The Gamma’s Second Chance (Crescent Lake #3)

23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

CASSANDRA

Nolan is silent our entire drive home. His elbow rests on the center console, both hands on the wheel, and his eyes never once leave the road as he drives. I keep my hands in my lap on top of my medical file, one wrapped around the other, my throat tight and my eyes itchy the whole time.

When we reach Nolan’s house, I get out of his truck before he shuts off the engine and enter his house using my key. I stand in the entry, the folder in my hand, staring between the staircase and the hallway to my old room, my teeth digging into my lip, indecision warring within me.

The shutting of the door behind me yanks me out of my turmoil, forcing me to make a choice, and I dart up the stairs and into Nolan’s room, leaving the folder on the table in the entry. I duck into the closet and take off my sandals, and I have the zipper on my dress halfway down when Nolan enters the closet, his arms crossed as he watches me. I turn my back to him as I undress and toss the shirt I wore this morning back on, my hands shaking and my jaw clenched the entire time.

“I have to admit, for a minute there, I thought Ben was your mate.”

I whip my head towards him, my eyes wide. His face is serious, his brow wrinkled with concern, but there is a small sparkle of humor in his eyes, a sparkle that gives me a smidgen of hope.

The corner of my mouth tips upwards, and I smooth the wrinkled hem of his shirt against my thighs. “That would be weird.”

He nods but says nothing else. I put my dress back on the hanger and place it on the rack, then move to the doorway, scooting past Nolan to enter his bedroom.

But before I can get far, his hand curls around my wrist, stopping me with gentle pressure. “Cassandra.”

I glance over my shoulder, and his features have softened, his eyes scanning over the smile painted on my face that does nothing to hide my watery eyes or my pink-tipped nose or the tremble of my lower lip. But I smile all the same, presenting the picture-perfect version of myself I’ve mastered over the years.

“You don’t always have to smile,” he says, stepping closer, his body hovering next to my arm. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

I pinch my lips together, but I don’t break. My throat swells, and the tears pool, but I hold them back as I lift one shoulder in a subtle shrug. “I’ve lived with this for sixteen years.”

He inhales through his nose, and his fingers flex against my arm. “When you said ‘I can’t—’”

“It wasn’t—”

“I thought you were flustered or caught up in the moment and couldn’t get your words out properly. Everything was so intense and heated and…” He trails off, his chin dipping to bring his face to my level. My heart clenches in my chest, and I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.” I clear my throat and straighten my shoulders, bracing myself for the inevitable rejection. “I understand if you don’t want someone who’s broken.”

His grip on my arm tightens. “I didn’t say that.”

“But my condition—”

He yanks me into his body, his arm circling my waist and the momentum forcing my head to lift and my eyes to meet his. “Your condition changes nothing, Cassandra. Not a damn thing.”

He holds my gaze with fierce certainty. I open my mouth, but the only sound to escape me is a choked sob, followed by a tear streaming down my cheek. He cups my face with one hand, his other arm bracing me and keeping me upright.

“That’s it,” he says as my fingers curl into his shirt, and another tear falls from my eyes. “Let it out.”

I inhale, my breath shuddering and my chin quivering. Now that the tears have started, they won’t stop, no matter how much I blink or how tightly I clench my jaw. My teeth grind together, and I cling harder to him as I fight against the pain leaking from my eyes.

“Have you ever let yourself cry about it?” Nolan asks, stroking my cheek, and I shake my head. “Why not?”

“I—I don’t—I never—” I shake my head and bury my face in his chest.

He lifts me into his arms, cradling me to his chest, and carries me to the bed, perching on the edge of the mattress with me in his lap. “Then do it now.”

Nolan hugs me, and I weep. I weep for the little five-year-old girl who didn’t understand the enormity of what she’d endured and for the teenager who finally realized what it meant to be infertile. I weep for the future stolen from me, for the fate decided for me by a power-hungry and selfish male. And I weep with gratitude for the arms keeping me steady, the stalwart stability from the muscular body I cling to, and the open, ready acceptance from the male they belong to.

I let all of it out. Every drop of pain—physical and emotional—that I’ve held in over the years. It all exits me in heaving sobs and streaming tears, leaving me raw and exposed in Nolan’s arms.

