Page 16 of Alpha Varsity (Wolf Ridge High #5)

Chapter Sixteen

A sher

Once more, I’m shaken by Lotta’s tears, and my teammates take the brunt of it.

Coach Jamison blows the whistle at me when I knock Seb ten feet into the air.

Why was she crying? Last time I was sure it wasn’t something I’d done. I gave her what she needed, she just didn’t want to need it.

This time, though, a terrible niggling feeling tells me it’s because I’ve been a bastard to her. Is it possible she does care how I feel about her?

That it hurts her when I’m cruel?

I somehow thought the tiny half-pint of authority didn’t give a fuck about me or the fact that I hate her. I thought she didn’t give a fuck about what she’d done because she left town without an explanation. She stayed away for over four years.

Here I’ve been relentlessly punishing her and not believing it had any effect.

Seb is usually laid-back, but he doesn’t appreciate landing on his back from such a height. He jumps up with a growl and tries to tackle me. I plow into him at the same time, and our bodies collide with a loud crack.

“Dude, what’s your problem?”

I roll my shoulders under the pads and snap my head to make my neck crack. “Nothing. Sorry, man.”

After practice, I shower. Knowing Lotta’s in the building makes showering with the guys insufferable. I have to force myself not to think of her. Not to remember that she’s close by. That I could easily pick up that tight little body of hers, pin her against a wall, and show her how much agony she puts me in.

Today, the thought of those tears keeps me from getting a hard-on while I shower.

Remembering the salty scent agitates me. The need to fix whatever is bothering her eats at me.

I take my time toweling off and packing up my bag to leave. Then I sit and pull out my phone, staring at the screen, trying to formulate a plan.

“You need to talk, Asher?” Coach Jamison startles me from my reverie. He’s leaning against the lockers, looking at me.

“Oh, uh, no Coach.”

“She-wolf problems?”

“Ah, not really. Well, yeah. Kind of.”

Coach grins. “Which is it?”

“I don’t know. They’re confusing, right?”

He chuckles. “They are certainly more complicated than we are. Sounds like you need a date night. To connect with your girl away from school and pack, so you can get to know each other as people. Have you done that yet?”

I try to push the image of me banging Lotta on all fours in the middle of that king-sized bed of hers last night .

“Uh no. That’s a good idea, Coach.”

I stand and sling my bag over my shoulder and look back at the screen of my phone. Maybe Coach is right. A conventional date isn’t possible, but changing things up couldn’t be a bad thing. An idea starts to form in my mind as I walk out of the building, and I send a text to Lotta.

Meet me at the old blinking light at six. I’ll bring dinner.

Lotta

The “old blinking light” is now actually a regular stoplight, but it used to be a blinking red light at the crossroads between town and the mountain passes. A four-way stop sign between highways.

There’s an abandoned building that once housed a diner that someone should tear down. But there are a lot of things in Wolf Ridge that haven’t changed in the hundred and twenty years since wolf shifters settled here, a lot of things that need an update.

I pull up and park behind the abandoned building, so my car is hidden from the roads.

It’s a strange place to meet, and I don’t know what Asher has in mind, but I am actually grateful he’s demanding we break the rules I set up for us. I may need his touch every night, but I don’t know if I could take another cold “servicing” after dark at my place.

I keep replaying that kiss on the top of my head in the classroom today. Of all the things Asher’s done to me, it seems like an unlikely one to latch onto, but it hit a tender spot .

A needy spot.

It wasn’t sexy. Or rough. Or dominant.

It wasn’t angry or cold.

There was a caring and compassion to it that registered in my body like the scrape of a match against flint. It ignited something different than passion.

Yikes.

Intimacy?

My heart rate picks up, and my palms get sweaty. I throw the door to my car open and climb out to ease the restlessness of my wolf. Was she the one who wants intimacy or does she just need the sex? I tend to think of my wolf side as purely physical. As the not-thinking side. The biological urge side.

So maybe it’s me, the lonely artist, who craves connection.

