The Fake Mate -
: Chapter 17
the last few days have been a blur of sweat and sensation—and today is no different. In the haze of my heat, everything feels far away and also impossibly close, my senses in overdrive and my body in a constant state of burning pleasure and pain.
And Noah has been there for every second of it.
I can’t remember a time when it’s been like this, when I’ve seemed to need someone like I’ve needed Noah—and with every passing hour where I give more of myself to him, an anxiety grows on my hindbrain like a parasite, fueling my actions, making me needy. I cling to him in sleep and while awake, and every second that he isn’t inside me feels like torture. Which, to be fair, hasn’t been very often.
My eyes are shut tight so I can focus on what I’m feeling—my thighs spread over his lap as I ride him, his fingers digging into my hips to help rock me against his cock. My body is just as lined with sweat as his, and the entire room at this point is a cloud of our scents morphing together to make something new, something intoxicating.
I gasp when his thumb finds my clit to tease, still sensitive from the orgasm he gave me only a few minutes ago. I have to brace my hands on his shoulders as my head lolls forward, trying to keep up the rhythm of my hips as he bounces me on his cock.
“Look at you,” he hums, slipping his thumb between my folds, where a gush of my slick escapes. “You’re making such a mess.”
“I’m—oh. I’m sorry, I—”
He leans up from the pillows to leave kisses at my jaw. “Don’t apologize,” he murmurs. “I like it.”
He’s been like this ever since we came here; he uses words and gives praises that are filthier than I’ve ever heard from him, and apparently the more primal parts of me fucking love it. His voice whispering dirty things in this sequestered room just for us makes me shiver, almost as much as his touch.
“I’m so close,” I groan.
His thumb continues to rub circles against my clit, his other hand curving against my ass to squeeze as he starts to meet my thrusts. “Can you take me again?”
His knot.
I’m practically addicted to it now. As good as it was before, now—when my entire brain seems to be functioning solely on instinct—his knot might as well be a cocktail of everything good I’ve ever had. The sensation of him filling me until it feels like he has no room left, like I might burst with it—it’s a pleasure that goes beyond just sexual and makes a home deep down in my bones as if my body is finally getting what it’s always wanted. What it’s needed.
Is this what it means to be what we are?
And because there is no room for embarrassment in my current state, I don’t hesitate to curl into him when I feel the urge, to press my tongue to the hot, throbbing gland at his throat that tastes purely of Noah. I suck at his pulse until he’s groaning, until his cock starts to swell like he might tip over the edge without me.
“I want it, Alpha,” I whisper hoarsely, nipping at his sensitive skin lightly. “I want you.”
My head spins as I start to rock my hips to match his pace, every undulation letting his cock slide against the most sensitive places inside me and setting off a shower of sparks in my belly. There is a delicious pressure that builds with every roll of his hips, and I know when it finally gives it will bring that sweet euphoria that comes with getting exactly what my body needs.
My thighs press tight against his hips as it becomes almost unbearable, so close to the edge that I can practically taste it, and when it finally comes, when I do—it’s an all-over relief, an unwinding in my entire body as if every part of me had been coiled tight.
I’ve long since learned that I like how Noah lets go, how his eyes close and his mouth sputters loud curses and his arms hold me tight—all of it satisfying parts of me I hadn’t known existed. His knot swells just like it had a dozen times before this, and it’s still as mind-blowing as it had been the first time. Maybe even more so now. I can’t really be sure.
I collapse against him after, my limbs heavy and my body spent, content to listen to the heavy thudding of his heart as we both catch our breath. I can feel his finger trailing back and forth along my ribs, making me shiver, his knot pulsing pleasantly inside me as he holds me to him.
I feel more aware this time, my mind less muddled in the afterglow of what we’ve just done, and I can tell we don’t have much longer of this frenzied little getaway.
“I think it’s starting to wear off,” I mumble into his chest.
He doesn’t say anything about it, really, but I can feel him tense against me, and then there is a soft kiss at my hair as he quietly urges me to rest.
I don’t know what he’s thinking, have no idea whether or not these days together have been just an itch we’ve both been scratching or if there is some part of him that’s feeling conflicted, just as I’m finding myself to be.
And what’s worse is that . . . it’s just now hitting me how afraid I am to know the answer.
“You were sweating,” he says. “I didn’t want you to get sick.”
That same warm weight settles in my chest, and I bite back a larger grin as I wearily push myself up, wincing. “Jesus, I’m sore.”
