Fate Picked Me, the Alpha Passed, and I Felt Nothing novel · Chapter 16 of 24

Chapter 16: In My Lap

He did not ask me to stay.

That was what I couldn't stand about the last two days.

He had said "Okay" on the dock, and "Take all the time you need."

He had meant it, and I'd wanted to throw a hammer at him.

On Saturday night he came up my back stairs at nine with a paper bag from Fournier's and nothing else in his hands.

I took the bag out of them and put it on the floor.

"Sit," I said.

My armchair stood by the window at the end of the long room.

It had an oak frame and a worn green velvet seat that I recovered the winter my mother died.

It was too big for the room.

It had been the best place in the apartment to sulk for seven years.

He sat in it in his coat.

I took the coat off him and dropped it.

I knelt and unlaced his boots, and pulled them and his socks off, and he watched me with his lips parted.

"You're quiet," I said.

"I'm trying to be good."

"Don't be good tonight."

His eyes flicked up.

"Be mine," I said.

He made a sound that was half laugh, half something else.

I stood and walked backward to the middle of the room.

I turned off every light but the one lamp.

The dark window held us both, small and yellow.

I unhooked my overalls and let them slide off.

I pulled my thermal over my head and unpinned the bandana from my braid and threw it on the bed.

I took off the rest slowly, bra and underwear, under his eyes, with my skin going tight in the cold air.

Then I crossed the floor naked and straddled his thighs.

The velvet bunched under my knees.

He had gone absolutely still.

"Hands on the arms of the chair," I said.

He put them there.

"They stay there."

"Yes, boss."

I kissed him.

I took my time, his lower lip between my teeth and then my tongue in his mouth.

I rolled my hips against the hard line of him through his jeans.

He groaned into my mouth, and his fingers dug into the arms of the chair until the wood creaked.

"Tell me," I said, against his jaw.

"I want to touch you so badly I can't think."

"Do you?"

"Everything. Your waist. Your hips. The back of your knee."

"Not yet."

I opened his jeans and pulled him out, and he was hot and heavy in my hand, hard as iron.

I rubbed the head through my own wetness, slowly, and he threw his head back against the chair.

"Rue."

"Look at me."

He looked.

I lined him up and sank down on him in one slow glide.

I sat in his lap with my breasts against his shirt and my knees tight around his hips.

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