That thought twists and snags like knotted yarn. Confusion blankets me like a deep fog. I thought it had it all worked out--deny my wolf to pursue art.

When being near my fated mate made that impossible, I hoped to deny an emotional connection, so I wouldn’t get stuck here in Wolf Ridge, pregnant at twenty-two, giving up on my dreams.

But I don’t know what to do with the longing that Asher inspired that isn’t sexual.

I don’t know what to do with all my carefully laid-out plans that he’s smashing to smithereens.

I detect the sound of a motorcycle approaching and hush the burst of pleasure that explodes in my body. The dopamine rush of knowing I’m about to see him.

Knowing I’m certainly going to get well-laid tonight. Asher always takes care of my needs.

I attempt to still my heart when he pulls up wearing a pair of wrap-around sunglasses, his muscles bulging beneath a fitted t-shirt. He’s not wearing a helmet, which is only a state law if you’re under eighteen in Arizona. It’s not necessary for a shifter although a bad enough accident involving a skull fracture could certainly kill us.

I shove my worry for Asher out of my mind. He’s strong and healthy. Alpha through and through. Nothing’s going to happen to him. Why does thinking about him being in an accident make me lose my breath? Why am I already sure my heart would smash into smithereens if he wasn’t okay?

He pulls up but doesn’t shut the bike off. Instead, he jerks his head, beckoning me over.

I look around, to see if any cars are coming down the highways.

“I won’t let anybody see you with me.” Fate–when did I fall in love with his deep growly voice? “Promise.”

I try to tamp down that flutter of excitement taking wing in my belly. This isn’t romance. We’re not on a date.

He’s my student.

Student.

This is illegal.

For some reason, that thought only makes it more exciting. I’ve been the quiet artist my entire life. With a wolf that is small in stature, I bowed to the alpha nature of all my classmates but differentiated myself by following my passion. My mom’s high status in the pack ensured I was never picked on and still included with the royal clique.

Now it seems, I’m going to be the bad girl.

I throw a leg over Asher’s motorcycle and settle onto the seat behind him. I’m in a skirt and flip flops–not the best motorcycling attire.

Asher immediately puts the bike in gear and takes off, making my hands fly to his middle to hold myself on.

And, oh wow . The ridges of his muscles stand out below my fingers. I can’t stop myself from sliding my hands beneath his shirt to feel them skin-to-skin. His belly shudders when I do, showing me he’s as affected by the intimate contact as I am. I stroke my hands up and down the contours of his six-pack.

My panties get wet. As Asher steers the motorcycle in the direction of National Forest land, I let my hands drop to his hips, then grip the tops of his thighs. I slide my palms up and down his thighs, dragging them up the inside until I find the bulge of his cock. His bike swerves when I stroke the length where it lies against his left thigh, making it grow and stretch. His belly shudders again.

He picks up speed, turning onto a dirt road that has clearly not been maintained. Only a four-wheel Jeep or motorcycle could drive on this road. I have to cling onto Asher’s middle again as the ride gets rough. My muscles are taut, the muscles of my neck and abdomen tense, bracing against the bumps and swerves. I peer around Asher’s shoulder to see what’s coming next.

And then there comes a point when I surrender. I stop bracing for every climb and fall of the bike over the deep grooves in the road. Stop trying to control or manage my ride. Instead, I meld my torso to Asher’s, lean my cheek against his back, and loosen my grip.

Pleasure rushes in. The thrill of the ride surrounds me. I close my eyes and take in the delicious smell of Ponderosa pine and sunbaked boulders. I drink in the scent of my mate–the warm cedar and soap. A faint whiff of fresh-baked bread. That masculine scent distinct to only him.

We ride for half an hour down the rugged road. I have no idea where he’s bringing me. What he’s planning.

Suddenly, the forest road opens into a gorgeous meadow–a valley tucked into the mountains. Asher eases off the accelerator, gradually slowing to a stop. He leans the bike to the rest on its kickstand, twisting to catch me around the waist to ease my descent. I dismount and drink in the beauty of our surroundings, turning in a full 360.

