Chapter 61: The First Touch
Trishelle
Trishelle blanched. James wanted to touch her? A flash of what happened in the past - the coldness of his basement, the force of his actions - made her clench her teeth as a sour taste flooded her mouth. Her jaw ached and her fingertips throbbed, perhaps from squeezing her fist too hard. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind, to scream at him, to shove his hand away. The words gathered on her tongue, sharp and bitter. She turned to tell him exactly where he could go, but her anger drained away at the look on his face.
It was like he knew she would say no. He looked as though he was beating himself up for even asking, his shoulders slumping slightly, his gaze dropping to the blanket. The vulnerability in his posture caught her off guard. Yet, despite all of that, there was a desperate, naked hope in his eyes - a longing so raw it made her chest tighten. He wanted to feel the baby, his baby. How could she deny him that right? Everyone knew how much werewolves cared for their young, especially Alphas. It was a primal, undeniable connection woven into their very DNA. She bit her lip, the flesh stinging under her teeth, her heart warring with her mind, before she slowly nodded.
James
James was taken aback. He and his wolf were certain they had rushed things, had pushed too far, and were already cursing their impatience. The self-recrimination was instant and brutal. "Are you sure?" he asked, cringing at how unsure he sounded, how his voice wavered like a teenager’s. Boy, he was doing a marvelous job at messing things up. His wolf whined in his mind, equally distressed.
Trishelle shook her head, but a small, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. "I’m not too sure," she said, her voice soft, barely above a whisper.
James held his breath and slowly stretched out his hand toward her middle, careful not to startle her. Every movement was deliberate, measured. His palm hovered over her bump, and he paused, looking at her face for any sign that she didn’t want this, that she was about to recoil. His heart hammered against his ribs. When her expression remained the same - a mask of quiet uncertainty - he lowered his hand and made contact with his young.
At first, nothing happened. The warmth of her skin seeped into his palm, radiating up his arm. But then, he felt it. A subtle shift, a rolling motion under his hand. His breath caught. Soon, he could feel the little pokes of his pup’s kicks, and the sensation was like nothing he’d ever experienced. It was a jolt to his system, a lightning strike of pure, unadulterated connection. It was life. His life. A piece of himself that existed outside his body, growing and thriving. His eyes burned with unshed tears.
Trishelle was fascinated by the look of awe on James’s face. It was raw, unguarded - nothing like the cold Alpha she’d known. He looked like he was floating on cloud nine, completely transported. The heat of his hand seeped into her skin and sent little waves of warmth through her, melting the corners of her hatred of him, if only for a moment. She closed her eyes at the look of sheer joy on his face, wondering if it was just her hormones playing tricks or if the pup somehow knew that this was his father. Could their child sense the connection?
Her eyes opened just in time to see his head lower, and soon she could feel his lips press against her stomach, just above her navel. Tingles erupted from the contact, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool wind, and she gasped softly. The intimacy of the gesture stole her breath. Thankfully, James seemed unaware of her reaction as he was absorbed in talking to the pup, his voice a low, rumbling murmur against her skin. The vibrations traveled through her. He stroked the bump with reverent fingers, and she could feel the little one settling down, the rhythmic movement seeming to lull both of them to rest.
Soon the pup settled for his afternoon nap, and Trishelle lay back, closing her eyes. Never would she have believed that James’s touch could feel soothing, but the warmth she was feeling both inside and out made her drowsy. The tension she’d been carrying in her shoulders began to ease. Her lids grew heavy, and soon she fell asleep to the sound of James’s low voice as he spoke softly to her belly, murmuring promises and endearments she couldn’t quite make out.
James smiled as he watched the mother of his child asleep on the blanket. His wolf’s tail looked like a windmill on steroids in his mind’s eye, spinning with uncontainable joy. They were so happy that if he died right now, he didn’t think heaven could be any better. This moment, right here, was everything. He noticed the way her body reacted - the faint shiver, the soft gasp - but he acted like he didn’t. No need to make her walls go back up. He didn’t want to lose the contact, this fragile peace between them, but he knew he couldn’t stay there forever.
