Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
“What the hell is wrong, Madisyn? Are you sick? I can call Ally. She—”
“No,” said Madisyn, blinking as if it would clear the black spots dotting her vision. Touch-hunger wasn’t something that could be healed; it didn’t work that way. Refusing to go any farther than the hallway, she lifted her chin and did her best to look the picture of composure. “I’m good now.” Okay, that was a lie. The only reason she was on her feet was that her cat was shouldering some of the pain.
“I know you don’t like asking for or accepting help, Madisyn, but—”
She bristled. “You don’t know me.”
His head slowly tilted. “Scares you that I might, doesn’t it? What, you don’t want anyone getting too close?”
She snorted. “If it were that, you’d be in no position to judge. The attachments you have to the people around you make you feel suffocated, don’t they? Make you feel like you’re stuck in a crowded closet. You want to be alone, and yet you don’t, but you think you deserve to be alone. You want your pack mates close, but you won’t give much of yourself to them anymore.”
His brow lifted. “Is your psychoanalysis supposed to put me on the defensive and make me back off?”
“I don’t give a tinker’s shit what—” A powerful cramp racked her stomach, and she doubled over. “Fuck.”
“You need to tell me what the hell is wrong, and you need to do it now.”
She backed away and forced herself to straighten. “I want you to leave.” She needed him to leave. His scent and proximity were not helping.
Bracken put a hand to her forehead. She was hot. Itchy. Snippy. Irritable. In pain . . . Ah, shit. “Touch-hunger.” How the fuck had he missed that? She doubled over again. Bracken swore and backed her into the wall. Her eyes flashed cat, and her claws sliced out. If he hadn’t caught both her wrists and pinned them high above her head, he’d be missing layers of skin now.
Keeping her wrists in place with one hand, he slipped his other under her top. “Shh, it’s all right,” he whispered into her ear as he softly stroked her stomach. “Breathe with me, come on. Breathe. That’s it.”
He could feel the cramps beneath his palm. They were so strong, he had no idea how she hadn’t crumpled to the floor. He also had no idea how she could be suffering from touch-hunger when she’d been in a relationship until recently. It didn’t make any sense, but now wasn’t the time to question her.
He kept on massaging her stomach and whispering soothing words into her ear, hoping the skin-to-skin contact would help, ignoring just how incredibly soft said skin was. Her cat either settled or weakened under the pain, because the fight leached out of her. His wolf rubbed up against her, wanting to offer comfort.
The strength of the contractions soon began to ease, but then something else happened—the scent of her need drifted up to him, potent and heady. It made his head spin and his blood thicken. Within seconds, Bracken’s cock was full and heavy, straining against his fly. A hungry growl rumbled out of his wolf, whose sole focus was her.
Bracken met those stormy blue eyes, almost groaning as he saw the glaze of need there. She was panting softly, lips parted, and all he could think about was biting down on that fleshy lower lip. Her breasts heaved with every ragged breath, drawing his attention to the creamy globes. Fuck, her nipples were tight little points, and they made his mouth water.
“Leave,” Madisyn rasped, embarrassed by her lack of control over her own damn body. The air seemed to crackle and hiss with sexual energy, and that was provoking the touch-hunger. “It’ll pass quick if you go.” And if he didn’t leave, she’d jump on him. She would. There’d be no stopping it. Not when she felt so empty and needy. “Leave.”
Bracken shook his head. “You need me right now.” He slammed his mouth on hers and sank his tongue inside . . . and he knew instantly that it was a mistake. Her taste—sweet and exotic—could easily set up an addiction in him. But fuck if he could stop.
Crushing her against the wall, he punched his hips forward, grinding against her clit, swallowing her raspy, cock-hardening moan. No one should taste this good. No one.
Releasing her hands, Bracken fisted her hair and angled her head, going deeper, taking more. Demanding more. She gave as good as she got—tugged on his hair, sucked on his tongue, bit his lip, scratched at his nape, arched into every rough glide of his cock over her clit. And he couldn’t deny he fucking loved it.
A voice in the back of Madisyn’s mind screamed that this was bad, that he wasn’t attracted to her, that he was just helping her. Pride dictated that she must push him away, but her pride was kicked aside by the need washing over her in waves.