“I met my mate when I was twenty-two,” Nolan says as my tears ebb. I lean back from his chest and stare at him, my fingers loosening on his shirt, my heart racing in my chest, and my stomach dropping out of my body. “We found each other at a mating ball on the east coast. She fucked me and then rejected me.”

My eyes widen and I sit up straighter. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”

“I wish I wasn’t.”

“What a bitch.” I shake my head. “You’re better off without her.”

He exhales through his nose, a noise that’s almost a laugh. “Thanks.”

I wince and stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry. I just meant—”

“No. You’re right. I am.” His fingers curl around my hip, and he holds my red-rimmed gaze.

“Who was she?” I ask.

“Her name was Kimberly. I don’t know anything else about her. Don’t know her last name or what pack she was from. Nothing.”

My brow furrows. “You never found out?”

“No. She disappeared from the room where we…” He clears his throat, and his gaze shifts downward, his chin dropping. “She took off after rejecting me, and no one could find her. There was no Kimberly on the guest list for the mating ball.”

“Wesley’s dad could have checked the official registry for werewolves named Kimberly, though. You could have tried to find her.”

“Wesley wanted Alpha Harrison to do that, but I said no.” He huffs out a derisive laugh. “What good would it have done? The rejection was complete. Our bond was broken. Why would I want to find her? Why would I want to see her again or speak to her again? What would be the point in chasing after someone who didn’t want me?”

Each word he says is edged with pain. Each sentence he utters is the reopening of an old, unhealed wound. And I taste every ounce of distress, misery, and unresolved trauma pouring from those reopened wounds. It’s a mirror of my own, an echo of what I kept hidden from him. His own secret pain, laid bare for me so I don’t feel isolated in my heartache.

I lick my lips, considering my next question carefully. “So I’m guessing the ring I saw wasn’t for her?”

He gives me another sharp laugh and shakes his head. “No. That was the result of a desperate male trying to cling to someone who was already gone and something that was already over.” He covers my hand on his cheek and moves them both so they rest on his chest, right over his heart. “If you’re broken, then so am I.”

I shake my head at him and press my palm harder against his chest. “You’re not broken, Nolan. You’re resilient.”

I turn in his lap so my legs settle on either side of his thighs, and his hands move to my hips, holding me close. He leans forward so our noses brush, and his mouth hovers over mine. “If I’m resilient, then you’re invincible.”

I take his face in my hands and press my lips to his, the salt of fresh tears flavoring our kiss. They flow unfettered once more from my eyes, brought forth by his story and his affection and affirmations. Each movement of our lips is slow. Neither of us rushes the other. The kiss is smooth and stretches like a drop of fresh honey—warm and golden and just as lush and sweet.

Nolan weaves his fingers into the hair at my nape and rests his forehead against mine as my hands explore his clothed torso, touching each hardened muscle that tenses and relaxes as we kiss and embrace. “Tell me what you need,” he says, his mouth staying close to mine.

I grip the hem of his shirt and drag it up, revealing his chiseled abdomen. “I need you.”

“You have me.”

I shake my head, a gasp falling from my lips as he shudders beneath the teasing of my fingertips across his bare stomach. “I need all of you.”

He growls as I press the heel of my palm along the length of his cock, and I tremble at the sound and the way it calls to me and my lycan. “I’m yours, Cassandra,” he says, his throat working and his fingers tightening around my neck. “Take whatever it is you need from me.”

I lift his shirt off him, his hands leaving my body only so I can pull it over his head, and then they’re on me again. He tears the shirt I wear off me, then wraps me in his arms, his fingers splaying on my back as he captures my mouth with his. I clutch his shoulders and hold myself close, taking my time to taste every honeyed kiss he gives me.

Everything is passionate but slow. There is nothing hurried. There is none of the frenzied, frantic lust that pushed us together in the beginning, but it isn’t any less intense. If anything, it’s more intense. More heated, more poignant, and more perfect.

Nolan lifts me and turns us so my back is on the bed. The cool, soft bedding welcomes my body as he hovers above me, fumbling with his belt and his pants as he loosens them, never once breaking our kiss. He kicks them to the floor, leaving him naked, but his hand hesitates on the waistband of my underwear. “Are you sure this is what you need?” he asks, pulling away to look directly into my eyes.

