DELETED SCENE: WING STRIKE

The following scene features fade-to-black romance. The fully detailed graphic version of this same romance scene is available on Wattpad. Please be advised that my writing is intended for adults, no matter which version you prefer. Reader discretion is advised.

Lucky and Rohan

I strode through the hallways of the Fortress, the hint of winter’s chill making my skin feel clammy under my sweaty tank top. East coast winters were nothing compared to the icy cold I had grown up with in the far north, but goosebumps still crawled over my skin. Or maybe it was just because I felt restless, even after all the exertion.

The cozy comfort of dinner with my sleuthmates had long faded. I had procrastinated as long as I could after the meal, but eventually, when Serena had started dozing off onto Smirkums’ shoulders, I couldn’t wait any longer. I sent the lovebirds to bed, checked in on Jason—who was trying to work a financial miracle to cover the medical bills from my injuries on Assateague Island—but he’d shooed me away with impatience.

“You don’t even know how insurance claims work,” he said. “You’re only going to make this harder.”

Without my people or my work to distract me, I had accepted my grim fate.

Physical therapy.

If only my supernatural strength made the Therabands easier. Therabands, plural. Said supernatural strength had already snapped eight of them, so I had to use three of the tightest black bands together to work my muscles back into full functionality. At least I wasn’t hurting anymore. Not all time. Sure, there were certain angles that stressed the ligaments through my left shoulder and down through my rib cage, but those healing pains were nothing like the stabbing hurt I’d felt the first few times I worked through my stupid Theraband regimen.

I’d taken to doing my therapy after meals, mostly because it was easier to convince myself to go sling my arms though the bands when I had a full belly and a happy attitude. With Rohan’s cooking, that happened after every meal.

Well. It was impossible to not feel warm and wonderful when a man like Rohan cooked for me and my sleuth—showing care for my people was a huge turn on—but day after day after day of therapy meant the full-belly-happy effect didn’t last as long as it had.

Instead, I felt frustrated. All the time. I wasn’t allowed to go back to regular exercise, I was barely allowed to work out in my bear skin, and I definitely wasn’t allowed to go back to my combat training, all of which stressed the Alpha. With the mysteries still hanging over my head surrounding Avarice and Tau, the sleuth magic inside me latched on to my frustration with my limited routines and doubled it.

I sped through that evening’s therapy session, not skimping on my reps but going faster than I’d been instructed to, because I was at my wit’s end. There was still one more week to go before I saw the healer again for my final checkup. Once I got cleared, I could go back to training and work the way I was itching to. There was nothing more vexing than flexing against the stupid therapy hands when all I wanted to do was punch the hanging sand bags in front of me.

And that wasn’t the only frustration I was facing every day.

Without my usual outlets for all of my energy, and the pent-up aggression the Alpha stoked in me, I felt like my skin crawled with my hyperactivity. My paranormal senses picked up on every little stimulus and wouldn’t let go. I constantly felt on edge, and the only way to ease those urges was to add another fucking Theraband.

I was so sick of it.

I had tried running, but even if I ran myself into the ground, on feet or on paws, it did very little to quell my growing needs.

So, that night after I forced myself through therapy, I found myself stomping back toward the kitchen. I’d been eating more than normal while I was healing, and using food as reward after making myself push through therapy was a small silver lining I looked forward to.

A tantalizing scent wafted through the air. I paused, lifting my new nose a little so I could sample the smell better.

Yeast.

Rohan was preparing bread. Hoping that there might be freshly baked hot carbs in my near future, I couldn’t stop myself from jogging the rest of the way to the kitchen… and then I froze in the doorframe.

Rohan was alone kneading dough, and it was a good thing, too, because the sight of him made me start drooling with possessive desire. He stood over the kitchen counter, shirtless. I saw his T-shirt lying over the back of a chair, speckled with white—flour. I was delighted that he hadn’t bothered with an apron after the spill. His muscles bulged and contracted as he kneaded the dough. He shaped it with expert precision, but all I really noticed was the way his fingers massaged the formless ball with both tenderness and firm pressure.

An overwhelming urge surpassed my exasperated hunger.  Sparks of heat sizzled through my nervous system, blanking out all other thoughts.

I forgot about bread. I forgot about the Therabands. I forgot all about decency.

There was nothing so tantalizing as a treat just out of reach, and since Assateague, I hadn’t been able to taste the man I had been craving. I’d wanted to, but my injuries—especially my nose—had kept us from indulging in the pleasure we’d been longing for.

I couldn’t wait. Not one more night, not one more hour, not one more minute. I’d be damned if an official clean bill of health kept me from what I wanted.

Rohan hadn’t noticed me, and the predator I was loved creeping closer while watching every ripple of his muscles. I fixated on the rhythm of his breath as he worked the dough. I obsessed over the smell of the sweat beading along his skin.