“I’m sorry,” Noah offers guiltily. “Is it awful?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s a good sore.”
I can tell this pleases him, even if he tries to hide it. “Good,” he murmurs.
“How long was I out?”
He checks his phone on the nearby nightstand. “Six hours or so. Give or take. You slept for a while this time.”
“Ah, well.” I shrug. “That’s . . . good, right?”
“It probably means your heat is close to passing,” he notes, sounding almost . . . disappointed?
Could I be imagining that?
I try for something light. “I’m sure you’re going crazy not being able to work,” I tease.
Noah doesn’t miss a beat when he answers, holding my gaze with a sincerity that makes my lips part in surprise. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
“Oh,” I say quietly, unsure of what else to add to it.
Those warm feelings are shifting into my chest like burning embers, the heavy heat like a fire waiting to be stoked. I had been the one to assure Noah that we could be together like this without complicating things—that this little addendum to our arrangement would be nothing more than the two of us fulfilling each other’s desires without any strings attached. I had believed it when I said the words.
So why do I feel so unsure now?
“I’m really glad you came with me,” I start again, hardly any louder than a whisper. I can’t quite seem to find my voice right now. “I’m glad it was you.”
Noah doesn’t say anything immediately, and when I peek up at him, I notice him studying me, his eyes moving across my face and his lips pressed tightly together, like he’s trying to find the correct words. There’s a flicker of anxiety in my belly at what he might be trying to say; is he going to tell me that this thing between us is getting too difficult? That we should end it? Do I not want him to say those things? My feelings are so mixed up, even more so with the murky aftermath of my dwindling heat, and I can’t seem to pin down one singular emotion to focus on.
“Me too,” he finally settles on, and I am unable to discern a single thing from those two words.
I watch as Noah pushes away from the bed, moving to his feet and stepping across the carpet to the dresser on the other side of the room. He’s slipped into his boxer briefs—which leave little to the imagination when it comes to his sculpted ass that might almost make me envious—but mostly I find my eyes tracing the hard lines of muscle in his back, pink lines scattered here and there from what I assume are my fingernails. It makes me blush looking at them, and that heat spreads down into my chest and lower as it dredges up memories of everything we’ve done these last few days.
He grabs a water bottle from the dresser, bringing it back as he takes his place at the side of the bed again and, with a concerned expression, reaches out to hand over the bottle. “You need this,” he urges. “You barely ate any breakfast this morning and I’ve been having to practically force you to drink something.”
“Okay, Mom,” I laugh, taking the bottle. I unscrew the cap and take a heavy swig, gulping down a good bit of the bottle before replacing the cap and holding it up for him to see. “Happy?”
“Yes,” he deadpans. “The last thing we need is for you to get dehydrated.”
This makes me laugh harder. “Wow, that would be a great one to explain. Noah Taylor fucked all the nutrients right out of me.”
“I . . . probably could have been a little better about taking care of you.”
“What?” I frown, scooting away from the headboard, bringing the sheet with me and keeping it wrapped around my chest (which seems almost silly, given everything Noah has seen). “Noah. Seriously. My heats weren’t a picnic before this, but this one . . .” I make a face. “It would have been a real bitch without you. Like, completely miserable. You did great taking care of me.”
I see a bit of the tension in his face soften then as he nods lightly. I can tell he’s been worried about this, and that he needed reassurance. With everything I’ve seen of him in the last few days, I can undoubtedly assume that it’s an alpha thing. Especially if the strange urges to please him I’ve felt while we’ve been here are any indication.
“Good,” he answers warmly. “I’m glad.”
I’m realizing that this is the longest conversation we’ve had in days, and that it is just more proof that my heat is waning. Knowing this for certain makes me uneasy, because those unsure feelings are pushing their way back into my brain, wheedling their way into my subconscious to make me wonder about all sorts of unnecessary things. Things like: What will we be after this? and Do I even want to be something?
I realize that through this entire train of thought I’m staring at him, just as I’m noticing that he’s staring back at me in the same way. I wish I knew what he was thinking, wish I could read him just enough to help me figure out my own muddled thoughts, but all I can see in Noah’s face is the clear blue of his eyes, the strong line of his jaw, the plush curve of his lips—all the things that make it hard to look away from him. When I met him they were simply nice things to look at, but now just a glance is enough to give me butterflies. When the fuck did that even happen?
