Chapter 22: Hands on the Chair

We slept in my aunt's cabin that night, because neither of us would sleep anywhere else.

Roz and Devon took both pups and the second drawer into the other room, with a lamp and a bottle.

She shut the door on me with her foot.

"Four hours," she said. "I'm an Alpha. I'm giving you a direct order to be loud."

"Roz."

"I won't hear it. I'll be busy."

I turned around.

Conall sat in my aunt's rocking chair by the stove, in a clean shirt, with fresh stitches in his neck.

He watched me with his whole face.

He had been told he was staying.

He had not been told what for.

"Take that off," I said.

"The shirt?"

"All of it."

He stood and did it, button by button, never looking away.

He was lean and tall, with the old scar along his rib.

The bruises from the hall were coming up purple across his shoulder.

I walked around him once, slowly.

He held very still.

"You have rules to follow," I said.

"Yes, Alpha."

"You'll say my name. Only my name."

"Teagan."

"Sit."

He sat in the chair.

"Put your hands on the arms. They stay there."

He gripped the wood, and the knuckles went white.

I took off my cardigan, and my shirt, and the nursing bra, and dropped them on the rug.

His eyes went dark.

"You don't move," I said, "until I tell you."

"Understood."

"Say it."

"I don't move until you tell me, Teagan."

My whole body went hot.

I knelt between his knees, and undid his jeans, and took him out.

He was already hard.

He made a low, torn sound when I closed my hand around him.

"Teagan."

"Hands."

His fists tightened on the chair.

I put my mouth on him.

I took him slowly, as far as I could, and felt him shake all the way up his thighs.

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