Only then do I turn my gaze on Asher to try to discern what we’re doing here.

“Run, Lotta,” he says softly.

I blink, not understanding. His words didn’t match his tone, so it takes a moment to assimilate the meaning. “What?”

His lips twitch. “You heard me, sweetheart. Run .”

Asher

Lotta kicks off her flip flops at the same time she whips her cute-as-fuck crop top off.

I slowly unbuckle my belt, my gaze glued to her tight little body.

Her exhilaration shows in the spark in her bright blue eyes, the speed at which she undresses. She heard the taunt in my voice, but she knows this is a game.

She drops her skirt and panties then unhooks her bra. Her nipples are taut, extended out in firm points. But I don’t get to ogle them because in a flash, she drops to all fours, a blur of white fur as she takes off away from me.

I give her a head start. My wolf is bigger.

Much faster.

Plus, I relish the hunt. Crave the chase.

If it was too easy to catch her, the payoff wouldn’t be as delicious. I take my time undressing, now deliberately not following her movements. I pick up her clothes and mine and drape them over the seat of my bike, then take out the cushy comforter I stuffed into one saddle bag and spread it out on a choice spot in the meadow. From the other saddlebag, I retrieve the bag I packed with picnic food–meat, cheese, fruit, nuts, and wine. It’s not that hard to convince the grocery clerk to sell you wine when you’re both shifters. He knows I metabolize way too fast to ever be impaired by a bottle of wine.

The sun is setting, bathing the mountainsides in oranges and gold. I shift, trotting off in the direction she disappeared, my nose to the ground to follow her delectable scent. I catch it easily and pick up speed, the joy of running as my wolf mingling with the insatiable need to hunt, catch, and devour Carlotta James.

I run harder, instinct taking over, but then lose her scent.

My tricky mate.

She doubled back somewhere. I skid to a stop, pivot, and follow the trail back. It takes me a few minutes to figure out that she took a flying leap from one of the boulders to the earth below, but I pick up the scent again and charge forward.

I race forward, my paws digging into the soft earth as I climb in elevation. I catch sight of a flash of white fur in the trees and veer on the diagonal to cut her off. I don’t mean to catch her, but I leap and end up pinning her beneath two paws.

She rolls over, baring her belly and throat to me. Submitting to me, her mate. Making me desperate to shift back and fuck her blind.

But I want her to enjoy the blanket I set up, so I release her, giving her a light nip to drive her back down the mountain. I chase, nip, and herd her down to the meadow, enjoying the way she slows to take in our picnic site then races for it.

My wolf goes insane with need for her.

We reach the blanket in seconds, both of us shifting to human form before we’re down.

Mine , my wolf roars.

I ignore the fact that it’s not true, dragging her closer by her legs, flipping her to her back, and spreading her wide. I lick into her at the same time I pinch both of her nipples.

She cries out in shock then moans her assent. I delve my tongue between her soft folds, exploring aggressively, fucking her with my tongue, sucking her labia into my mouth.

There’s nothing nuanced about eating her. I’m consuming my mate like she’s my last meal. Like if I don’t make her come in the next instant, our lives will be over.

Her hips writhe and wiggle, legs squeeze around my shoulders. I continue to pinch and pull at her nipples, rolling them between my fingers, then squeezing her breasts roughly.

“Asher, please.”

I love it when she begs.

“Please, I can’t take it.”

I stop sucking her clit and lift my head. “You can and you will.” I flick my tongue over the swollen nub.

She whimpers. “ Please, Asher. I need you inside me.”

“You will come on my tongue first. Then you’ll come all over my dick. Then I’m going to come in your ass.”

That’s all it takes–my beautiful mate comes from my words alone. Her ass squeezes tight, and her hips jack off the bedspread, thrusting her dripping cunt against my face. I cradle her ass in my hands and put my entire mouth over her, sucking as her muscles squeeze and pulse against my tongue.

“That’s it, baby,” I murmur between licks. “You taste so sweet when you come all over my tongue.”

