CHAPTER 12: "PUSH ME AWAY, AMBER"

Amber

He had freshened up, I could tell. 

His brows were still damp; his white-silver fringe slick wet, raked over his forehead in a rush, so a few menacing strands had fallen over devilishly. 

But he hasn't showered. Because he was still in his tux. Sans jacket, of course. 

The bow tie was gone too, and his white shirt was unbuttoned till his chest so the entire barrel of it was exposed,those silver white curls of his masculinity—. 

THUMP.

I quickly looked away, and my gaze fell on the blood stains: traces of the fight. 

Guilt swarmed in again.  

“Why are you hovering outside my door?” 

The sound of his voice jolted my face up, and he was frowning like I was his most hated broccoli. 

Yes. The sharpest blade of the most fearsome Blood Moon Pack hates his greens. 

And he calls me a kid. 

I took a silent deep breath to calm the flutters in my stomach and held up his jacket. 

“I… came to return this. And to see if you needed this.” I lifted the First Aid box in my other hand.

And his frown vanished. 

“Oh.” 

Is it me or did he seem a little…nervous? 

He took the jacket while the other hand reached for the kit—and stopped. 

Then, he stuffed that hand into his pocket and slid into his favourite relaxed stance. 

“Fix it, Am.” 

Fix? I looked up, puzzled. “Fix what?” 

His face was tilted to his favourite angle and everything came to light. 

For the first time, I saw clearly the wrath of Charlie Walter, and I was gutted. 

But the man was completely unfazed, standing as though he was on a beach, his gaze a schoolboy’s arrogance, his mouth curled in a debtor’s smirk. 

And he couldn't look more divine. 

*****

We were perched on the edge of his bed: I was tending to the scratches and bruises around his face while he watched silently.

The way his gaze followed me, I could neither ignore or escape it. 

And then, there were his wounds. It wasn’t the first time he came home with these. But… only this time, I was the cause of them. 

If Hunter hadn't interposed, it would've crushed my face. 

A dominant Alpha’s strike is no joke, especially if he were to use his full strength. 

Still, I wished I was the one being punched. 

“I’m fine, Am,” he muttered quietly.

And that genuine concern in his voice only made me more upset. 

“Don’t,” I sniffed, carefully dabbing the cotton bud smeared with cream at the corner of his mouth. “Just don’t, Hunter.” 

“Then, don’t look like I’m already dead,” he whispered. 

“I don't look like that.” 

“You do.”

And his certainty infuriates me. I finally met his gaze. 

But he beat me to it. 

“It was not your fault,” he whispered. 

Goddamn it. 

A tear finally spilled. 

Why does he always know what I'm thinking? What to say to make me….

“Am,” he repeated firmly, his thumb brushing tenderly on my cheek, “it wasn't your fault.”

“Stop saying that!” I sobbed. “I was careless! I should've known that he was following me!”

And he was furious. 

“How could you? There are so many of them tonight. Every scent is meshed up—.” 

“But I'm the Luna! The Blood Moon heir! I should do better! I should've protected everyone!”

His frown unraveled to a rare expression of concern, and he inched closer to want to comfort me. 

But I pushed him back. I couldn’t hold back anymore.   

“I SHOULD'VE PROTECTED YOU! BUT YOU GOT HURT AGAIN BECAUSE OF ME—!” 

And his mouth moulded firmly over mine. 

A kiss that was insistent and angry but consoling; and instantly, my tears and cries softened to moans of surprise then comfort.  

The second I came around and remembered to push him off, his arm came around my waist and drew me in. And I snuggled up against him, just as his mouth opened to renew a kiss—and prolonged the old one. 

Then, his tongue swept in. 

And new moans of delight spilled from my lips. “Mmph!”

I clutched onto him harder. 

His tongue was thick and wide, every stroke and twirl making me feel twice as much. New sizzles overlapped with old ones, and I was immediately caught in a quicksand, sinking fast—.

Until reality popped back in. 

And I tore myself away. 

“We can't!” I gasped. 

And he breathed densely, “We can't.”

But then he recaptured my lips and continued kissing me, more fiercely this time.  

And I was swiftly back underwater.  

This time, he engulfed me, pushing me deeper into him, leaving no gap for anything—even air. And his tongue drove deeper, his strokes hungrier, as his mouth ate mine greedily; and I was spiralling with heat—.

Then, he broke off, the loud smack of our lips like a gunshot of reminder.  

“Fuck, we can't. We shouldn't.” 

And he was off the bed, bolting from me, as though I was hot, scalding water. But he was raking bitterly through his white mane, wrestling with something.

And I could only stare at him: that same protective broad back now heaving with emotions too complex to handle, all because of what I started that night, and that same complexity clogged my throat. 

Forbidden. 