He removed his hand, and Trishelle frowned, whimpering a little in her sleep, shifting closer to him to find the warmth again. James’s heart pounded against his ribs. What should he do? Put his hand back? Move back even further? Maybe he should wake her so she could rest properly in her bed. Scratching his head, he listened to his wolf’s simple, primal suggestion: *Take mate to bed. Keep her safe.*
With a sigh, he hoped that she would not wake. After linking a warrior to clear their picnic remnants, James stood and leaned over to scoop Trishelle in his arms. She was lighter than he expected, her pregnancy weight barely noticeable. Her head nestled on his shoulder, her scent of vanilla and something uniquely her filling his senses, and he prayed that his pounding heart wouldn’t wake her or give out on him. The feel of her in his arms felt so right it was almost painful. Slowly, he made his way back to the house and up the stairs to her room, never noticing that there was a shadowy figure hidden in the trees, watching their every move with calculating eyes.
James lay Trishelle gently on the bed, arranging her carefully so she’d be comfortable. She looked so lovely, so peaceful, that without a thought, his hand came out to caress her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. The skin was soft as silk beneath his touch. Would the baby take after him or her? If they were a girl, she would be beautiful - probably with her mother’s delicate features and his strength. He silently chuckled as thoughts of building a tower in the backyard flitted through his mind. Maybe a son would keep him from needlessly killing all other males who dared to look at his daughter. The protective instinct was already overwhelming. He sat on the edge of the bed, breathless at how much Trishelle had changed him, how much she’d softened the hardened warrior he’d been. Maybe if he had treated her right from the beginning, then there would have been no bad feelings between them, no pain to overcome.
He vowed to make it up to her, to do everything in his power to win her back, and he could already feel the bond between him and his pup growing stronger, just like in his dreams. The connection pulsed with life and promise.
His eyes caressed her face and lowered to her body. He could see that her breasts were a bit larger, fuller, preparing to nourish his child. The changes pregnancy had brought to her body were beautiful. Looking at them made his member stiffen, a sudden, aching throb, and he bit back a groan. Now was not the time for such thoughts, but just holding her in his arms had brought back memories of their night together - the feel of her skin, the sound of her cries, the way she’d called his name. Leaning closer, he sniffed her neck, a strong, overwhelming desire to claim her taking over. He could feel his wolf fighting for control, his canines elongating in his mouth, pressing against his lower lip.
His tongue lightly traced her marking spot, the sensitive skin where Bradley’s bite would eventually be, and her soft moan in her sleep pulled him out of the red haze clouding his mind. Shit. The sound of his rival’s name in his thoughts was like ice water. If she woke up to find him leering over her, all his good work would be for nothing. Pulling his wolf back with a snarl of effort, he got up and left, remembering at the last second not to slam the door. His hands trembled as he closed it with deliberate care.
He made his way to his room and stripped, heading straight for the bathroom. The desire for her that he had pushed down for weeks erupted, a volcano of need that threatened to consume him. He opened the shower to the coldest setting, the icy water a shock against his heated skin. Please, please, please, he begged in his mind, willing away his erection. After five minutes of shivering under the spray, teeth chattering, he realized that it wasn’t working. Not even the repulsive thought of another female worked - his wolf rejected the very idea with a snarl. Clenching his teeth, he took matters into his own hands, literally.
Stroking himself, his mind replayed the night with Trishelle in exquisite detail. Her scent, her heat, the way she’d felt wrapped around him, the sounds she’d made. His moans filled the room, echoing off the tiles, and soon he roared her name as he found his release, his body shuddering against the cold tiles, his free hand braced against the wall for support.
Sighing, he leaned his head against the wall, watching his release go down the drain. The water continued to beat down on him, but the cold no longer registered. He was so screwed. How was he supposed to win her back when he could barely control himself around her? The road ahead seemed impossibly long and fraught with obstacles of his own making.