His skin tastes like salt and sothing distinctly Kellan—a flavor I can’t na but already crave. I take my ti beneath the covers, just barely brushing my lips against the sharp jut of his hip bone. The hospital gown is bunched around his waist, and I’ve arranged the thin blanket like a curtain, shielding us from anyone who might walk in.
Though I’m thinking about anyone else right now. And even if soone did walk in? I wouldn’t stop.
My world has narrowed to this bed. To Kellan’s breath, stuttering each ti my tongue grazes his skin. To the way his abs flex when I kiss just below his navel. To the pulse I feel beneath my palm when I flatten my hand across his stomach, tracing every ridge of muscle, every scar.
"I want you to rember what it feels like to be worshipped," I murmur into his skin, and I an every word.
He deserves this. Deserves to be touched like he’s sacred. Not because he’s usually a dominant, but because he’s Kellan. Mine.
I start with kisses. Random, reverent. His inner thigh. The crease where leg ets hip. The hollow above his pelvis. Every place I touch earns a twitch, a breath, a sound.
Then I shift to licks—long, flat strokes of my tongue that make his muscles jump. Teasing flicks to trail along his skin until he’s groaning.
Next cos breath. No touch at all, just heat as I hover, mouth barely open, letting warm air drift across where he wants most.
He’s already well on his way to rock-hard by the ti I let my lips drag across the head of his cock, just once. A single, deliberate taste.
His whole body jerks. "Lisa—fuck—"
"You’re okay," I whisper, not pulling back. "You’re with . I’ve got you."
My hand wraps around the base, and I start to stroke—slow, intentional. I twist at the top, just enough to make his hips shift.
"You’re killing ," he rasps.
I look up through my lashes, and let a smile curl my lips. "Well. Not yet."
My tongue follows my hand, lazy circles that keep him hovering in place. Just the edge. Just the ache.
It’s hot under the blanket, almost claustrophobic. Oxygen feels scarce while his scent is thick, but I push through it.
When I finally take him into my mouth, I go slow—inch by inch. My throat opens for him like it’s ant to. He gasps, hand trembling in my hair, not guiding, just grounding.
I move with purpose. Hollow my cheeks. Ease down, then back up. The rhythm is steady. Cruel. Reverent.
He’s panting. His legs tense under my hands. His cock throbs against my tongue and I know—he’s close.
So I stop.
I pull back with a slick sound that echoes too loud in the quiet room, trailing kisses up the hard lines of his body. My head pops out of the blanket and I linger at the edge of his collarbone, press my lips to his throat, then bite gently.
His hips jerk.
He’s trembling beneath , chest rising too fast, arms rigid at his sides. His fists are clenched around the sheet like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. And maybe it is.
I glance at the neat rows of white bandages across his chest. The bruising underneath is still angry, swollen along one side. I stay clear of the worst of it—no pressure, no risk—but I brush my fingers along the uninjured skin, letting my touch linger just enough to tease.
"You’re hurting yourself trying not to touch ," I whisper, watching the tension ripple through his arms.
His jaw is tight as he says, teeth clenched, "I don’t want to screw this up."
"You won’t," I murmur, my lips ghosting up his throat. He shivers a little, and his knuckles go white. "But I like watching you try."
His eyes flutter shut when I nip at his neck again, and the sound he makes is pure tornt. One of his hands rises reflexively—but instead of grabbing , he grips the side rail of the hospital bed like it might break first.
"You’re making it really hard not to grab you."
"Then don’t," I say, smiling into his skin. "Use the bed. Use the wall. Just not ."
My hand glides down his abdon, skimming just above the edge of the gown bunched at his waist. I don’t push lower—yet. I let the air between us hum with tension.
"You said I could take care of you," I whisper. "So let ."
I lean down again, this ti pressing my mouth to the spot just below his ear, where his pulse beats wild and fast. I lick there, just once, slow and lazy, and his breath hitches like I’ve punched the air out of him.
"You’re evil," he breathes.
"You love it."
I smooth my palms up along his ribs—avoiding the bandages—until I’m resting just beneath his arms. Not quite touching his wounds, but close enough to feel the heat of them. The lingering pain.
"Is the bond helping?" I ask quietly. "Am I helping?"
His brow creases. "What?"
"Being near you. Touching you like this." My fingers flex slightly against his skin. "Does it actually help you heal, or is that just sothing people say?"
Kellan looks at like he’s trying to morize my face.
"Yeah—it helps. You being here, touching , letting feel—" He breaks off, breath catching. "It’s driving fucking insane in the best way. But it’s helping."
A flush spreads across my cheeks. "Yeah?"
"Every breath. Every heartbeat. It’s helping."
My heart feels ticklish, and I have to blink back tears. Crying in the middle of sexy tis is not okay. He’ll be worried, and my entire plan to worship him will be ruined. "You’re exaggerating."
"I wish I were," he says, gritting his teeth. "I’m trying really hard to let you stay in control here instead of flipping you onto your back and pounding into you until I’ve got you stuffed with twins and begging for a fence and a mortgage."
My brain stumbles over the imagery. "Kellan!"
"What?" he’s absolutely shaless as his hips jerk up, throwing off balance. "That’s what all you human won want, right? A mate. Two pups. A white picket fence and the whole pack gossiping about how loud you scream my na at night."
I stare at him. My thighs clench. My pulse slams into overdrive. Sohow, taking control has been subverted into so strange flirtation, and he’s the one with all the power.
"You’re such an ass," I breathe.
He grins, teeth flashing. "You’re gonna ruin . I’m the most dosticated beta a pack’s ever seen."
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