When his teeth make contact with my skin, I can’t help it—I gasp, leaning forward. His hands snake around me, oneplanting at the base of my spine, the other sliding to the back of my head, pushing my curls aside.
It should hurt—I’ve heard, time and time again, that the mating bite should be painless with the right person—but I still wait for the pinch, for the sharp tug of pain.
But it never comes.
Felix sighs into me, drawing us even closer together, his hand sliding from my back and to my hip, which he grips tightly, his hand tightening and loosening as his teeth sink deeper into me.
Heat pools in my core, and I blink out of the bliss for a moment, realizing for the first time that this might throw me into a heat. Coming back into my head and pushing the lust away, I swallow and sway back from him slightly.
It’s enough for him to sigh, haltingly pulling his mouth back from me. My entire body is vibrating with energy, and no matter how much I tell myself not to, I can’t stop thinking about touching him.
I wonder if anyone has ever done a mating bite like this. Standing fully clothed in the middle of a rental living room.
“Okay,” Felix says after standing completely still for a moment, his eyes locked on the side of my neck. He clears his throat and turns to the side. “Okay—let me—”
He grabs the bandages he’s laid out, his fingers light and careful as he covers the bite. My brain fights with the logic of this moment, of the fact that though the bite should have been painful, it’s not. Instead, it’s sensitive, making me shiver every time he touches me.
“You’re all good,” he says, then his eyes flit to mine.
I blink, taking a step backward, but I can’t keep my distance from him—I have to get close again.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
No—the answer is, of course, no. His scent is all around me, thick in the air, and I cross to the other side of the room, hands shaking as I throw open one of the windows, desperate for fresh air.
But even an open window doesn’t make it better, and I realize why. The mating mark is a way for our scents to combine—it’s part of the process. I can practically taste him, feel his DNA like it’s twisting carefully around mine.
“Maeve?” he asks softly, and I shake my head, taking a deep breath and turning back to him. I can’t let him see how much this affects me.
“I’m ready,” I say, brushing my hair back over my shoulder, hitting the edge of the bandage and sending another shiver coursing through me. But when I step up to him, setting a hand on his chest, I realize I’m not going to be able to reach his neck like this.
“Here,” he says, settling his hands on my waist and drawing me back toward him as he sits on the edge of the bed. I stand between his legs and, heart throwing itself against my rib cage, I tip his head to the side and lean down quickly, sinking my teeth into his neck before I can change my mind.
Felix lets out a short, low sound from the back of his throat, and my hands fly up, holding him in place like he might try to draw back from me.
But he’s not pulling back at all. He’s leaning in, his hands tightening on my hips.
At first, it feels strange, biting him like this, but then a strong sense of possession floods through me, and I push deeper, feeling rather than hearing his growl in response. I bite him for much longer than he bit me. Eventually, I remember what I’m doing and pull back, breathing hard.
There’s no blood.
“In my kit,” Felix says, pointing to the bag on the floor. I follow his instructions to patch him up, my hands still shaking as my fingers graze his skin. I catch him shiver, too.
When it’s done, I put space between the two of us, no matter how my body urges me to push him back onto the bed and climb onto him. The bite is making everything worse, making me want to fold myself into him.
“Okay.” I force my voice to stay as steady as I can manage. “Okay—so, when is the first wedding?”
“Oh.” Felix shifts from side to side, blinking up at me. When he swallows, I trace the path of the movement. Slowly, as though he’s forcing himself to act normal, too, he slides on one of his grins and says, “It’s tomorrow.”
***
What in thehellwas I thinking when I agreed to this?
I stand in a blush-pink gown at Felix’s side, his hand on my back, as everyone at the reception stares at us. At least, that’s what it feels like.
The reception is gorgeous, on a rooftop strung with warm, twinkling lights. The tables are round and white, and the air smells like pot roast and potatoes. The sound of clinking champagne glasses floats around us, along with the light, delicate scents of roses and peonies.
We were able to sneak into the ceremony a little late, so we didn’t make a big splash with our arrival. But now that it’s time for the reception, I feel eyes on us, whispers following as we walk to our table.
