Page 41 of A Pack for the Wedding
I realize, with a sudden, sharp clarity, that I don't want him to say anything else. I just want him to close the two feet of distance between us and—
"I had a great time," he finally says, his voice low.
***
Mason's phone buzzes in the cupholder as he pulls near our apartment and kills the engine. He glances down.
I don't mean to look. But it's right there, the screen lit up between us, and I catch the name glowing aggressively in the dim cab...
Jessica.
Mason stares at the phone for a beat too long. The relaxed, open posture he'd carried all the way from the tea house vanishes. His shoulders lock. His jaw clenches.
He picks up the phone, then puts it back, screen face-down.
"Everything okay?" I ask.
"Yeah." He exhales through his nose. "Yeah, it's nothing."
It is visibly not fine, though, seeing how his body is tensing up.
"Hey," I say, turning fully in my seat to face him.
He looks at me.
"You know you can tell anything to yourgirlfriend, right?" I tease.
His brow creases. Then it smooths.
"Jessica just wants to pick up some of her stuff from the apartment." He rubs his jaw. "It's not a big deal. It's just—everytime I stop thinking about her, she finds a way to remind me she exists."
Something about watching him tense up because of her triggers something territorial to a part of my brain, and my omega whispers:how dare she?
Before I can examine that impulse too closely, I hear myself say: "I might know a good way to not think about her."
He looks at me, all vulnerable and entirely unprepared, and before I can run a cost-benefit analysis, I unbuckle my seatbelt, lean across the console, and kiss him.
I come in hot, and he's clearly not expecting it. So basically I collide with his mouth at full enthusiasm. My elbow jams awkwardly into the center console, my nose bumping his, my teeth catching his bottom lip, and for one mortifying second I'm just clamped onto him like a stapler.
He laughs into my mouth. A startled, low sound that vibrates against my lips.
Which makes me flush and I start to pull back. This was a mistake, this was insane, I'm going to go now and never make eye contact with him again and—
Except his hand comes up to the side of my neck, his large fingers sliding into my hair to anchor me, and he's now kissing me back, matching my previous intensity.
His mouth still tastes like mochi and smoke and the darker blend Meika brought us in the second pot. His other hand finds my hip and grips, pulling me toward him across the console until I'm at an angle that should be uncomfortable but isn't, because the discomfort is being processed by a completely different part of my brain right now.
Heat is pooling low in my stomach, dropping lower, and when his hand slides from my hip to the small of my back and pulls me flush against him, my spine arches into it. His tongue grazesmy bottom lip, testing, and then deeper, slow, deliberate, and a shameful, breathy whimper escapes me.
I don't remember putting my hands in his hair, but the soft strands are between my fingers now, and I can feel his breathing change against my mouth, more ragged, and my nipples harden tight against my bra. He pulls back slowly, his forehead resting against mine.
We stay like that for a few seconds, foreheads touching, breathing each other's air, the ghost of the text completely incinerated between us.
13
Beth
Developing a fixation on an alpha you're supposed topretendto be in pack with is an awful idea.
