When He's an Alpha (The Olympus Pride 2)

Like that, the air between them thickened and crackled … as if memories of their time together charged the atmosphere. His cock, already hard and heavy, throbbed against his zipper.

She swallowed, and her eyes flared with need. “How’s Ashlynn?” she asked, and he knew she’d done it in an attempt to break the spell between them. It didn’t work.

“I couldn’t give a damn. Neither should you.” He cupped one side of her neck and breezed his thumb over the delicate line of her jaw. “I dreamed about you a few nights ago. I dreamed I had you beneath me, your hair spread all over my pillow, while I moved in and out of you. There was a bite mark on your neck that was weeping blood.” He’d liked the sight of it a little too much both during his dream and after. “I woke up hard as a fucking steel spike. Jerked off to the thought of pounding in your pussy until you screamed.” And he’d kept in his mind’s eye that little detail of her wearing his mark the whole time.

She closed her eyes, as if to block out his words. “It’s not fair of you to do this.”

He lowered his forehead to hers. “I know.” But he couldn’t stop himself.

“You have to go.”

“Need one taste of you first. Just one.” He was so starved for her he almost groaned at the mere thought of tasting her again.

She let out a ragged breath. “Not a good idea.”

He framed her face with his hands and pressed a soft kiss to first one eyelid then the other. The electric sexual tension amplified and purred against his skin. He feathered his lips over her face, dabbing gentle, barely-there kisses everywhere but her mouth.

She didn’t once open her eyes, but her breathing picked up. So did his. When her fingers dug into his arms, he thought she’d try to tug them away. She didn’t.

“One taste,” he whispered against her mouth, his lips nibbling hers, so fucking hungry for her he was surprised he didn’t shake with it. “Open for me, baby. I need this.” He suckled on her lower lip. “Op—” He blinked as she shoved him hard, sending him skidding back a few feet.

Condemning herself for being so damn weak when it came to this male, Havana pointed a shaking finger at him. “You don’t get to do this.”

His nostrils flared. “Havana—”

“You gave me up. I was the one to end the fling, yes, but you soon learned why. Did you offer me what I needed? No. You wanted things to go back to the way they were. And when you realized that wasn’t going to happen, you took me home and then walked away. So you don’t get to come here and pull this shit.”

“I didn’t walk away because you don’t matter. I did it because you do matter. I’m doing what’s best for you.”

“Bullshit. When it comes to us, you’ve only ever done what’s best for you. It was best for you to have boundaries, so we had them. It was best for you to have nothing more than casual, so you tried to talk me into changing my mind when I ended it. And now you’re here, tossing me crumbs from your table, so I’ll struggle to forget you and move forward. That is definitely not best for me. But it’s what you want, so you did it.”

He stalked to her, his eyes hard. “It’s not like that. You’ve got things twisted in your head, and maybe that’s on me, since I am pretty selfish when it comes to you—I won’t deny that. But I’m not bullshitting you about this, Havana. I don’t know how to give you more without hurting you.”

She threw up her arms. “I don’t know what that means.”

“My cat … he’s obsessed with you. But he does that—focuses all his energy onto one female, gets all wrapped up in her—then he later pulls away from her out of goddamn nowhere. He’s done it ever since Ashlynn.”

Thrown, Havana could only stare at him.

“There were times he was so infatuated with a woman that I thought he’d finally gotten over his shit,” Tate went on, looking so tired all of a sudden. “But I was wrong every time. I don’t know what he’s looking for in a partner, but he never fucking finds it. So then he withdraws, leaving women confused and hurt. Shallow flings with firm boundaries are just simpler. Nobody has any expectations. Nobody gets hurt. There are no recriminations when I’m forced to walk away.”

Havana wished he hadn’t told her, because she didn’t want to “understand.” She wanted to hold onto her anger so that it would drown out the hurt. But how could she not feel bad for both Tate and his cat? “Sounds like your feline has commitment issues. Or he withdraws to protect himself from further hurt. It would be understandable if he just didn’t want to put himself out there again.”