“Mackenzie,” he says suddenly, making me jump a little.
I meet his gaze, finding a warmth in his eyes now that makes the butterflies worse. I can tell he wants to say something, can practically see it stuck to the tip of his tongue, and for some reason I am desperate to know what it is. Whether it’s the hormones or this place or just Noah himself—my entire being seems hinged on whatever he is about to say.
So it’s surprising when he says nothing, but only for a moment, since he leans in instead to brush his lips with mine. That frenzy that has always come after his kiss seems less now, and in its place is a slow, molten burn that starts just below my navel and spreads deeper until it’s pulsing between my legs. It seems impossible that I could still get aroused after the amount of times we’ve been together just today—and yet his fingertips at my skin are like sparks of electricity, and his mouth on mine is sweet like wine, making me just as dizzy.
I feel his finger hooking into the sheet over me to ease it away, his palm covering my breast after and squeezing gently. He catches my gasp against his tongue when his thumb teases my nipple, and I unconsciously arch into his hand to chase after more of his touch.
“You’re so soft,” he rasps against my mouth. “So beautiful.”
My head falls back when his mouth wanders, reveling in the sensation of it on my throat, my collarbone, lower to capture my nipple. His tongue swirls there before he sucks it deeper into his mouth, and the sensation zings straight down to my core, making me want more.
“Noah,” I breathe.
His hand skims over my belly, his fingers curling between my legs to slip inside me. I’m embarrassingly wet even from just this, and the sound of his fingers sliding in and out of me is lewd and loud and yet all I can worry about is how to get more. He’s taking his time now, the frenetic pace I’ve become used to long gone as Noah seems to be intent on taking his time.
He pumps his fingers inside slowly, only to withdraw at the same tortuous pace, just to repeat it all over again, all the while teasing and nibbling at my nipple until my skin tingles all over. I can’t decide if I want him to keep doing this, keep teasing me at this pace that seems designed to drive me crazy, or if I want to beg him to get on with it, to give me more than just his hand.
His body covers mine as he touches me, his wide shoulders the perfect place for my hands as I keep him close against me. He licks at the swell under my breast, pressing his teeth there afterward, and my back bows as I let out a soft cry, feeling like I’m on fire in ways that have nothing to do with my heat.
So it’s almost painful when he stops, when all of it ends suddenly as he lifts his head to look at me with glazed eyes, and I’m panting my protest as I lean up to meet his gaze.
“Go on a date with me,” he says in a rush.
I blink, still keyed up and frustrated that he isn’t still touching me. “What?”
“A real date,” he says.
“A real . . .” I rear back, trying to comprehend what he’s asking. “But . . . complicated. You didn’t want to make things complicated.”
“But it is,” he says firmly, never tearing his eyes from mine. “It’s complicated. At least for me.”
And all that worry and all that uncertainty come crashing back down, every reason I’ve had for keeping him at arm’s length rearing their ugly heads to make themselves known. I don’t believe in this fate shit; in fact, I outright reject it—it drove my dad insane and left me alone, after all, and so I have every reason to calmly reject him, to cut my losses and realize that this good thing we’ve had has run its course.
But my heart is still fluttering, and that heavy, hot stone is still rolling around in my chest, impossible to ignore, and I’m realizing all at once that I might be more afraid of walking away like none of this matters than I am of risking something to see if it does matter.
“A real date,” I echo dazedly. “What about Albuquerque?”
“We’ll figure it out,” he answers immediately, without a shred of doubt. He says it like he will do everything he can to make it work, even if he has no idea how to. “Just say yes.”
“Noah, are you sure you want to—”
“I want to,” he cuts in. “I don’t think I ever even stood a chance of touching you and then just walking away.”
I can’t pretend this doesn’t rustle up those same butterflies in my stomach that might be building their own permanent residence, and despite all the wariness and all the reasons why I should say no . . . I feel my lips quirking in a smile, having to lean in and press my mouth to his just to keep it from spreading that smile to embarrassing levels.
“Okay,” I mutter against his mouth. “A real date.”
Noah doesn’t hide his smile in the slightest, his lips curving widely only a moment before they cover mine with a deep kiss. I melt into it as his tongue slides across my lower lip, opening for him as he crawls up the bed a little further to cover me completely. His hands are less patient now, sliding down my ribs to my hips as he squeezes me there, pressing a knee between my legs to part them even as I’m tugging at his boxer briefs to get them down.