Rohan was so absorbed in his task that he didn’t notice me stalking him until I got all the way to the counter where he was working. He started and stumbled back, his hands coming up. I didn’t take offense at his defensive reaction; after all, he’d just come face-to-face with a very hungry bear.

“Damn, Lucky,” he said. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Even startled, his voice tempted salacious thoughts… thoughts I was done restricting to my daydreams.

Desire lit my eyes as I prowled around the counter and lifted myself up on to the edge where’d he’d been working. I swatted the bowl with the remaining flour and yeast mixture out of my way and it clanged to the floor. I ignored the flour I’d spread all over my clothes, the counter, and the floor. Rohan didn’t dare look at the mess I’d made, either.

“Lucky…” Rohan started.

I licked my lips, and he snapped his mouth shut with a soft gasp. His breathing sped up, his heartrate spiked, and the alluring smell of testosterone surged in his scent.

I swung my legs around so I was sitting on the edge of the counter, facing him, wanting him. I spread my legs leaned back on my hands and pushed my chest forward.

The ball of dough forgotten, Rohan only had eyes for me. I could have purred under his total attention, but thankfully I still used my words. Without his understanding kinsense, words were good.

“Am I interrupting?” I asked.

Rohan gulped, and my eyes latched onto the sight of his Adam’s apple moving up and down. My eyes kept going down, tracing the dip in his collarbone, the valley between his pectorals, the ridges of his abs, and down to the hem of his waistline.

“Lucky, you’re… You’re not…”

I licked my lips. “I’m not what?”

Rohan’s mouth hung open, words forgotten. His eyes glazed over with need that I’d been feeling for months but  couldn’t act on.

“We shouldn’t,” he said.

But I heard it in his tone of voice. The weakness. That he didn’t believe his own words.

I grabbed the hem of my shirt and dragged it up and over my body. I wasn’t wearing a sports bra under the tight fabric designed for exercise. The groan that came out of Rohan’s mouth made me shiver. Desire kindled a fire so hot between my legs that it made me squirm.

I didn’t just want him. I needed him. I needed to feel those biceps flexing around me, taste the spices mixed into his sweat, feel his body moving against mine in synchronized rhythm.

“Shouldn’t we?” I asked. As I said the words, I brought my hands to my belt, undoing the buckle and sliding the leather through my belt loops. The clink as the metal belt buckle hit the floor was the only sound apart from the pounding of Rohan’s heart.

“You haven’t been cleared yet,” he said.

I lost all self-control the moment I’d walked through the kitchen doors, so I brazenly dragged my fingertips up my knees, along my thighs, over my hipbones, and up my chest, my fingers teasing my skin.

“Is that all you have to say?” I asked.

Rohan’s hands clenched into fists. He grit his teeth—I could hear it—making the vein along his neck stand out.

I couldn’t help myself. I pushed off the counter and closed the distance between us in the blink of an eye. If he was surprised by my sudden and supernaturally fast movement, I couldn’t see it in his lustful stare.

Standing so close together, his body heat radiated against my skin. His nose was only an inch away from mine, our eyes locked in an intense battle between self-control and lust.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Rohan whispered.

He didn’t use that tone of voice that made me melt, but the care in his tone heightened my desire. That he would put me before his physical need—which I could practically feel growing between us—drove me wild.

“But I want you to please me,” I said in my most seductive voice.

My words fractured Rohan’s indecision. His hands pulled mine away so that he could touch what I had teased, and his lips took mine with rough passion. I kissed Rohan without holding back, trusting my instincts to hold on to the bare minimum control necessary to keep me from hurting him with my unbridled strength. Trusting him to let me know if I was going too far. The desperate sounds coming from the back of his throat as my tongue plunged into his mouth promised me he enjoyed my enthusiasm immensely.

As he devoured me the way I had been dreaming of since the day I decided I wanted him to be mine, his pelvis ground against mine, pushing the bulge in his pants against my abdomen.

I trembled with wet anticipation.


After, Rohan and I looked around the kitchen in a bewildered daze. As much as I wanted to drag Rohan upstairs and into the shower for a second round, we had to clean up. Thankfully our efforts had not disturbed the dough he’d been working on, but the flipped flour bowl really had scattered the remnants of the powder everywhere. Ironically, the shirt Rohan had dirtied before was one of the few things spared from a complete coating of white.

I would have to be meticulous in cleaning up all the flour leftover from our passionate activities. I would be mortified if the lovebirds ever found out, so I would make sure there wouldn’t be a single speck of flour left.

Rohan chuckled when I grumbled my worry to him, the sound sultry and smooth.

“Then I think we need to clean every surface in here,” he said.

I laughed, finally free of my frustration, and urged my limp limbs to move.

“I think we need to sterilize the whole room, and then I want to do it again.”

Rohan gave me a wicked grin, and his voice dropped into a register that made me tingle from head to toe.

“As soon as we can go upstairs with clean hands… it would be my pleasure.”


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