Pack Law Made Him My Brother, So I Made Him My Mate novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Arroyo

In a monsoon at a flooded crossing, Cruz goes down on her in the cab of his truck, tells her his wolf has never answered anyone, and takes her to the sheep camp.

"Drive," I said.

He started the truck without a word and took the grant road up the valley, away from the fiesta and the lights.

The monsoon broke four miles out.

It hit the windshield in one sheet, and the wipers could not keep up.

Ahead of us the road dropped into an arroyo.

The water in the crossing was already brown and loud.

He stopped on the high bank, set the brake, and killed the engine.

Rain drummed on the roof.

He sat with his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the water.

"We can't do this," he said.

"You said no in the barn," I said. "Was that no to me?"

"It was no to the fact that you're Rocio's daughter."

"I'm also the woman whose hand you had your thumb under."

His breath went out of him in a shaky laugh.

"Say you don't want me," I said. "Say it, and I'll get out and walk back in the rain."

He turned his head and looked at me.

In the dark his eyes were all pupil, with only the gold ring left around them.

"I can't say it," he said.

"Then say what's true."

"I have never heard my wolf make a sound for anyone in twenty-nine years," he said.

"And in the barn?"

"In the barn he stood up and went quiet at the same time."

"Mine did the same," I said.

"Then you know."

"I know I'm sitting here wet, and I want your mouth," I said.

He did not move for a long moment.

Then I slid across the bench seat, put a knee on either side of his hips, and took his face in my hands.

I kissed him the way I had in the barn, slow and then not slow.

This time he kissed me back, with both hands in my hair and his whole body shaking.

He tasted of cold water and green chile.

His hands came down to my ass and pulled me hard against him.

I felt him through his jeans, thick and hot, right where I needed him.

I rolled my hips once.

He groaned into my mouth.

"Again," he said.

I did it again, slower, dragging the seam of my jeans along his length.

His head fell back against the rest.

"Look at me," I said.

He looked.

I opened his shirt button by button, and he let me.

His chest was hard and warm, with a line of black hair down the center.

I put my mouth on his throat and felt his pulse go wild under my tongue.

"Lola," he said.

"Again."

"Lola."

I pulled my shirt over my head.

He looked at me in the green glow of the dashboard, bra and burn scar and all.

He said a word in Spanish that I had never heard anyone say with that much reverence.

"Touch me," I said.

He touched me.

He unhooked my bra with one hand, on the first try.

He cupped my breast and ran his thumb over the nipple until it drew tight.

Then he put his mouth on it.

I arched into him, and my head hit the roof of the cab.

"Careful," he said against my skin, smiling.

"Don't stop."

"I won't."

He sucked, and then he used his teeth very lightly, and I made a noise I had not planned to make.

His other hand slid down my stomach and into the open waist of my jeans.

His fingers found the wet cotton and pressed, and I gasped.

"Cruz."

"You're soaked," he said, in a voice gone ragged. "From the barn?"

"From the barn."

He slid one finger under the edge and drew it slowly through me.

I rode his hand.

I could not help it.

I braced one palm on the roof and the other on his shoulder.

I rolled against his fingers while he circled my clit with his thumb, and the windows fogged white around us.

"Not yet," he said, and he took his hand away.

I swore at him.

He laughed, low, and kissed me to shut me up.

"Lie back," he said. "I want to do this properly."

"Do what?"

He answered by opening my jeans.

I lifted my hips, and he peeled them off me, boots and all.

He did it with an urgency that should have been funny and was not.

I ended up half-lying along the bench with my back against the passenger door, wearing my underwear and nothing else.

He looked at the dark wet patch on the cotton.

"Tell me that's for me," he said.

"It's all for you."

He made a pained sound in his throat, and he knelt on the floorboard between my knees.

I put my boot heel against the dashboard and my other leg over his shoulder.

He kissed the inside of my knee and then my thigh, working slowly upward.

I felt his teeth close on the soft skin high up near my hip.

He froze.

His whole body went rigid, and when he raised his head his eyes had gone gold.

"Sorry," he said, in a rough, strange voice. "That wasn't a kiss."

"Do it," I said.

"No."

"Why not?" I said.

"Because when a wolf of this pack bites, it means something."

He shut his eyes and pressed his forehead to my thigh.

"I won't say it to you tonight," he said. "Not in a truck. Give me a minute."

I stroked his hair back from his face with a shaking hand.

"Take as many minutes as you want," I said. "Just do it with your mouth where it was."

He huffed a laugh against my skin.

He hooked my underwear aside with one finger and put his mouth on me.

"Oh, fuck."

