-closed. He nuzzles my neck and buries his face in my hair, going still.

We’ve fucked each other into total exhaustion. I can barely think, let alone move.

Still, giddy happiness and nerves race through me.

I’ve found my mate.

I have a mate.

I guess I never thought this would happen; it seemed like something that happens to other people, not to me.

I know we need to talk about it. No matter what, our lives are going to be changed irrevocably from here on out. Will I have to leave my pack? Or is Kian a lone wolf who’d feel comfortable joining us? So many questions, so many details to work out.

But that can all wait a little longer. It feels too good to just lie here in his arms right now, surrounded by his warmth. I turn farther into him and bury my face against his tattooed chest. Whiskey and woodsmoke and sex.

“I think I might love whiskey,” I murmur.

If he replies, I don’t hear it as I fall asleep in his arms.

When I open my eyes again, pale sunlight filters through a tiny crack in the curtains and slants across the beige carpet toward the bed. I’m in a cocoon of blankets, and the soft down comforter is much more decadent than the hand-stitched quilt I use at home. I know I didn’t pull the blankets up before I passed out last night, so Kian must have covered us up at some point while I slept.

I’m sore in delicious places, including muscles I didn’t even know I had. The aches bring back memories of Kian’s hands on me, of the way he touched me and the way he dominated my pleasure. I could get used to a lifetime of that kind of intense connection.

I stretch out the kinks in my body and roll over, reaching out for him. Worn out body or not, I’m ready for another round.

My hand hits empty sheets.