Lotta goes feral, sitting up and tackling me to my back. She straddles my waist and catches my sizable erection. I groan at the contact, my balls already drawing up to come.

But I force myself to relax. I want more than a frenzied fuck tonight.

I want Lotta.

All of her.

She lifts her hips up and lowers herself onto my cock, eyes rolling up in her head with a moan.

I take her hips but don’t guide her yet. I want to feel her gyrations. Learn the dance she does when I let her follow her own pleasure.

She settles, taking me even deeper, panting. Her eyes glow green. She’s so exquisite, with her dark, thick hair cascading over her shoulders, the curve of her cheekbones set off by the flush of color in her face.

One rock of her hips, and my cock surges even longer.

I tighten my grip on her hips but still don’t take over. I let her savor the control, seek her pleasure. Her hands drop to my shoulders, her long hair tickling my chest. She slides forward and back over my root. She’s slick as fuck, her juices leaking down my balls.

“Show me how well you ride my cock,” I growl.

Her nails score my skin as she picks up speed. She finds an internal ridge she likes the head of my cock to rub against and grinds there. Her short, quick strokes wind the coil of sexual tension tighter and tighter, but I force myself to hold off.

I have plans for her ass tonight. I force air in through my nostrils and exhale through my teeth.

“Come on my cock, baby. Show me how much you like to ride it.”

Lotta’s moan has a wild timbre. I distract myself from the need building in my balls by watching Lotta’s pleasure grow and bloom.

She loses herself, throwing her head and tits to the sky and shifting her grip to my thighs behind her. She’s a goddess, breasts bouncing, back arching, as she rocks forward and back over my cock.

Her breath grows frantic. She switches her grip back to my chest, taking me deep as she gyrates over my dick.

I lick the pad of my thumb. “Go ahead. Show me how you grip my cock when you come.” I bring my thumb to her clit and press.

She convulses with pleasure, her inner thighs squeezing around my hips, her internal muscles contracting and pulsing.

I don’t know how I manage not to come. Stars dance before my eyes. My teeth grind. The urge to mark Lotta is so strong it’s a wonder I don’t flip her to her back and sink my teeth into her shoulder. Forever mark her with my scent. Take her freedom as my due.

But I force myself not to move until I regain control. Only then do I roll our bodies to flip on top. I’m about to pull out and tell her to roll over when I catch a trace of fear and vulnerability in her expression.

In my mind, she’s on top. She’s still my tutor, and I’m the infatuated student. She’s my teacher. The girl who wrecked me once. I forget that I have the power to hurt her—not just physically but emotionally too .

She was crying today in her classroom over us. I brought her here to make it up to her.

“Good girl,” I praise her obedience. I catch her jaw in my hand and kiss her, mating my mouth to hers, my tongue sweeping into her mouth. It’s a demanding kiss, but not violent like our first one. Our only other one.

My hips rock, the steely length of my aching cock sliding through her juices

I realize it’s a necessary kiss, one I didn’t know I so desperately needed. I slow down and explore her lips with mine. They’re soft–infinitely soft–and after a moment, she begins to kiss me back.

“You’re beautiful.” I stroke her hair back from her face.

Her eyes are blue again, staring up at me with that touch of vulnerability still. Like she doesn’t want to care about me or what I think about her, but she does.

“Beautiful. And mine.” I kiss her again before she can rebel at that statement. This time, I make love to her mouth. Stroke my lips over hers, changing angles, tasting her. I kiss and nibble down her neck, pull out to crawl lower and swirl my tongue around her left nipple.

She moans softly. It’s a sound I could get used to for the rest of my life. And for the first time, I consider what that life might look like.

I told Abe I would never claim Lotta. It’s not true.

The truth is, I would claim her in a heartbeat if I thought she wanted me back. I would claim her, and I would do everything it took to make her happy.

I gently roll her to her belly and reach for the bag I packed with our picnic goodies. There’s a bottle of lubricant in there that I plan to use.

I slide my fingers between her legs and stroke over her soaked slit with one hand, as I uncap the lube with the other.

