Page 219 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

Actually moving an alpha my size is impossible.

But I go wherever she wants.

The backs of my legs hit the edge of the bed and she's already climbing into my lap, pushing me back and down. Her legs bracket my hips, her green dress riding up her thighs as she settles against me.

My hands hover uselessly at her sides before resting on her waist.

She's so close.

Close enough that I know the light we left on next to my bed is catching every detail of my uncovered face, and her eyes are roaming all of it.

My eyes slide away from hers.

I don't want to see the exact second the light reveals some new detail she hasn't noticed before, some angle she hasn't processed, and maybe she'll stop smiling at me like that. Even if it's only for a second. It might kill me.

My hand twitches toward the scarf.

Ivy catches my hand.

She guides it back down to her hip. Then she leans forward, tilts her head, and presses her mouth against my teeth.

The kiss is gentle and warm, and I freeze up as usual, but I don't feel like I'm going to fucking pass out from stress this time. My ears don't ring. She holds there for a moment, not rushing, and when she pulls back to nuzzle my nose, I'm able to make eye contact with her again.

"Thane marked me," she says quietly.

She reaches up and loosens the knot of Thane's tie around her throat, pulling it aside.

The mark is… beautiful.

Clean arcs of healed teeth impressions layered over the old burn scar on her left shoulder, the silver of new tissue merging with the pearlescent texture she gave herself with a flat iron. Thane's bite has already closed and scarred, the way mating bonds do, faster than any normal wound, the skin flushed pink at the edges where it's still fresh.

Nothing like what my bite would look like.

I know, I sign. I caught the change in your scent when you walked in.

She bites her lower lip. "And…?"

I'm happy, I tell her honestly, crinkling my eyes at her so she knows I'd be smiling if I could. Very. It's just…

"What is it?" she asks quietly.

But her eyes are already drifting to my mouth, her gaze softening as she takes in the sharp points of my teeth.

My stomach turns.

She knows. I don't know why I'm surprised anymore that she can basically read my fucking mind, bonded by mark or not.

I'm scared to M-A-R-K you, I sign reluctantly, fingerspelling that word since I don't know if she knows the sign for that. I turn my head slightly to the side and down, keeping my eyes on the far wall again. Scared I'll hurt you.

"I know," she murmurs.

My teeth aren't… I stop and start again. My teeth aren't made for M-A-R-K-I-N-G. They're made for tearing. Tearing F-L-E-S-H⁠—

She catches my wrists again, both of them this time, stopping me mid-sign. Her way of interrupting me.

"I know what they're made for," she says. "I also know what they feel like when you kiss me."

I swallow hard. The motion pulls at the scar tissue covering my throat.