She really wished her feminine parts would stop tingling every time he said stuff like that. She blamed that deep, gritty voice—it was seduction itself. “That’s assuming I would have let it get that far.”
“Oh, that’s exactly what would have happened if I had been plastered that night, baby girl—don’t think differently. You still make that husky little noise right before you come?”
“Probably.” She folded her arms. “Is there a reason we’re reminiscing about something you like to pretend didn’t happen? Of course, I understand why you like to keep the memory in a locked box at the back of your mind. I mean, how else are you going to keep convincing yourself that I’m just family to you?”
Clenching his teeth, he lowered his head so that their mouths were mere inches apart. “You want me to say it? You want me to admit that I’ve jacked off to the thought of fucking you more times than I can count?” His nostrils flared. “I want you. I want to feel your pussy wrapped around my dick. I want to watch you explode while I’m buried deep inside you. There. I said it.”
It took her hungover mind a few seconds to really digest his words. When the import of them finally hit her, she almost rocked back on her heels. The fuck? There was no denying that it had been a super weird day so far.
Her engines would have been well and truly revved at the sound of his rumbly confession if it wasn’t for one thing: he clearly resented that he wanted her. Nice. “You’ll never do anything about it, though, will you?”
He clenched his teeth again. “One night in your bed wouldn’t cut it for me. I’d want more. I’d take more.”
Her heart leaped. “More” could mean a lot of things—a fuck-buddy arrangement, a short but intense fling, or even something serious. Each of those possibilities sounded intriguing to her, but apparently not to him, because … “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I’ve seen you with guys, Bree. You always have them securely wrapped around your little finger while you lead them on a merry dance—it’s not something you set out to do, they just tend to give you your own way. Me? I won’t be led anywhere by anyone, and I definitely don’t fucking dance. You’ve never been involved with one of my kind, but you’ve seen how we are in relationships—doesn’t matter if it’s casual or serious, we don’t make easy partners. The things a man like me would demand of you … You’re not ready for something like that.”
Oh, now that made her bristle. She looked him square in the eye. “The person who’s not ready is you.” Bree calmly spun on her heel and walked out of the office.
Outside the store, she briskly strode down the busy street, passing cart vendors, a crowded bus stop, narrow alleyways, and many of the pride-owned businesses. Usually, she found the scents that filtered out of the various shops somewhat uplifting—especially those of baked goods, fresh flowers, and coffee beans. Not today. Because she was super ticked off.
If there was one thing that never failed to ruffle her fur, it was having someone tell her what her limits were. So having that asshole presumptuously proclaim she wasn’t “ready” for what he’d want from her … God, she should have just slapped him.
Not that he’d been exaggerating when he said that wolverines could be demanding in relationships. They were difficult creatures in general. When it came to their partners, they took intrusive, pushy, territorial, and domineering to a whole other level. The only thing more demanding than a wolverine-partner was a wolverine-mate.
They were drifters by nature. They didn’t stay in one place for long or stay with one partner for long. Only the pull of their mate anchored them.
They gave everything of themselves to their mate. Which sounded great. Until you considered just what it meant to be a wolverine’s anchor. They didn’t like being apart from their mate at all. They literally became their damn shadow—an unreasonably protective and uber-possessive shadow who’d adore every hair on their mate’s head while driving them insane.
In that sense, wolverines got along best with people pleasers. But, as her late father had often grumbled, Bree had not been put on this Earth to please. She also hadn’t been put on the Earth to own other people’s shit, and she wouldn’t own Alex’s shit either. He was holding back because he wasn’t ready for a relationship. Which wasn’t a surprise since, as a rule, wolverines tended to avoid them. They didn’t like to be tied down.
What happened with Freya might even have exacerbated his commitment issues—she didn’t know. She never would know, because he’d made it clear that he wouldn’t act on what he wanted. Well, that was just fine—she was too pissed with him right now to care.
The traffic noises faded as she turned into the cozy cul-de-sac. Just looking at her house with its turrets, steel-pitched roof, cute porch, and glass-stained windows usually made any tension seep from her muscles. But not this time, because one of her pride mates, Benny, was sitting on her doorstep. She occasionally came home to find someone waiting for her, hoping to talk. Such was the life of an omega.
She inwardly groaned. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help him. She just didn’t trust that she could help. And lowering her shields was never fun.
Some pride mates came to Bree on a weekly basis, treating her as their own personal therapist. Others just turned up occasionally. Some even asked her to use an additional aspect of her gift. Hearing people’s thoughts when tapping into their emotions wasn’t the only thing that set her apart from the other omegas. Whereas they could only extract energy from people, Bree could push spurts of calming energy into a person, giving them a sense of peace. But since she could just as easily send negative energy into them, it wasn’t an ability people trusted.
For a long time, most of her pride mates went to either Dani or one of the other four omegas for help. But lately, more of them had been seeking out Bree. It was pissing Dani off in a major way, but there was little either of them could do about it. Bree couldn’t turn people away—she wasn’t that much of a bitch. Most of the time.
Boxing up her Alex-induced internal mess, she invited Benny inside her home and led him into the kitchen. A good omega like Dani would feed him cookies, settle him on the sofa, and maybe throw on some relaxing music while she clucked and fussed like a mother hen.
Bree dug the tequila out of the kitchen cupboard, gestured for the enforcer to take a seat at the island, and then poured them both a glass. Yeah, she was gonna need one, too. Not a lot made her more nervous than the pressure of giving advice or comfort.
“So, what’s up?” she asked Benny.
He shifted on his stool. “I’ve never been to see an omega before. It always seemed kind of weak to me to have your emotions taken from you instead of just facing what you feel.”
“Sometimes, people don’t know how they really feel about something, because their perceptions are colored by anger or other blinding emotions. By clearing their system of that negative energy, I give them clarity of mind. Those emotions will return if they have any depth to them, but they often don’t, because once a person’s perception is no longer clouded, it frees them of all the bullshit. But I don’t have to read you or extract emotion from you. We can just talk. And drink shots—that part’s important for me. Anything you tell me will remain confidential.”