Page 26

"Maybe we should check on the pumpkin. Maybe there's something wrong?" I suggest.

But the pumpkin is fine. After rushing home, we find it sitting exactly where we left it. No new nicks, marks, or scrapes are visible. I expected to find an army of ants crawling over it considering how itchy we are.

But nothing.

"Oh moly! My back!" Will cries, trying in vain to reach the very center of his back.

"Hold still." I reach out to scratch him between his shoulder blades.

"No, it's still there," Will says, bouncing and writhing.

I try to scratch his back again, but he's moving too much. Suddenly, Will pulls off his scarf and hat. Then he rips open his cardigan, sending buttons flying, and flings it aside.

He reaches over his head, grabs his linen long-sleeved shirt between his shoulder blades, and yanks the thing off.

I’m left stunned.

His skin glistens in the autumn light. Thick arms flex as he tries again to reach the spot on his back. My own itching is temporarily forgotten.

"Randy!" he snaps.

I shake myself out of it and move.

This time, the moment my fingertips touch his back and rub across the spot bothering him most, my own itching stops. Will also stops wiggling and hopping from foot to foot.

The itching disappears completely.

Will turns around slowly.

"That was weird," he says.

I hardly hear him. His chest is a work of art and far too touchable. His belly curves down toward the waistband of his low-slung pants.

I'm aware I'm staring, but I can't stop.

Eventually, I realize the silence has gone on too long, and my gaze jumps back to Will's. Instead of irritation or disgust, I find his dark brown eyes are hot on mine.

One step, then two, and Will is pressed to me. His broad, bare chest crushes against my clothed one. The heat of his body wraps all around me. He smells of cinnamon and petrichor.

My arms automatically circle him. I've been wanting him for too long. Since before the mating bond, when he'd work in his garden across from my front windows covered in dirt and sweat.

His waist presses to mine, and I can already feel the hard, thick length of him through his cloth pants. His fingers card through my hair, and he pulls me down.

Our lips crash together.

It isn't gentle or teasing. It's desperate and needy.

I open for him immediately, and his tongue sweeps in to meet mine, licking deep. I groan, and he bucks into me, grinding his hard cock against mine, which swells fast.

My mate is intoxicating.

We break apart briefly, one of his hands caressing my jaw. I hold him close as he sways, like he might tip over.

"I thought you were still mad at me," I rasp.

"Maybe I am," he whispers, smiling. "Ivy said you’re volunteering with the movie night in a couple of days."

I nod and lean forward until my forehead rests against his.