I hold her ass cheeks apart and squeeze some lube over her back hole, then massage it around that tight rosebud.

Latta writhes over the comforter.

“Are you gonna take it in the ass like a good girl?” I penetrate her back hole with one of my fingers, gently stretching and preparing it to make room for my cock.

Lotta looks over her shoulder at me. The slight alarm in her expression tells me she’s an anal virgin.

I lean forward and kiss her shoulder, reassuring her. “I’ll make it good for you,“ I promise. “Do you believe that?”

Her lids droop, and she nods.

“I know what your body needs, don’t I, baby?” My fingers penetrate her juicy sex as my thumb stretches her back hole.

She moans.

“You want more?” I’m never one to force myself on a female, mate or not. I may be dominant, but I’m not an asshole.

She hesitates, clearly still a little nervous, but I have her hips writhing. “Yes.”

“Say it. Say , please fuck me in the ass, Asher. ”

Her cunt squeezes around my fingers.

I nibble on her ear, kiss the side of her neck. “Say it,” I coax, murmuring against the shell of her ear.

“Please fuck me in the ass, Asher.”

I shouldn’t take it as such a victory, but my wolf pumps the air with his fist. He’s doing a backflip in the end zone. Like he thinks I just won Lotta’s heart, not just her consent for more pleasure.

I kneel behind her, pushing her legs wide with a nudge from my knees. I pull her ass cheeks apart and line the head of my cock up with her back hole. I apply slow but steady pressure, waiting until she opens for me before I breach her entrance. I grip Lotta’s hair in the back and pull up. “Who does this beautiful ass belong to?” I ask in a growl.

“You,” she pants.

I work the head of my cock into her, then reach around the front of her hips to stroke her clit as I press in, a centimeter at a time. I sense the moment she relaxes from bracing against the intrusion into pleasure. All the muscles in her back, ass, and pelvic floor give way to allow me in. Her pussy gushes arousal.

I sink two fingers inside her as I slowly pump my cock in and out of her ass.

“Oh Fate…Fate, Fate, Fate,” she croons.

“That’s right, beautiful. You’re taking my big wolf cock in your ass right now, aren’t you? Do you like that?”

“Yes.” It comes as a gasp. Her fingers fist the comforter.

I try not to slam in too hard as my excitement grows. I have to temper my need to dominate with the equal urge to care for my mate.

This isn’t punishment. I’ve hate-fucked her before, but I realize now that was hurting her. I may have wanted her pain–or thought I wanted it–but now that I’ve won her tears, I want to punch my own face in.

“Good girl,” I praise. “You’re taking me like a good girl, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

She opens even more for me. I add a third finger to her pussy, as my heart rate skyrockets.

“I’m gonna come in your ass, and then you’re going to sit on my lap while I feed you. Got it?” I say it like it’s punishment. It’s just pure dominance–letting her know she’s mine to fuck. Mine to claim. Mine to care for.

She lets out a cry, and I can’t wait any longer. I piston into her tight ass, my balls drawing up tight before I bury deep and release.

“Oh…oh!” she cries.

I groan, shuddering as the pump-action from my balls continues, and I spill even more cum into her.

Once I’m sure I won’t accidentally lose control and mark her, I lower my face to kiss her shoulder and neck and the side of her face. She twists her face, and I catch her lips in a passionate kiss.

“Good girl.”

Lotta

Good Girl.

Tonight’s the first time Asher’s used those words with me.

They should sound wrong coming from my student– my student!-- but instead, they flood me with warmth.

Now that he’s softened, I see how much his anger affected me. It’s unnerving how much I crave approval from him. Before tonight I would’ve sworn up and down that I didn’t need it from him or anyone in this town, but it would’ve been a lie.

What I want from Asher is more than forgiveness or even sex.

I’m looking for something deeper. I’m looking for that spiritual connection. That sense that someone else sees and accepts me for who I am, not just who they want me to be.

I’ve had far too little of that in my life.