His cock bobs free to slide across my stomach, and his groan falls against my tongue when I fist him, squeezing gently before pumping him all the way down to the base.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he says thickly.
I don’t hesitate, locking my ankles behind his waist and gasping when I feel the thick head of his cock notching at my entrance, holding my breath after as he slowly pushes inside to fill me up. I close my eyes to try and focus on the sensation of my body stretching around the hard length of him, and just as I do Noah snaps his hips forward, filling me to the brim as my breath catches.
“Open your eyes,” he urges. “I want to see exactly how you look when you’re taking me.”
It’s a struggle, keeping my gaze level with his as he starts to move—the last shreds of my heat making the room spin a little as I cling to my rationality. Noah braces his hand near my head as he leans on one forearm, rolling his hips again and again as he builds a steady rhythm. I’m too sensitive from all the times before this, already feeling that hot pressure swelling deep inside with every slide of his cock inside me. That warmth in my chest is blooming outward—filling every part of me until I’m nothing but heat, the pinnacle of it all deep, deep inside where that looming pressure threatens to give way like a dam poised to break.
“Noah,” I gasp, gripping his shoulders and undoubtedly adding more marks. “Noah, I—”
“That’s it,” he huffs. “Come for me, Mackenzie. Need you to come for me again.”
My lashes flutter as he growls for me to keep my eyes open, and even with them opened wide, my vision blurs with my impending orgasm, my body drawn up tight like a bowstring, ready to be let loose.
I feel it in my toes first, when it happens, feel it rushing up my legs and into my thighs and deeper like a humming current—exploding in an array of sparks as I start to tremble with it. Noah grunts through it as he dips inside with more difficulty now, and the thickness there only heightens my pleasure, his knot touching me in the best of ways as it locks inside until he can no longer move. I can feel Noah shuddering under my hands, his skin twitching everywhere I touch him like he’s oversensitized, and I rub slow circles on his shoulders as my body melts into a Jell-O-like quality, warm and soft and satisfied beyond measure.
We lie like that for a while in the quiet, the wind blowing gently outside the window and the sounds of our breath mingling in the air. He’s still inside me when he lifts his head some time after, his lids heavy and his blue eyes darker, stormier.
“You’ll need to shift again,” he manages roughly, still sounding a little out of breath. “Otherwise, you might be uncomfortable.”
I kiss his cheek. “There’s time in the morning. Before we go back.”
“Back,” he parrots. He turns his face to let his cheek rest against my breast. “How out of character would it be for me to say I don’t want to go back to work?”
“Terribly out of character,” I deadpan. “I would have to assume you’ve contracted some brain disorder and have started speaking exclusively in gibberish.”
His lips curl, his eyes peeking up at me. “Maybe I have.”
“Doubtful,” I chuckle. “Although, it would make you wanting to go on a date with me make a lot more sense.”
He nips at my breast, and I yelp. “If that’s plausible,” he chuffs. “Then you might be the one with the brain disorder. Maybe I should get you a referral to the neurology floor.”
I can’t help but grin as I take in his dark hair falling into his eyes, making him look younger than he is—moving on to the soft curve of his mouth and further still to the broad width of his shoulders, which still feel somehow larger than life. He really is kind of beautiful, for a boogeyman. The annoyed expression he would surely make is almost worth telling him so.
I shake my head, still chuckling quietly. “Hardly.”
“We should probably get some actual sleep,” he says with a bit of a yawn. “Especially if I’m going to have to chase you down again in the morning.”
“I’m definitely looking forward to making you eat my dust again,” I tease.
He snorts, winding his arms around me as he snuggles closer. “I let you win,” he mumbles.
“Sure you did,” I laugh. “Then tomorrow, I’ll make sure you never catch me.”
“Oh, I will catch you,” he says, sounding amused.
I roll my eyes. “You think so?”
“I do,” he hums, his eyes drifting closed. “I’m not letting you get away from me, Mackenzie.”
My pulse quickens as my mouth parts in surprise, but Noah is already drifting off, slipping into a satisfied sleep as if he hasn’t thrown me for a loop at least a dozen times since we got here. I’m deciding I like the weird heat that comes from the more intimate things that have been happening between us, and even if it’s still a little terrifying . . . I think maybe it could be worth it, if I give it a chance.
I bend my neck to press a kiss to Noah’s forehead, falling back against the pillows after as fatigue seeps in. “Maybe I’m not letting you get away from me either,” I say to the air.
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