Page 114 of The CEO Alpha’s Substitute Mate

“Come here.”

He’s furnace-hot in the middle of all that cold, and I stop caring about the temperature the instant he settles me against him. We float. He walks us back under the fall until the water is hitting both of us hard enough to hurt, then out again. My hair is stuck to my skull. Neither of us has any breath left.

Water streams down his face. His eyes are on my mouth, and I think about how one year ago today I let this man put his teeth in my neck on a restaurant floor.

“Best decision I ever made,” I tell him.

His hand slides up my back. “Say that again.”

“You heard me.”

“Say it again.”

“Best decision of my whole stupid life.” I laugh before kissing him.

He kicks us back to the shallows without letting go of my mouth. My back finds a shelf of stone while his hands find everything else. The bond opens so wide between us that I can’t tell whose wanting is whose anymore.

“Here,” I say against his jaw. “Right here.”

“I know.”

“No one comes here.”

“Nobody comes here,” he agrees. Then his mouth is at my throat, over the mark, and I stop being able to form words at all.

The first brush of his lips is almost careful, as if he’s giving me one last chance to change my mind. I don’t. My fingers tighten in his wet hair, and I tilt my head farther, offering more of the place that already belongs to him. A low sound rolls through his chest, half growl, half praise, and the vibration travels straight into me.

He lingers there, tasting the water still streaming down my skin, tracing the edge of the mark with the softest pressure of teeth. Not enough to break skin. Just enough to remind both of us what that mark means. Every pass of his mouth makes the bond pulse brighter, a warm, golden pull that starts low in my stomach and spreads outward until my toes curl against the stone shelf beneath us.

“Callum…” His name is a whispered moan.

He answers by lifting his head just enough to meet my eyes. Water clings to his lashes. The wolf is right there, dark and hungry, but the man is still in control, barely. He watches my face while one hand slides up my side, mapping the curve of my waist, the soft give of my hip, the place where my ribs rise and fall too quickly. His palm is hot against the chill the waterfall left behind. When his thumb strokes the underside of my breast, I feel the shiver travel all the way through me.

“Still cold?” he asks, voice rough.

I shake my head. I’m the opposite of cold. I’m burning.

He smiles, slow and knowing, and leans in again. This time, his mouth finds the corner of mine, then the full of it, kissing me the way he does when he has all the time in the world and intends to use every second. His tongue traces the seam of my lips until I open for him, and the kiss deepens into something lush and unhurried. I can taste the river on him, the wildness, the quiet triumph of having me here where no one else has ever been allowed.

One of his hands stays at my waist, steadying me against the stone. The other begins a slow exploration, up the length of my spine, fingers spreading wide so he can feel every inch of skin, then back down again, lower, cupping the curve of me and lifting just enough that our bodies fit more tightly together. The water laps gently around us. Every small movement sends ripples outward, as if the pool itself is paying attention.

He breaks the kiss only to drag his mouth along my jaw, down the column of my throat, pausing again at the mark. This time he closes his lips over it and sucks lightly. The sensation is electric. My back arches, and a soft, helpless sound escapes me. He soothes the place with his tongue, then moves lower, mapping the line of my collarbone, the hollow of my throat, the upper slope of one breast. He takes his time. Every kiss is deliberate, every soft scrape of teeth a promise rather than a demand.

When he finally closes his mouth over the peak, the pleasure is so sharp and sweet I have to bite my lip. He doesn’t rush. He draws the sensation out, swirling, teasing, then giving more pressure, until I’m trembling against him and my hands are fisted in his hair. The bond is wide open now; I can feel the fierce satisfaction rolling through him every time I react, every quiet sound I can’t quite swallow.

“Easy,” he murmurs against my skin, though he doesn’t sound like he wants me easy at all. “We’ve got hours.”

I answer by wrapping my legs more firmly around his waist, drawing him closer. The water makes every shift frictionless and devastating. He groans softly into the curve of my breast, then lifts his head to look at me again. The expression on his face is almost reverent, like he’s still a little stunned that I’m his, that I’m here, that I’m offering myself without reservation in the one place he never shared with anyone else.

His hand slips between us, finding the place where I’m already aching for him. He doesn’t hurry. Fingers glide, circle, explore with maddening patience, learning all over again what makes my breath catch, what makes my hips lift, seeking more. I try to move against him, to urge him on, but he only smiles that slow, wicked smile and keeps the rhythm maddeningly light.

“Callum—”

“I know.” He kisses the words from my mouth. “I can feel how much you want me. I’ve been feeling it since you peeled those clothes off in the sunlight.” His voice drops lower. “You have no idea what that did to me.”

I do, actually. The bond tells me everything, how hard he’s holding himself back, how badly he wants to simply take, how much sweeter it is for him to draw this out until neither of us can think straight.

He keeps stroking, keeps teasing, until my thighs are shaking and my forehead is pressed to his. Only then does he shift, guiding himself to me with one careful hand. The first slow press of him has my eyes fluttering shut. He sinks in by degrees, letting me feel every inch, every stretch, every perfect claim. When he’s finally seated deep, he stills completely, breathing hard against my temple, giving us both a moment to simply exist inside the overwhelming rightness of it.