His tongue went flat and slow, from my entrance all the way up to my clit.

Then he did it again, and I felt each pass down to my knees.

"There," I said. "Right there. Don't you dare move."

He did not move.

He found a firm circle with the tip of his tongue and held it.

His hands came up under my thighs and pulled me closer to his face.

The rain roared.

I had both hands in his hair, and I was saying his name.

He pushed a finger into me, then a second, and curled them up.

He found the spot on the first try.

"Cruz."

"That's it," he said, low, into me. "Look at you. You're so wet. You taste so good."

"Don't talk. Keep doing that."

He laughed against my clit, and the vibration nearly finished me.

Then he slowed down, on purpose.

I swore at him and dug my heel into his back.

He drew his tongue in a long lazy circle around my entrance.

He pressed it inside me, drew it out, and went back to my clit with a rhythm that made me cry out.

"You're mean," I said.

"You said don't stop."

"I said I'd kill you if you did," I said.

"Then I'm not stopping."

I rocked up into his mouth.

He sucked, hard, and he worked his fingers in and out of me.

The pressure built until my thighs were shaking on either side of his head.

"I'm going to come," I said. "Cruz, I'm going to come."

"Come on my mouth."

I came so hard that my boot slid off the dash.

My whole body locked and then let go in long, wrenching waves.

I heard myself cry out, and the rain swallowed it.

He did not stop.

He gentled his tongue and slowed his fingers and carried me down.

When I was almost still, he did something with the flat of his tongue that sent me up again.

It was a short, sharp second time, and it took the last of my breath.

"Enough," I gasped. "Enough, please."

He lifted his head.

His chin and mouth were wet, and his eyes were black.

He rested his cheek on the inside of my thigh and breathed.

I could feel him trembling against my leg.

I took his hair in my fist and dragged him up the length of me until his mouth met mine.

I could taste myself on him.

I did not mind at all.

I slid my hand down his chest, over his stomach, and onto the hard shape straining his zipper.

"Now let me," I said.

He caught my wrist, and then he let it go.

I opened his belt.

I opened the button and drew the zipper down.

He lifted his hips so I could push his jeans and his shorts to his thighs.

He was long and heavy and darker at the tip.

When I wrapped my fingers around him, they did not quite meet.

"Lola," he said, and it came out as a plea.

"Watch me."

I stroked him from root to head, slowly, with a firm twist at the top.

A bead of wetness rose at the slit.

I took it on my thumb and spread it around the head.

His whole body jerked.

"Fuck," he said. "Fuck, that's you doing that."

"Who else?"

"Nobody else. Only you."

I did it again, a little faster, and his hips began to lift into my hand.

I kissed his mouth, his jaw, and the cord of his neck, and I felt the muscles pull tight under my lips.

His breath came in short, rough pulls.

He slid one hand up under my hair and held the back of my head, and he groaned each time my thumb crossed the tip.

"Lola, slower," he said.

"No."

"I'll come."

"Not yet," I said, and I slowed my hand to a long, tight pull that made him curse in Spanish.

His eyes were fixed on my face, and I watched him try to hold on.

He lasted maybe a minute.

Then he closed his hand over mine and stopped it.

"Not like this," he said, breathing hard.

"Why not?"

"If I finish, it's inside you. Not in a truck," he said.

"Where, then?"

"I want a bed. I want you on top of me, and I want to watch."

"Is that a promise?" I said.

"It's a threat."

I laughed, and he pulled me into a kiss so deep that my head spun.

Then he put his forehead on my shoulder and his arms around my back.

We both stayed very still, with the rain beating the roof.

His cock was hot and hard against my stomach until he could breathe.

I held him.

His heart was pounding against my ribs.

"Tell me what's wrong with you," I said.

He was quiet so long that I thought he would not answer.

"I thought something in me was broken," he said.

"Why?"

"I've been with women. Three. They were kind. My wolf lay down in my head and slept through all of it," he said.

"And then?"

"And then I was filling a trough, and you came into the barn."

My throat hurt.

"I was your stranger first," I said.

"You were."

"So don't let a toast take that away."

He lifted his head.

"They'll run us out of the valley," he said. "Both of us. Cirila wasn't joking."

"I don't care about a rule I heard an hour ago."

"You should."

"I fight fire for a living," I said. "I've been told where I can't go all my life."

He gave me a slow, crooked smile, and the scar on his lip pulled.

"My father's sheep camp is two miles up the arroyo," he said. "There's a stove, a bed, and a roof."

"Who uses it?"

"Nobody until October."

I pushed him back onto his heels and found my jeans on the floor.

"Take me to the Puesto," I said.

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