Actually, now that she was in front of him . . . no, Ryan didn’t. She didn’t look like a “Farrah.” She looked like . . . well, a “Makenna.” “If you’re not Farrah Grove, who are you?”
“There are these things—you might not have heard of them—they’re called ‘boundaries.’ That means that if there are things I don’t want to share, you need to respect that. And let’s not forget that it ain’t your business, White Fang.”
Before he knew it, his hand had shot out and fisted in her hair. Tugging her close, he said, “You are my business.” That she’d say differently . . . it offended some part of him. The same part of him was urging Ryan to taste and bite her mouth.
Makenna swallowed hard, disturbingly turned on rather than pissed by his dominant, possessive hold. “You should let go.”
“Why? I want you.” Ryan almost winced at the gruff words. He probably shouldn’t have just blurted it out like that, but he’d never been smooth. Still . . . “And you want me.” She looked ready to deny it, so he tightened his grip on her hair. “It’s in your scent, so don’t lie to me.”
“My body wants you. That doesn’t mean that I do.”
He spoke against her mouth. “I said, don’t lie to me.” Punishingly, he bit her lip. Her mouth opened on a shocked gasp, and he drove his tongue inside. Fuck, her taste was as addictive as her scent. Sweet and almost bubbly, like sparkling Champagne. Unable to get enough of her, he ate at her mouth, sipping, licking, nipping, and biting hard enough to leave prints of his teeth on her lower lip. His wolf growled his approval at the mark as Ryan soothingly laved it with his tongue.
“You bit me,” said Makenna in pure wonder, her heartbeat racing.
“I did.” As he stared down at that mark, masculine satisfaction thrummed through his veins, filled every part of him, and settled into every cell and bone. And that was when he knew the truth. There was no denying it, because nothing else made sense. Nothing.
Ryan didn’t question his thoughts, actions, or urges. But it didn’t take self-reflection to conclude that this female was his true mate.
“Mate” . . . the word felt right to both him and his wolf. Like a puzzle piece sliding into place.
It would explain all the primal feelings that had been taunting Ryan since he first caught her scent: the urge to possess and own, the right to protect and defend, and the obsessive hunger that just kept building and building. It didn’t matter that Ryan couldn’t feel the tug of the mating bond. The facts spoke for themselves.
“Makenna . . .” But he didn’t have the words to explain his thoughts. Hell, he never did. Instinct told him that blurting out his belief with his usual lack of tact wouldn’t work out well. He needed to think about this. He needed to come to her with the right words, make a case she couldn’t argue against . . . because she would argue against it. Instinct told him that too.
He took a moment to breathe her in, to take that scent deep into his lungs. Then, with one last lick over the mark, Ryan released her and stepped back. It was hard. Damn fucking hard. Now that he knew—and he did know, he was sure to his bones—that she was his mate, walking away from her . . . it felt wrong.
“Be safe for me, Makenna.” Because he’d lose his fucking mind if anything happened to her. Her forehead crinkled—most likely in confusion at his choice of words—and he smoothed it out with his finger. “Remember: if there’s a problem, call me.”
As Ryan slid into the driver’s seat, he took one last look at Makenna. It was a mistake. Because the sight of even that small distance between them pissed him the fuck off. His wolf paced angrily, wanting to return to Makenna. Wanting to take, and bite, and own.
They’d claim her, he assured his wolf. There was no chance Ryan would give up this one good thing he could have. She was his mate, she was born for him, and she’d never get away from him.
When the Chevy disappeared into the distance, Makenna took a steadying breath. The guy certainly knew how to mess with a girl’s equilibrium. He kissed the way he did everything else—dominantly, confidently, and with enviable skill.
And then he’d bitten her.
Part of her had bristled at the possessive act, but she’d been so damn shocked that she’d done nothing more than state the obvious and stare at him in dismay. Well, Madisyn had warned her that he looked at her like he wanted to take a bite. Makenna just hadn’t thought he’d actually do it.
That little interlude had confirmed what she’d already suspected; he was a pushy motherfucker who she’d be completely unable to handle. So why did she want him? Because all that strength, confidence, and animal energy was like a damn aphrodisiac for Makenna. So now she was wet and aching for more . . . and the fucker had driven away. She might have been offended, might have suspected that he was put off by her being a loner, if it hadn’t been for his parting words.
“Be safe for me.”
Why? And why had he seemed reluctant to leave her?
Shaking off the matter, she headed into the shelter. Madisyn and Colton were chatting near the reception desk. Madisyn slowly came toward her. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” sighed Makenna. “I’m just tired.”
“Oh.” Madisyn patted her shoulder. “Guess it was that kiss that drained you, huh. Don’t growl at me, Wray.”
“Fuck off, feline.”