Page 15 of Untamed

“There.” I’m panting now, words breaking around each thrust. “Keep doing that.”

He keeps one fist in my hair and the other locked around my hip while he fucks me hard enough that the counter keeps knocking the cabinet beneath it. Another cramp catches low in my back and I grab his wrist hard enough to make his fingers flex. “Pain,” I get out, and he changes the angle without breaking the rhythm until the spasm loosens and I can push back into him again.

His knot starts to swell at the base and the thicker drag nearly buckles my knees. I shove back into it anyway, needing the pressure badly enough that a growl catches low in my chest. Arlo curses against my shoulder, hips losing some of their control as I take him deeper, and the Omega part of me answers with a rush of slick that makes every stroke wetter and rougher.

“I want the knot.” I twist enough to catch his face over my shoulder, keeping him close with one hand fisted in his shirt. “I want you.”

He holds my gaze for one hard breath while I grind back against the swelling base. That’s all the answer either of us needs. “Now, Arlo.”

He drives forward and the knot catches, stretching me wider before it slips fully inside and locks us together. The first surge of pressure is brutal enough to make my whole body seize, but Arlo’s arms close around me and keep me upright while I ride it out against him. I can feel his heartbeat hammering through his chest at my back, his breath hot against my neck, and then the spike finally starts breaking apart under everything else.

The pain releases in pieces. My hands unclench against the counter, the ache in my jaw fades, and whatever had been trying to drag the bear through my skin goes quiet enough that I can breathe again. Arlo’s purr starts low against my back as my legs begin to shake, and by the time he lowers us carefully to the kitchen floor, the tears on my face feel almost separate from me.

The shattered bowl is still a few feet away with oatmeal drying beneath the cabinet. My thighs ache, blood from my bitten lip has dried along my chin, and scratches mark Arlo’s shoulders where I grabbed him when the cramping peaked. There’s no glass wall, no guard timing how long it takes me to come down, and nobody waiting to decide whether what just happened counts as useful data.

When the knot starts to soften, Arlo asks if I’m dizzy. I am, and the thought of him stepping away hits badly enough that I close my hand around his wrist. “Water, but take me with you. I don’t want you out of reach yet.”

He nods and helps me stand with one arm around my waist, taking only the weight I give him. We make the slow trip to the bathroom together, my legs unsteady and his hand staying where I can feel it the whole way. Arlo cleans the blood from my mouth first, then the mess between my thighs and the dark marks beginning to show where his hands held me. He doesn’t comment on any of it unless I ask him to.

While he rinses the washcloth, I tell him about the empty concrete room, the reinforced glass, the drain in the floor, and the guards who waited outside until a spike burned itself out. The rest follows once I start: the prods, the timers, the way they watched to see how long my body could stay caught between forms. His grip goes still against my thigh for a moment, then the washcloth moves again.

Anger pushes through the bond hard enough that I look at him, but he doesn’t make me repeat anything or ask for details I haven’t offered. He finishes, sets the cloth aside, and keeps his voice low. “If it happens again, tell me. Not because I need a report. Because I refuse to let them be the only people who ever stayed with you through one.” His jaw tightens once, then he looks back down at what he’s doing instead of turning my memories into another conversation I have to survive.

I stare at the water because neither of us said if. “I’ll tell you.”

He brings me a glass and waits until I’ve finished before asking whether I can make it to the bedroom. I say yes, even though my legs still feel loose and unreliable, and he accepts the answer without hovering. At the bed, Arlo pulls back the covers and waits for me to choose what comes next. “Bear or human?”

The bear would be easier in some ways. Fur covers the scars, teeth make people think twice, and four paws don’t shake the way my hands are shaking now. I look down at those hands anyway. I reached for Arlo with them, held him where I wanted him, and stopped him when I needed him to stop. I don’t want to give them up yet.

“Human. I want to stay human tonight.”

Arlo gets into bed without making anything out of the choice. I lie with my back to his chest and move close enough that his arm can settle over my waist, then leave it there. Everything still aches, but the ache belongs to something I asked for instead of something done to me. His breathing warms the back of my neck while the room stays dark and quiet around us.

Mine. The word slips through the bond. Arlo goes still behind me, his arm tightening once around my waist as his purr starts against the back of my neck.

Chapter Ten

Arlo

Iwake with Orion still human against me, one hand tucked beneath the pillow and the other loose over my wrist. His hair is flattened on one side, dark curls shoved across his forehead, and there’s no fur in my mouth or giant paw hanging off the mattress. Yesterday should’ve sent him straight back into the bear, but he stayed human through the spike, through sex, through the bathroom afterward, and through the night. His back is still tight beneath my arm, so I leave my hand where it is and let him sleep.

His eyes open while I’m looking at him, narrowing almost immediately. Orion stares at me from the pillow, clearly unimpressed with being awake, then steals another piece of the blanket as he starts untangling himself from it.

“Good morning.”

He gives me a low sound that could mean anything as he gets out of bed naked, dragging the sheet halfway with him until it catches around his ankle. Kicking it loose near the door, he keeps going until his hand brushes the back of his thigh where the fabric rubbed yesterday, his mouth tightening at the contact. The clothes I left on the chair are still untouched.

“If the pants are going to bother your skin, take the sheet instead.”

Orion glances back at me. “My skin still feels wrong.”

“Then don’t put anything tight on it. Wrap the sheet around yourself if you want it, and leave the pants here.”

He grabs the sheet and knots it low around his hips before heading downstairs while I pull on enough clothes to follow. By the time I reach the kitchen he has the refrigerator open, half of breakfast already spread across the counter. He bends carefully when he reaches for something on the bottom shelf, one hand bracing against his thigh, straightening fast when he notices me looking.

I keep my mouth shut and start the eggs. Orion eats as quickly as I can put food in front of him, working through toast, potatoes, fruit, and two helpings of eggs while I drink coffee across from him. His hand trembles once around the fork, then again around the mug, but both times he steadies it against the table and keeps eating.

I wait until he slows down before I ask, “Do you regret yesterday?”