OFF THE ROAD

Scarlett pov

By the time we crossed the last stretch of Oakwood territory, the sun was bleeding into the horizon.

Reed said we could push through and reach the Lycan capital by dawn. I said I didn’t care. He still pulled the car into a small, discreet hotel on the edge of the trade road. “You’ll rest better here than cramped in the backseat,” he said.

We booked separate rooms.

At least, that was the plan.

The moment I stepped into mine, I knew sleep wasn’t happening. Not with the lingering scent of him still clinging to my skin from the close quarters of the car. Not with the bond humming low and hot, refusing to let me forget the feel of his hands on me two nights ago.

I paced. I showered. I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling.

And still… I could feel him.

The knock came just after midnight. Quiet, but not tentative.

I opened the door to find him leaning against the frame, hair slightly mussed, shirt undone at the collar. His eyes swept over me slowly, like he was cataloguing every inch.

“You’re not sleeping,” he said.

“Neither are you.”

“Couldn’t.” His gaze dipped briefly, lingering on the loose strap of my nightdress. “The bond’s loud tonight.”

I swallowed, my hand tightening on the door. “So you came here why? To tell me you can’t sleep?”

“Come with me,” he said.

“Where?”

“The bar downstairs.”

“You don’t seem like the type to waste time in places like this.”

His mouth twitched—half amusement, half challenge. “I’m not. But you haven’t eaten since we left Oakwood, and you look like you could use something stronger than water.”

I crossed my arms. “And you couldn’t just send up room service?”

“I could,” he said, stepping just close enough that I had to tilt my head to look at him. “But then I wouldn’t get to watch you pretend you’re not curious about me.”

Heat prickled along the back of my neck. “You’re impossible.”

“Probably,” he agreed. “Now, are you coming, or am I drinking alone?”

I sighed like I was doing him a favor. “Fine. But only one drink.”

His grin was small but victorious. “We’ll see.”

I grabbed my light cardigan, slipping it over the thin straps of my top, and followed him down the hall. The elevator ride was silent, but not comfortably so. Every second in the confined space was another second of his scent — cedar and something darker — curling around me. My pulse betrayed me, picking up with each floor we descended.

The bar was tucked into the far side of the lobby, dimly lit with amber lamps and soft jazz humming in the background. A few truckers nursed beers at the counter; a couple in the corner spoke in low, conspiratorial tones.

Reed steered us toward a booth against the wall, where the shadows softened the edges of everything.

“Whiskey?” he asked when the bartender appeared.

I shook my head. “Wine.”

He ordered for us without looking at a menu, then leaned back, his gaze on me like I was something worth studying. “You’ve been quiet since we left Oakwood.”

“I thought you’d enjoy the silence.”

His mouth curved slightly. “I enjoy knowing what’s going on in your head more.”

“You wouldn’t,” I muttered, tracing the condensation on the table with my fingertip.

The drinks came. Reed lifted his glass, amber liquid catching the light. “To surviving the last forty-eight hours.”

I clinked mine against his. “Barely.”

The first sip loosened something in me, warm and smooth down my throat. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the way he was watching me.

We talked — not about rogues, not about politics. About little things. He told me how he learned to fight with both hands because his first combat teacher broke his wrist during a spar. I told him about the time Lucian and I tried to sneak into the summer solstice festival by disguising ourselves as traveling minstrels.

At one point, his hand brushed mine when we both reached for the bread basket. That jolt — the one I was starting to recognize too well — shot up my arm, and I knew he felt it too. His fingers lingered a beat too long before he pulled back.

By the second glass, I was laughing more than I should have been. And I caught him looking at me like he wasn’t thinking about the capital or the King or duty at all.

When the bartender called last orders, Reed stood and offered his hand. “Come on.”

I arched a brow. “Where?”

“Back upstairs.”

When we finally stood to leave, the cool hallway outside the bar felt too quiet after the low hum of voices and clinking glasses. Reed’s hand brushed my lower back as we walked toward the elevator — a casual touch, but my body reacted like it was anything but casual.

The elevator doors slid shut. Neither of us pressed a button. We just stood there, facing each other in the dim light, listening to the slow, mechanical hum.

The whiskey had made my head feel soft, my limbs loose. The bond made everything sharper — his scent, his voice when he finally broke the silence.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he said.

“Like what?” My voice was lower than I meant it to be.

“Like you’re deciding whether to kiss me or run.”

The air felt heavier. Warmer.

The elevator chimed. My floor.

Reed followed me out without asking.

At my door, I started to lift the keycard — ready to retreat into the safety of my room.

But Reed moved with me, his hand pressing to the wall beside my head. Not trapping. Just… there. Close enough that the faint heat of his body brushed mine.

“You’re not going to disappear on me tonight,” he said, voice low.

I arched a brow. “And if I am?”

His gaze dipped to my mouth, then back up, slow enough to make my breath catch. “Then I’ll just have to follow.”

