Page 403 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

What if I go too deep?

"That's what the test is for," Dr. Jackson says with a tight smile. "Better to find out on silicone than on your mate."

Fair.

I pick up the block. It's heavier than it looks, firm but with some give when I squeeze. I turn it in my scarred hands, finding the angle, and lift it toward my face.

My jaws open, the exposed muscle pulling and twinging, but there's no real pain like there usually is when I open my jaws this wide. Ivy watches with nothing but curiosity as I position the silicone against my teeth, feeling the material compress slightly under the points, and I glance warily at her.

My teeth sink in.

The silicone resists, then yields.

I expected I'd have to bite harder. But my sharp teeth slide through the material easily. Like I'm biting into warm butter. I barely had to try.

My hands go cold.

That's what I'd do to her.

I hold the bite for the count, but my chest is locked tight and I can't look at Ivy. When I pull the block free, I already know the answer.

I went too deep.

There's no way I didn't go too deep.

Dr. Jackson takes it from me, angling it under the exam light to check the deep puncture marks from my upper and lower teeth, evenly spaced, clean entry points without jagged tearing.

She runs her thumb along the deepest mark, then measures the depth against a marked metal rod that looks like a meat thermometer she pulls from the tray.

"Penetration depth is within safe range for bonding," she murmurs. "No lateral tearing. The bite pattern is clean." She looks up. "Your control is excellent."

I blink.

She sets the silicone down. "Given the tissue density on Ivy's shoulder from the layered scarring, I'm comfortable saying yes. But if you feel yourself losing control, stop. You can always try again."

My hands don't move.

It takes me a second to process that what she's saying isn't terrible news.

"You're cleared to mark your mate."

Ivy makes a sound beside me.

That's the only warning I get.

She launches herself off the stool and into my lap, flinging her arms around my neck and burying her face against my scarred throat. I wrap myself around her so completely she almost disappears in my arms, nuzzling into her hair, breathing in every last hint of her scent I can absorb with the medication dampening my senses.

Dr. Jackson smiles on her way out the door.

"Six weeks," she reminds me. "And congratulations."

Chapter 85

Whiskey

Hogzilla eats highway like it's pussy.

The rebuilt engine roars between my thighs as I lean into the next curve hard enough to feel the wind trying to peel us off the asphalt. Behind me, Ivy's arms are locked around my waist.