Page 17 of Ogre on Patrol (Monsters, PI #5)

Chapter 17

Ellie

T he next morning, sunlight spilling through the cracks in the blinds teased me awake. I stretched until my toes peeked out from under the blanket. It took me a second to remember why it didn’t feel like a normal morning.

Thain.

The bed in the spare room squeaked as he shifted, and a small smile crept across my face. It had been years since he’d been anywhere near me like this. Close, but not too close. Here, but not really mine. Yet somehow, having him here felt right and maddeningly complicated at the same time.

I got up and scooted into the house's sole bathroom, showering quickly and dressing, stopping beside a sleepy, tousled-haired, adorable Thain as I stepped out into the hall. Why did he have to look this yummy first thing in the morning? He'd gone to his place for a few things the night before, which was a shame because I'd enjoyed seeing him in the too-tight clothing. Now, though, he only wore low slung—though nicely fitting—sweatpants.

“The bathroom's free,” I said, trying not to stare.

Impossible not to.

Thain paused in the narrow hallway, rubbing the back of his neck in that groggy, early-morning way that made him look unfairly perfect. The gray sweatpants clung to his thighs, and he’d folded the waistband down enough to leave his ripcord abs exposed to my view, plus tease with the outline of other parts of him hidden underneath. They fit him a little too well. Snug in all the right places, outlining thighs that could probably crush tree trunks if he felt like it, and hinting at things I very much shouldn’t be noticing.

His chest was bare, broad, and ridiculously sculpted, still showing faint traces of yesterday’s lumivore bites, though the swelling had gone down considerably. He rubbed his shoulder, the action making his biceps flex. Honestly, what kind of person had muscles flexing just from a simple movement like that? It was like he didn’t even have to try. A few strands of his dark, unruly hair stuck up, no doubt from tossing in that too-small twin bed of mine, giving him a disheveled edge that only added to his appeal. He looked like he should still be in bed. With me.

“Morning,” he rumbled, his sleepy gaze meeting mine. “You look delicious. Fresh out of the shower? I was in the bathroom a short time ago myself but I only brushed my teeth. I wanted to snooze a bit longer.” His eyes drifted down my body.

My skin heated, and I mumbled something that might've been yes but also might've been damn, don't tease me like that or I'll slump into a puddle on the floor.

Definitely the latter.

He stepped closer, so close I could touch him if I wanted. Oh, how I wanted. With a dazed look, he watched his hand as he glided his knuckles across my cheek, as if he couldn’t hold himself back.

I felt the same.

The hallway felt impossibly small with him standing so close, the faint scent of the fabric softener I used in my laundry clinging to him like a promise he might not be able to keep. My breath hitched as I tipped my head back to look up at him, my own reflection staring back at me in those deep, shadowed golden-brown eyes of his. He was much larger than me, towering in a way that should've felt intimidating. Instead, I felt protected, cherished. Safe in a way I hadn’t let myself feel in years. Not since he and I broke up. I was my own person. I had been before he stepped into my life, and I was after. But somehow, being with him again was showing me that maybe I wasn't as complete as I’d thought. He made me better. There was no other way to describe it.

His knuckles lingered on my cheek for a moment more, rough against my skin but gentle, his touch almost reverent. His hand was too big, too powerful for anything anyone would call tender, yet drifted down in a sweet and heated way, brushing against my jaw, then skimming the curve of my neck. I shivered as his calloused fingertips traced the edge of my collarbone, tentatively, like he thought I might stop him.

I didn’t.

I leaned into him, closing the already negligible space between us until I could rest my hands on the hard planes of his chest. His heart beat steady and strong beneath my palms, but mine felt like it might smash its way free. This close, his tusks looked prominent. Strong and so male it made my head spin. And that scar near the base of the left tusk, the one I used to trace with my thumb while he held me in his arms. Memories, sharp and vivid, burned through me like wildfire. The way he used to look at me like I was his whole world. The way I tried not to be. The way we failed.

“Say something,” he said, his voice raw as his thumb grazed the hollow of my throat. He curled forward, and when he pressed his face against my neck, his hot breath glided over my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. “Tell me to stop. Tell me to keep going. Just give me something.”

I couldn’t speak. My throat was tight and hot, and the ache in my chest was too much to put into words. I slipped my fingers into the unruly dark curls at the nape of his neck and tugged his face closer to mine.

When our mouths met, it felt like falling. Like stepping off the edge of something terrifying only to find myself caught, safe in his hands. His lips were warm, soft in ways that didn’t make sense, given everything else about him. And yet they moved against mine with a hunger that was anything but soft. His tusks brushed against the curve of my cheek, a firm, familiar pressure that sent a shiver through me. I’d forgotten this sensation, how uniquely him it was. How uniquely ours . The world tilted as his hands slid down to grip my waist, large enough to span nearly the entirety of it. His fingers splayed wide, pressing into me like he worried I might disappear if he didn’t keep me close.

I gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. The taste of him, so vivid and intoxicating, flooded my senses, all smoky heat and something distinctly earthy, like the woods after a summer storm. It was overwhelming. It was too much. Yet it wasn’t nearly enough.

He lifted me and pressed me against the wall, then closed the space between us. I spread my legs around him, tugging him fully against me. He was aroused, and I didn't know what to do about that.

I had ideas, but we'd barely reconnected.

While one hand supported me, massaging my ass, he brushed the fingers of his other hand along the curve of my ribs as if he was trying to memorize me, to reclaim every part of me he'd once held. The soft scrape of his tusks against my skin teased me. A low, rumbling growl vibrated through his chest. I bucked against him, wanting so much more.

I whimpered and he responded, groaning low and guttural as he pressed me harder against the wall, caging me there with his body. I didn’t mind. I didn’t care. There wasn’t a single part of me that wanted out of this moment. His body was heat and weight and strength, but his hand was worshiping as it glided along the delicate curve of my side and around to my low back where he molded me against him.

When he broke the kiss, just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath came in ragged bursts that matched my own. His fingers tangled in the damp strands of my hair, his grip tight but not painful. “I shouldn’t have waited this long to do that. But there’s no going back now. Tell me you feel it too. Don’t make me walk away again.”

The raw vulnerability in his voice was enough to crack me open. I slid my hand from his shoulders to cradle his face, tracing those ridiculous, beautiful high cheekbones of his. He’d always been larger than life. Commanding yet vulnerable.

“Don't stop,” I whispered.

He looked down at me for a long moment before he nodded. He lifted me away from the wall and carried me into my bedroom, gently laying me on the blankets. “I want to taste you. Will you let me?”