MATED TO FATHER, FATED TO SONS-Chapter 16: ARE YOU WET?

AMARIS

I always thought my first kiss would be my true love.

On my wedding night, my husband would gently pull off my white ball gown and gaze at my eyes with longing and craving.

Then ask for my permission to kiss me.

Slowly easing into the kiss.

I have never for once in a fairly tale driven imaginative mind of mine did I ever thought the words I would hear before my first kiss was.

Fuck it!

But Ryker had already collided his mouth with mine before I could stop him.

Did I want to stop him?

His hand came up, his fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of my neck with a grip that wasn’t gentle, but wasn’t meant to hurt either, it was just there, possessive and solid.

I gasped, the sound catching in my dry throat, and that was all the invitation he needed.

He leaned in, and the world narrowed down to the scent of him, that overwhelming smell of fur that made my wolf roll over inside me.

No, no, no.

I should stop it, I mustered all the strength in me to push him away, my palm against his chest but I could only create an inch between his mouth and mine. He still had me pinned against the door.

"Ryker, you can’t kiss me, I didn’t give you the permission," I stuttered, gasping for air, as he had sucked out the air from my lung.

"Amaris, I don’t need your permission to kiss you," he rasped in a husky tone, his eyes staring at me hungrily like a hunter gazing at his prey.

I was his prey.

"You are my mate and I am going to kiss you as well as I damn please."

"Ryker," I protested but he didn’t allow me to get any more words out.

His lips hit mine again, crashing against it possessively.

It was a collision of salt, heat, and the copper tang of the blood still smeared on his lip from his father’s strike.

He tasted like a fight. His tongue pushed past my teeth with an unhurried, devastating confidence, claiming the space inside my mouth like he already owned it.

My hands, which had been flat against his chest to push him away, curled into the fabric of his shirt instead.

I could feel the hard, frantic rhythm of his heart against my knuckles, matching the way mine was slamming against my ribs.

He groaned into the kiss, a low, guttural vibration I felt in my own chest, and his free hand found my waist.

His palm was scorching through the thin floral fabric of my dress, his fingers digging into my hip as he pulled me flush against him.

He tasted every part of me, his mouth moving over mine with a hunger that felt like it was trying to pull the very soul out of my body.

I was unraveling. I could feel the heat pooling in my legs, that heavy, aching weight that made it impossible to remember why I was supposed to hate him.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead dropping against mine.

His eyes were that glowing, predatory red, fixed on my mouth like he was deciding whether to kiss me again or bite me.

"Amaris," he groaned in a low tone. "I want to fuck you."

My eyes widened and my breath caught somewhere between my lungs and throat.

He was so blunt and explicitly clear there was no mistaking what he meant.

"I can’t let you," I whispered, trying to sound firm but my voice came out shaky and uncertain.

He chuckled with a dark smug look on his eyes, his thumb tracing along my jaw. "I am not asking for your permission, Amaris. I am telling you. I will fuck you."

He paused, his eyes burning into mine. "Maybe not today. But I will. Eventually."

Heat flooded my face and I tried to straighten my spine, tried to find that defiance I had shown his father earlier. "You are so full of yourself to think I will let you."

We were still pressed together, my back against the door, his body a wall of heat and muscle trapping me there.

I was nervous, terrified even, but I kept my chin up because I didn’t know if I could actually stop him and the only weapon I had left was my mouth.

His hand slid from my jaw down to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there like a reminder of how easily he could control this. "Are you wet?"

"What?" The word came out as a strangled gasp.

"Are you wet, Amaris?" he repeated, slower this time, his eyes never leaving mine. "I want to know."

"Why would you ask me such a thing?" My face was burning now, embarrassment with confusion.

"Because I want to know," he said simply. "I want to feel your wetness."

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head. "No, you can’t."

He smiled and it was the most dangerous thing I had ever seen. "Amaris, when will you learn that I am not asking for your permission?" His voice dropped lower, rougher. "I am simply just letting you know."

His hand was already moving, sliding down from my throat, over the curve of my breast where he paused just long enough for me to feel the heat of his palm through the fabric, then lower still to my waist.

His fingers found the hem of my floral dress and started pushing it up, the fabric bunching around his wrist.

My breath came in short, sharp bursts.

My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears, feel it in my throat. Every nerve ending in my body was screaming at me to do something, push him away, slap him, run, but I couldn’t move.

I was frozen there watching his hand disappear under my dress, feeling the rough calluses of his fingers against the smooth skin of my thigh.

He was going to touch me there. He was actually going to do it.

"My hand is going to go inside you," he muttered, his voice a low rasp that made my knee buckle.

"Just a bit and I am going to kiss you while I do it." His thumb traced along the edge of the fabric, not quite touching where I was aching for him to touch.

"And you are going to be a good girl."

I stared at him, my mouth dry, my whole body trembling. "Can I say no?"

"No," he whispered. "You shouldn’t. Because you are going to enjoy it."