And this big, brutish man is starting to make me believe he does see me. He doesn’t accept me yet, but there’s knowledge. He pays attention. He responds to my moods. My needs.

And I shouldn’t want his acceptance, but dammit, I do.

I want his love. His approval. I want closure from the rift of our past. I want healing and wholeness with him.

Fuck.

I want everything.

And that is so wrong.

I can’t have everything. I learned that the hard way when I decided to eschew pack and become an artist.

I go limp as Asher eases out of me. He’s wrung so much pleasure out of me, I don’t know if I’d remember my ABC’s right now. He strokes his large palm down my spine, landing with a rough grip of my ass and then a gentle slap.

I’m in too much bliss to move. My asshole is sore, but my limbs are loose and heavy, and I feel like I’m floating on a cloud.

It’s crazy how much I trust my body to a guy who hates me.

But he doesn’t completely hate me, does he?

“Up, baby.” Asher scoops my limp body into a roll, so I’m face up in his arms. He settles me on one thigh, my legs draped across his lap, so I can lean back against the circle of his arm.

It’s heaven.

I love being cradled and protected by his strength. Love being skin-to-skin with him in a post-sex languor. I love having his scent coating my body, so I can’t tell where his ends and mine begins.

I tuck my face against his neck and sigh. His dick twitches against my ass, reminding me where he just was. How dirty and dominant this now-gentle giant can be.

He tugs a tote bag closer to us and pulls out a loaf of what must be fresh-baked bread from Wolf Ridge Sweet Treats.

My stomach rumbles.

He hands it to me. “Here, open this and tear some off. There’s meat and cheese to go with it.” He pulls out an assortment of charcuterie items, including fresh organic raspberries, olives, artichokes and gourmet cheeses. Then he pours us each a glass of wine.

I don’t mean to–it must be the post-sex letdown, but I find tears starting in the corners of both eyes and a wobble in my chin.

Why would I cry?

I hide my face in Asher’s neck again, holding my breath to suppress the urge.

Asher strokes my hair, then cradles the back of my head. He must notice that I’m not breathing because he tugs my face away to look at me.

Before I can stop it, I lose a few tears down my cheeks.

“Oh, baby.” There’s tenderness in his voice. He nestles my head back onto his shoulder and massages the back of my neck.

I’m so grateful he doesn’t ask what’s wrong.

I’m too proud to tell him that it’s about him. That him showing me this level of kindness and attention brought me to tears.

He leans his head against mine. “Let’s start over,” he murmurs. “Can we do that? Just forget about everything that was our past?”

“Yes.” I sniff. “I’d like that.” I curl even more into him, craving the comfort he provides.

He responds by tightening his arm around me.

“Forget everything but this moment. Who we are here, together, in our meadow. ”

I nod against his shoulder, then review his words. “Our meadow?”

“Yeah. This is it, right? From your painting?”

I lift my head, my tears drying with the distraction. “What?”

Asher sweeps an open palm in front of us, like he’s presenting the majestic landscape. “This valley?”

I stare at the rock formations and the meadow in front of me, and flashes of purples, blues, and grays swirling on my brush take shape in my mind’s eye. The boulders and mountains snap into a familiar shape. I picture the meadow grasses dotted with gold Mexican poppies and draw in a sharp breath.

He’s right! This is the landscape in the small painting of us that he stole from me. I twist my neck to look around. Oh wow. This exact landscape is in at least half of my paintings. All the ones that feature the two wolves, black and white. Yin and yang.

My pulse races. Goosebumps prick my arms and the back of my neck.

“Asher”--I sound breathless– “I’ve never been here before.”

He meets my gaze, his brows popped high. “Never?”

I shake my head.

“You haven’t been here before tonight?” he repeats, like he can’t believe it.

A sob catches in my belly. The next one surges up my throat, but I don’t know why. It has something to do with the magnitude of me painting the two of us in a place where we’d have our first real date long before I knew anything. Before I knew Asher was my mate. Or even that I was painting myself and my fated mate and not two symbolic wolves from my imagination who didn’t exist .

