I sighed.
Fuck.
Pushing too hard was a recipe for disaster, and I’d known it. Yet, I’d done it anyway. There was something about this pack that eliminated my ability to form rational thoughts.
“I’m going to check on him,” Ambrose said.
His hand stroked through Kiara’s hair—he’d watched everything from behind the couch, where Kiara was still sitting in stunned silence.
“Tell him I apologize,” I said.
Ambrose snorted. “No, you don’t.”
I glared at him.
“You would do it again in a heartbeat, and he would want you to,” Ambrose said. “He’s in his own head. I’ll get him out of it.”
Thinking of how Ambrose got me out of my head, I fought back a blush.
I might need to change the sheets on the bed when they were done.
Again.
At this rate, I’ll need more sets.
THIRTY-FOUR
MERCURY
I clutched the hem of my button up shirt, crushing the fabric into my sweaty fists. A headache pounded at my temples, and it felt like the tightness of my French braids was making it worse. Pacing across the floor of Leighton’s fucking bedroom, of all places, I yanked the ties out of my hair and undid the braids.
Even with my curly mass of burgundy hair freed, my headache didn’t decrease. It got worse, throbbing and pulsing until a familiar set of strong arms wrapped around me from behind.
Ambrose’s embrace forced me to stop pacing.
“Deep breaths,” he said.
He inhaled, long and steady. I mirrored him. We’d done this a thousand times before, both during scenes and in normal life.
It had been so long since I’d had him this close. Since I’d had his help and his comfort and his presence as a lover and not simply a pack member.
“Another one.”
His command relaxed me. My brain fell into subspace instantaneously, despite there being nothing sexual about breathing.
I floated through time and space, breathing when he told me to and ignoring everything else.
It couldn’t last.
Eventually the vanilla cream and coconut chocolate punched through Ambrose’s blanket of hot iron and smoke. My cock hardened in my wet, sullied pants. The feeling of Leighton’s hand was a phantom grip around my neck.
I pulled away from Ambrose, whirling to face him.
“What are you doing?” I demanded. “I’m not sure why you thought me walking away meant it was a good idea to follow me.”
Tiny needles pierced my heart as I pushed him away, but he didn’t budge. His face didn’t twitch with annoyance or sadness or any emotion at all. Ambrose crossed his arms over his chest and stared me down.
I tried to win that staring contest, but couldn’t.