The hum from the bar still lingered in my blood, the bond twisting tighter, making it too easy to imagine what he’d do if I let him.

I should’ve turned away. Closed the door.

Instead, I turned the handle.

Inside, I wasn’t sure who closed the door — him or me. I only knew the sound of it clicking shut made my pulse spike.

He was closer now, and the faint heat from the whiskey spread into something else entirely.

When his hand brushed the strap of my dress, my breath hitched.

When he leaned down, his lips barely grazing mine, I didn’t stop him.

The first kiss was slow — tasting, testing. The second had no patience at all.

My back hit the wall, his hips pinning me there. His fingers slid along my side, catching the fabric, tugging until the strap fell from my shoulder. The cool air on my skin made me shiver, but his mouth on my neck chased it away instantly.

“Tell me to stop,” he said against my skin.

I didn’t.

His mouth dragged lower, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to memorize the shape of my collarbone. My hands were already in his shirt, pushing it open, my fingers brushing the hot skin beneath.

Reed made a low sound in his chest, something halfway between a growl and a sigh, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

The second strap of my dress slipped. He caught it halfway down my arm, but instead of fixing it, he let his thumb trail along the bare skin there, down to the inside of my elbow.

The whiskey had softened my thoughts. The bond had sharpened every sensation. Together, they made it impossible to think about anything but how close he was — how much closer I wanted him.

When his hands settled at my waist, I felt his restraint in the way his fingers gripped, like he was holding himself back from something far rougher.

“Reed…” My voice was barely a whisper.

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. “Say it.”

I swallowed. “Don’t stop.”

The sound he made this time was pure possession. His mouth was back on mine, harder now, deeper, and his hands roamed — up my back, down my sides, over the curve of my hip.

One hand slid lower, bunching the hem of my dress. His knuckles brushed the inside of my thigh and my breath caught.

“You’re warm,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Reed—” I didn’t get the rest out because his lips claimed mine again, swallowing the sound.

He moved like he was mapping me, finding every place that made me gasp or shiver and pressing there again. His mouth left mine only to kiss a slow path down my throat, and I tilted my head without thinking, giving him more.

My heart was racing, my body leaning into every touch without hesitation.

And still, he kept that sliver of control — just enough to make me want more.

“Say you want me to touch you,” he whispered against my skin.

I didn’t trust my voice, so I took his hand and guided it higher along my thigh, past the edge of my dress, until his fingers rested exactly where I ached for him.

That was all the permission he needed.

His fingers flexed once, slow, before pressing into me through the thin lace. The heat there made him growl low in his throat.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured.

The words sent a hot flush all the way to my toes.

He didn’t move the lace aside yet, just circled lazily, making my thighs tremble. I clutched at his shoulders for balance, my nails dragging over his skin.

“Reed—”

“Shh,” he breathed, his mouth brushing mine. “I want to feel all of you.”

The lace finally shifted and his fingers slid against bare skin. My knees almost gave out.

“Gods, Scarlett…” He sounded wrecked. “Your pussy is—” He cut himself off with a kiss, deep and hot, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to talk or taste me more.

I gasped into his mouth when one finger slipped inside, then another. He moved them in a slow, steady rhythm, curling just right until my hips were rolling into his touch without my permission.

He kissed down my neck again, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, his other hand palming my boobs through the thin fabric.

“Let me see you,” he said, tugging the dress lower. The straps slid, the fabric pooled at my waist, and the cool air hit my bare skin. His gaze locked on my chest like he’d been starving for it.

His mouth closed over my nipple, sucking deep while his fingers worked between my legs. The combination tore a sound from my throat I didn’t recognize — desperate, needy.

“That’s it,” he murmured against my skin. “Give it to me.”

The coil inside me wound tighter with every stroke, every pull of his mouth. I was so close it hurt, my breath coming fast and shallow.

He pressed his hips into mine, and I felt the hard length of his dick through his pants.

“You feel what you’re doing to me?” he rasped.

I nodded, dizzy with it.

His thumb found my clit, rubbing just the way I liked, and the pressure was too much, too good. I bit my lip to keep from crying out — but he caught my chin, forcing my mouth open, his eyes locked on mine.

“Don’t hide it from me.”

The wave hit me fast — my body tightening, breaking apart in his hands. I moaned, helpless, as he kept moving me through it, his mouth still hot on my skin.

He didn’t stop kissing me, didn’t stop holding me like I might vanish if he let go.

When my breathing slowed, I felt him shift, pressing me back toward the bed. I didn’t resist.

We ended up tangled together, his arm around my waist, my cheek resting against his bare chest. The steady beat of his heart under my ear was grounding, even as the bond between us still hummed warm and alive.

Neither of us said anything.

I couldn’t tell when sleep claimed me—only that the last thing I felt was his hand resting over my hip, warm and unyielding, tracing lazy circles that lingered like a vow I wasn’t sure he meant to make.