Asher’s arms tighten around me even more. “You’ve been painting your future,” he murmurs against my hair. “ Our future.”

The sob finds its way out in a silent, wracking breath. “That’s…crazy. I mean, I don’t see how it’s even possible.”

I hear a light chuckle from Asher or, rather, feel it in the soft tickle of his breath in my hair. “You don’t think your wolf knew our future?”

I cover my mouth with a hand, holding in the tidal wave sized sob that erupts.

“Whoa.” Asher rubs a hand up and down my back, rocking me gently like I’m a baby.

I don’t even know how to explain the enormity of my emotions, but Asher guesses at them. “The problem is, you think art and wolves don’t mix.” He’s still rocking me. I find it hard to believe that this is the same classroom bully who is ruled by belligerence and rebellion. Right now he seems wise beyond years. “That’s because your parents are boneheads.”

I let out a watery laugh.

“You locked up your wolf, thinking she wasn’t compatible with art. She became your muse. Maybe you thought you’d keep her there, forever. Am I close?”

“Yes.” Tears continue to streak my face, and I struggle to take a deep breath. I still don’t understand why I’m crying. I just know that Asher verbalizing what I’ve been living alone with for years is healing me.

“What if…what if she’s not separate from you, Lotta? I think you might have it backwards.”

I swipe under my eyes with my fingertips.

“What if she’s not separate from your art? She could be part of your creative genius, not the foil to it.”

I can’t believe Asher even knows the word foil. This meat-head jock who refuses to complete any assignments in my class is so much more intelligent and well-educated than he lets on. Every word he speaks is like a truth bomb exploding around me.

“I think we shifters often create separation between our two parts. We say things like, my wolf got violent. My wolf won’t let me back down. Or my wolf wants this , but I want that .” He meets my gaze, and I see distance there–his wounding. “You and I, we try to separate our wolves’ attraction from our hatred for each other–”

“I don’t hate you, Asher,” I blurt, needing to interrupt. “Do you think that?”

Pain flashes in his gaze.

He doesn’t understand why I hurt him so deeply before I left. I don’t want him to know the real reason my mom had his dad thrown out. She had those council proceedings locked up to protect me and my identity, but I wanted them locked to protect Asher. The truth would crush him–even more now that he knows I’m his mate.

He works to swallow. “ We’re starting over .” Some of the hardness is back in his voice, and it hits me like a blast of cold.

My reaction must show because regret flashes in his hazel eyes. He leans his forehead against mine and whispers it again. “We’re starting over, Lotta. This is our beginning, right here, right now.”

I nod, rolling my forehead along his. “This is our beginning.”

Asher catches my head against his shoulder and kisses the top of it. “Anyway, I think the belief that we are two separate entities in one body instead of one entity in two kind of fucks us.”

“But we are ruled by separate urges. ”

“Yes. But think what we can do when those urges get aligned. If we could get them on the same page.”

Resistance drives up in my chest. That opposition I used to push against my parents’ desire for me. It’s a strength I’ve depended on to survive without family and pack. If I get confused now, I fear I’ll lose that power.

I’ll settle in Wolf Ridge in the life my parents wanted for me. Be a high school art teacher and raise pups in the same small town I grew up in. That’s not what I want.

“I’m not against you, Lotta,” Asher says simply, as if he sensed my defensiveness rising. “I’m for you. Team Carlotta, all the way.”

My lips quirk into a grudging smile.

“Whatever that means,” he says. He sets the carton of raspberries on my legs and pries it open, then pops one in my mouth.

The flavor bursts on my tongue, seemingly magnified by one thousand. Something about this moment of sensation amplifying my senses. I soak it in–being held on Asher’s lap, the words, Team Carlotta, all the way echoing in my ears, the last gorgeous purples from the lingering sunset, the endorphins from my orgasms still making me float.

This isn’t going to work , a voice in my head insists.

I know she’s right, but I don’t care. I deserve this moment. This restart with Asher.

This moment, right now.

Another voice whispers something completely audacious. Something I don’t even care about. She whispers,

I deserve love.