Killed Pregnant by My Alpha Mate, I Woke Six Years Early and Chose His Rival novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Truck

On the mountain road in her torn white dress, she puts the rival Alpha's hand between her thighs and he brings her off while he drives; the lodge porch is full of watching wolves.

The truck was a black pickup with a cab that smelled like him.

Tavish drove with one hand on the wheel and his eyes on the switchbacks.

The headlights cut yellow tunnels through the firs, and the Ashfall fires dropped away behind the ridge.

I sat with his jacket pulled around me and my bare knees together.

My heart still ran.

My wolf wouldn't settle either.

She paced under my ribs, and every time Tavish shifted gears she pushed at my skin.

"You're shaking," he said.

"I'm not cold."

"I know."

He didn't say anything else for a mile.

The road bent along a drop, and below us the Skagit showed silver between the trees.

I looked at his hand on the gearshift.

It was wide and scarred across the knuckles, and the pale ridge ran back to his wrist.

I remembered, from a different life, how that kind of hand felt when it was angry.

This one was only still.

"Alpha Rowe," I said.

"Tavish."

"Tavish. Why did you come to the Rite?"

He kept his eyes on the road.

"Because I wanted to see what you'd do."

It wasn't an answer, but it made my pulse jump.

I looked at the white dress bunched over my thighs.

Viggo had picked it.

The skirt had split up one side when I'd stood, and the cut ran almost to my hip.

I took a breath.

Then I took his hand off the gearshift.

He let me.

I laid it flat on my bare thigh, above my knee.

I slid it up the inside until his fingers were under the torn hem.

His breath stopped.

"Ione," he said.

"You asked what I wanted."

"I did."

"I want this."

I pushed his hand higher and opened my legs.

The truck went on steady down the road, but I heard the leather of the wheel creak under his other fist.

"Say it again," he said, rough.

"I want your fingers on me."

He pulled off his glove with his teeth.

I hadn't known a man could make that look so hot.

His bare hand slid up the inside of my thigh, slow, and I felt the calluses drag over my skin.

He stopped at the edge of my underwear.

"Wet already," he said.

"Since the stone."

His mouth curved, just barely.

He hooked the lace aside with one finger and ran the pad of it along me, once, from the bottom to the top.

I made a noise that wasn't a word.

"Quiet," he said, and then, low, "No. Don't be quiet. I want to hear every sound you make."

He circled my clit slowly.

I gripped the seat, then his forearm, hard.

The muscle was solid as a tree under my fingers.

"Look at the road with me," he said. "Eyes on the white line."

"I can't."

"Try."

He pushed two fingers into me.

I cried out, and my head hit the seat back.

He was thick, and he went deep, and he curled them forward until the room, the truck, the whole mountain went hot and white.

"Good girl," he said.

My whole body clenched at that.

I didn't know why it hit me so hard, except that nobody had said it to me in this body or the last.

"Again," I said.

"Say please."

"Please, Tavish."

He fucked me with his fingers in long slow strokes, and his thumb found my clit again and pressed in tight circles.

The truck hit a rut and rolled my hips onto his hand.

"Ride it," he said. "Take what you need."

I did.

I rocked against his palm with my thighs spread wide on his seat and my torn dress thrown up around my waist.

The road lights went by in the windshield.

My wolf was howling now, deep inside me, and I could hear a low answering sound in his chest.

"Tavish."

"I've got you."

It tipped me over.

The orgasm crashed up from my toes, and I came with a cry.

I clamped around his fingers and ground down onto his hand as he worked me through it.

He didn't slow down until I stopped shaking.

When I sagged against the door, he pulled his hand out and glanced at it, wet and shining in the dash light.

Then he put his two fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean.

I stared at him.

"You taste like rain," he said.

I laughed, breathless, and it turned into something that sounded close to a sob.

I had not laughed in six years.

He didn't touch me again.

He wiped his hand on his jeans and took the wheel with both hands.

His cock was a hard, heavy line against the denim, and he did nothing about it.

"You're not going to," I said.

"Not tonight in a truck."

"Why not?"

"Because I want you in a bed," he said.

"And because I think you picked me tonight. I want you to pick me again when you're warm."

I pulled his jacket tight and shivered.

"I'm warm," I said.

"Then pick me at the lodge."

The road came out of the trees onto a high shelf of land.

Ahead of us, black against the stars, stood Black Pine Lodge, three stories of logs with every window lit.

He parked at the foot of the steps and cut the engine.

I reached for the door, and he said, "Barefoot?"

I looked down.

My shoes had been left on the Rite stone.

He came around and opened my door, and before I could step down he lifted me out of the cab.

My torn dress was still around my hips.

I clutched at it, and then I heard the quiet.

I turned my head.

The long porch was full.

A hundred Black Pine wolves stood shoulder to shoulder in the lamplight.

Every one of them was looking at their Alpha carrying a barefoot stranger up the steps, with her hair wrecked and her thighs wet.

A big red-haired man at the front folded his arms and grinned.

"Evening, Alpha," he said.

"Marek," said Tavish. "Not a word."

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