Chapter Twenty

Aurora POV

I don’t know how we got here. One second he was shutting me out like he’d rather rip his own skin off than share a room with me, and the next he was storming in, eyes blazing, snarling about another man daring to touch my hand. Then he put his mouth on me like it was a war he had to win.

I’m still kneeling where he left me, clothes half-forgotten on the cold floor, knees pressed into the wood like I’ve been branded into the moment. My wolf is elated. She’s curled around the mark he didn’t leave but should’ve, drunk on his scent, purring with satisfaction that he touched us, he claimed us, even if the words haven’t caught up with the bond yet.

But me? I’m not sure I’m breathing. Not really.

Because that was my mother’s husband. The Alpha of the pack. The male I’m not supposed to want. The one I’m definitely not supposed to need.

And yet, he looked at me like he was starving. Touched me like the bond had already tied us so tight there was no escaping. Told me I was his like nothing else mattered.

But everything matters.

I try to speak, to make sense of any of it, but the word barely leaves my throat.

“A—”

“Don’t,” he cuts in, voice cold enough to slap me back into silence. He drops into the chair, legs spread, watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t understand. “Clearly we’re not going to be able to ignore the bond. So maybe we do something else instead.”

I look up slowly, pulse thudding in my throat. “What kind of something?”

His mouth curves into something that might’ve once been a smile, if it didn’t feel so sharp. “Don’t mistake this for generosity. I’m not offering you anything, Aurora. This is a solution. A way to keep our wolves from tearing us both apart.”

I nod, not because I understand, but because I need him to keep speaking.

“We touch,” he says flatly. “Daily. We find release, pleasure, and then we walk away.”

I blink. “That’s it?”

He nods once. “Yes, that's it, there will be no biting, no knotting and no claiming. We give the bond enough to keep it quiet, but never enough to make it permanent.”

It lands in my chest like a slap. He’s offering me a place in his bed, but not in his heart. A role to play behind closed doors, while he keeps the rest of the world thinking he’s still the dutiful husband.

So I’ll be nothing more than a body to him.

“And why would I agree to that?” I ask, my voice low, almost trembling, not with fear but with fury and with heartbreak.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes locked on mine. “Because it keeps the bond from flaring. It keeps you in this pack. You won’t be forced into a mating with some other male chosen for you. No politics, no auctions and no fucking strangers.”

I shake my head slowly. “But I’ll be your toy. The one you fuck in secret and ignore in the light, while you touch my mother.”

His silence answers for him.

Then he moves, sudden and fluid, and grips the back of my neck, pulling me forward until our faces are inches apart. The contact shocks me, but I don’t fight it. I can’t.

“Do you really think I’d be able to touch her again?” he asks, his voice rough, with something darker than desire, something bitter. “You think my wolf would let me put my hands on her after touching you like that? I’ll fake illness if I have to. Make it known I’m not well and that I’m not able. From this moment on, the only one I will touch like that is you.”

My heart stutters.

I should be horrified. I should want to run. I should want to scream at him for even suggesting this... this mess of hidden touches and silenced longing, but all I feel is heat.

Twisting, burning heat that coils through my spine and settles low.

Because even if he won’t say it, even if he won’t admit the bond is real, I know.

His wolf won’t let him go back, and mine won’t either.

So maybe this arrangement isn’t the lie he wants it to be, maybe it’s the only kind of truth we’re allowed, and Veil help me, maybe I’m willing to take it, even if it breaks me.

His hand stays firm at the back of my neck, holding me there like I might disappear if he lets go. The silence between us stretches, but it’s not empty. It’s thick with tension, heavy with everything we haven’t said and all the things we did.

I should pull away. I should get off the floor, smooth down my skirt, and walk out of this office with whatever pride I have left. But I can’t move. I can still feel the heat of his mouth between my thighs, the imprint of his hands on my skin, and the sound of his voice, rough, commanding, and possessive, echoing in my head like a brand.