And I felt a little better letting go. All of this. No matter what happens, he'll always be my first. My love. 

“I should go.”   

Quietly—and hastily—I threw everything back into the box and shut it—.

The box crashed to the floor as two large palms caught each side of my face.

Without warning, I was yanked up and his firm mouth planted right back onto mine, fitting seamlessly. And the tongue-stroking resumed. 

“Mmph!” My eyes squeezed hard in disbelief, my chest beating furiously with renewed hope. 

This time, his lips grazed harder as he dived deeper to claim the full depths of my mouth. 

His mouth was covering mine entirely, so very soon I was getting dizzy from the lack of air.

But I clung onto him desperately. 

Even when my back hit the sheets, we were intensely stroking and rubbing inside my mouth. 

It was only when his hands came under my Tee on my stomach, did he break the kiss to beg, “Push me away, Am.”

But I threw my arms around his neck, the most obvious answer shooting from my glaring eyes: NO. 

“I love you, Hunter,” I panted. More than you could ever imagine. 

And his ember gaze darkened with anger. “You can't love me, Am. Not like this.”

But his hands were roaming up the sides of my bare waist. 

“You mustn't.” 

“Okay,” I sighed and sat up to yank my Tee over my head. 

His breath hitched in surprise because I was wearing nothing underneath. 

“Fuck,” he swallowed and reached out, “you have no fucking idea how much I missed these.” 

His fingertips were electrifying, and a jolt jiggled my breasts as I inhaled it. 

Fuck that’s hot, I thought and exhaled, “They are yours.” 

A smile touched his lips. 

He cradled the two globes of warm flesh in his hot palms, and a sigh of approval moaned from my throat.  

Then, his face lowered. 

The second his hot mouth covered one nipple, I jolted in a gasp of pleasure, “Hah!” Then, more delight burst through in a series of whimpers. 

Watching him suck and kiss my breasts while feeling his tongue work on my nipple was fucking erotic. 

Then, he released me with an even more erotic pop sound.

And a nice shiver shot up my nape. “Hunter!” I panted, wanting more. 

“Did he touch you here?” Hunter licked the hardened bud. 

Charles Walter? 

I sighed, pleading, “No!”

“Good girl.”  

And he pulled my nipple back in and played with it incessantly with his tongue, while his other hand massaged my other breast, its thumb rotating my nipple around its core of nerves.

More pleasure streaked up.  

“Hunter!” I gasped, arching to push more of my flesh into his wet, warm mouth. 

And he sucked even harder—his groans sending tremors under my skin to intensify the pleasure—until I was squirming for something stronger. 

Then, he released my nipple with another pop.   

And a stronger one streamed through my flesh. “Hah!”

But just when I thought I could catch a breath, I was seized by another jolt of eye-opening pleasure: 

the tip of his tongue skimmed across my cleavage to my other breast before lavishing it with the same glorious routine. 

“Hunter!” I cried out, clutching his head tightly to my chest. 

It was getting harder to sit upright for his fierce devouring so I fell back on the sheets. 

He sucked and breathed, “You like that, baby?”

And I froze. 

“Don't!” I gasped between shallow breaths. “Don't call me that!”

His face came up, but I was too ashamed to meet him in the eye.  

“I'm not those women you fuck and discard.” I covered my face with my arms so he wouldn't see my pathetic tears. “I love you more than they do…. I really do… you have no idea—.”

He took my wrists and pinned them to each side of my head so we came into a full confrontation. 

The lines in his forehead were deep with concentration. 

Then, he whispered my new nickname. 

“Tiger.”  

And I chuckled with embarrassment, tears streaming down my face. 

He kissed my damp cheekbones. “My feisty tiger…better?” 

“Are you saying I'm a hellcat?” I sniffed, pouting. “I’m not—.”

“Stop complaining.” He kissed my lashes and lifted off me. 

Holding my gaze, he slipped my bottoms off then watched his hands glide up and down the length of my legs.

Outside… then inside….

“Soft…,” he murmured. “So soft.” 

My breathing lightened. 

The way he explored my body, that quiet, unrushing way was so unlike him. 

Like I was special. Precious. 

And the flattery sent new streaks of thrill, and I had to bite my lower lip to stop myself from interrupting him. 

“This…all mine?” He kissed the side of my right knee. 

“Yes!” 

“Because you love me, tiger.” 

He grabbed my knees and pushed them back against the sheets—and my thighs opened widely. 

“Yes!” I sobbed, the anticipation was killing me. “Everything’s yours!” 

“Good girl.” 

His hands slid down the insides of my thighs…then his fingers laced under the seams of my underwear and carefully slid down the edge of my pussy—.

And my breath got caught in my throat as his smile broadened with delight. 

“And here’s your reward, my little tiger.” 

His face disappeared between my thighs.