He looks at me like he wants to regret what just happened but can’t. Like the part of him that should care about the rules, about what’s right and wrong, has already been silenced by the bond we both pretended didn’t exist. I’m still bare beneath the skirt, nothing between me and the air but the memory of his breath against me, and the ache that’s still lingering low and deep.

“Come here,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less certain. It’s not a question, and it’s not barked like a command. It’s just the next inevitability, and we both know I’m going to obey.

I push myself up slowly, my knees stiff from the floor. I don’t bother looking for my shirt. I’m still topless, skin flushed, chest rising and falling too quickly, but I don’t try to hide it. Not from him. He’s already seen every part of me that matters.

As I step between his legs, he leans back in the chair, eyes traveling over me with a hunger that doesn’t waver. He doesn’t even try to look away. He just sits there, staring at me like he’s memorizing every inch of me in case this is the only time he ever lets himself have it.

I don’t speak, and neither does he.

I know what he wants.

I lift a knee and straddle his lap, settling over his thighs as he exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the moment I stood up. His hands come to my waist, rough palms resting just above the place where the waistband of the skirt sits. He doesn’t move them, but I can feel how tightly he’s holding back.

“I don’t want a lie,” I whisper, my lips near his ear as I lean in. “If this is how it’s going to be, don’t dress it up in rules and conditions. You want me, Killian. You wouldn’t have done any of this if you didn’t.”

His jaw tightens, and his grip on my waist hardens like my words hit something too raw.

“You don’t get to challenge me like that,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, but I can feel the tension in it, the strain. “I already gave you the rules. I won’t change them because your wolf wants more.”

“Maybe it’s not just my wolf,” I say quietly, watching the way his expression shifts. “Maybe I want more.”

He closes his eyes for half a second, like it costs him to hear that, and when they open again, they’re darker. He doesn’t speak. He just reaches down and grabs the hem of my skirt, pulling it up slowly until it’s bunched around my hips, exposing everything.

I feel the cool air hit my bare skin, and his hands pause.

His hands slide beneath the fabric, gripping my thighs, fingers digging into flesh like he’s grounding himself in the feel of me. His mouth is so close to mine that I can feel the words before he says them.

“Spread your legs.”

I do, slowly, straddling him wider so I’m seated directly over the hard length beneath his pants. The friction makes me gasp, even with the fabric still separating us, and I feel him twitch beneath me at the sound.

“This isn’t supposed to be slow,” he says, his voice strained. “It’s supposed to be quick. Impersonal.”

“It’s not,” I whisper, my hips rocking forward on instinct. “You already made it personal.”

His eyes meet mine, and something inside him breaks. I can feel it. He grabs the back of my neck again and pulls me down, his mouth crushing against mine in a kiss that’s all teeth and hunger and pent-up need. It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s not even a kiss meant to soothe. It’s punishment. It’s surrender.

I moan into it, opening for him, letting him take everything, because I know now that’s what he’s always wanted. Not submission for the sake of power, but something real. Something that makes this impossible situation feel like the only honest thing we’ve ever had.

I grind against him again, needing more, and he growls deep in his chest, a sound that vibrates through me and makes my fingers claw into his shoulders.

“You’re mine now,” he says against my mouth, voice rough and fierce. “Whether we speak it or not, whether we mark it or not. No one else gets this. No one else gets to touch you.”

I nod, because there’s no part of me left that’s fighting it. My wolf is purring. My body is aching. My heart is thrumming out a rhythm I can’t deny.

His hand moves between us, unzipping his pants, freeing himself with a low hiss of breath. I can feel the heat of him, the size of him, pressing against my bare skin, and my whole body clenches in anticipation.

He grips my hip and positions me over him, not rushing, but not holding back either.

“Last chance,” he says, meeting my eyes again. “Say stop, and I’ll walk away.”

I shake my head, voice barely a whisper. “Don’t stop. Not now.”

He doesn’t, he pulls me down, and I take him in slowly, gasping at the stretch, the pressure, the way my body reacts instantly, gripping him like it already knows he belongs there. He groans, holding still as I adjust, but I can feel how hard it is for him not to thrust up into me.