“I’m sure,” I say, nodding. “Connecting with you? Being with you? That is what I need. I need to feel your body moving with mine. I need to feel wanted and desired. I need to feel .”

My desperate yearning for him makes little sense. But love rarely does. Our time together has been a tumultuous whirlwind, like the painful pasts that brought us together. It’s been a maze to navigate and an arduous campaign to break through the walls we both erected to protect ourselves. But we’re here now—here with all the broken yet resilient pieces of our slowly entwining souls.

I don’t need proper and tidy and tied with a perfect sparkling ribbon. That would be boring. I want something that defies logic and expectations. I want something messy and raw and real.

If anyone will understand the desire to just feel, it’s him. There is no logic, no rhyme or reason behind it. It may sound backwards to some. But that’s us, and that’s how we started. Physical before emotional. Needing to feel before sharing our feelings.

His eyes ignite with understanding, his nod validating the desperation growing within me. My fingertips trail across his cheek, down his nose, and over his lips before he slides down my body and removes my underwear. “Make me feel, Nolan.”

I tip my knees apart, baring myself to him, and he glides his hand up my leg. He cups my calf and kisses my inner thigh, right above my knee. I sigh and close my eyes, tilting my chin higher and relaxing into his caresses and the bed. I immerse myself in the experience of being with him, an experience that becomes more fulfilling every time.

Each touch of his lips on my leg brings him closer to my entrance and pulls me deeper into our encounter. It is beyond anything imaginable and anything I’ve ever known. The rough thrusts and bruising touches are our preference, but his gentle, sensual perusal of my body is exactly what my soul needs at this moment.

His hands circle my waist, and his lips kiss my hip bone, bypassing my pussy altogether. But instead of groaning out my frustration and impatience, I savor the slow pace. His warm, solid body covers mine, his weight braced on his forearm next to my head, creating a safety net around me. Our own private world where it’s just us two. He parts my lower lips with the tips of his fingers, watching my reaction with a softness in his eyes that turns me to putty. I sigh and spread my thighs more, giving him full access to my body.

He dips his finger in and out, deeper with each pass, his body leaning closer to mine with each insertion. He hovers his mouth over mine, his nose tracing my cheek. Each breath he takes is tremulous, hinting at the passion bubbling beneath the surface that matches mine. My neck arches as his thick cock replaces his fingers, pushing into me as slowly as he is able, so I feel every inch of him, until there is no space between our hips, and he’s as deep inside me as he can go.

We gasp in unison at the sensation of being joined. My fingers dance across his chest, memorizing the feel of his skin beneath my touch, the mountains and valleys of his muscles, and the rise and fall as he breathes through his pleasure. His arms circle me, and he rolls us to our sides, wrapping my leg over his hip with his hand holding the back of my thigh. Our lips meet, and we move as one, pulsing and writhing with a singular, shared goal: to find release together.

But our movements are still languid and relaxed. This isn’t fucking or even sex. This is making love. It’s the type of connection and understanding between two lovers I’ve only read about. A type of connection I thought was a fairy tale. But it’s real, and it’s what has flowered between us, what has blossomed with each interaction we’ve shared.

Nolan takes his time, exploring every inch of me with his hands or his lips, evoking soft sighs and murmurs from my lips. He doesn’t hold back—not in the way he did the first time we gave in to each other. He gives me what I need, the way I need it. And it’s just as intense and passionate and soul-shattering as that first time.

With each kiss, I open more of myself to him. With each kiss, he possesses more of my heart. I pour all of me into him, my hands holding his face to keep him close. My body moves in tandem with his, responding to his movements and his touches. He wraps me in warmth and devotion, and I let him lead me into euphoria.

A soft cry escapes me, and I tense in his arms, arching against him as his fingertips tease my lower lips. He holds me tighter and kisses down my jaw and my neck, murmuring “Cassandra” between each press of his lips on my skin. The pulsing of his hips quickens and deepens, but it’s still the same sensual rolling movements. My body quakes, and pure, undiluted pleasure floods me, floating from my soul and out through the tips of my fingers, and Nolan joins me, body tensing and neck straining as he groans through his release.

He kisses the edge of my jaw, then my cheek, and then my lips, his hand sliding up my body to tuck my hair behind my ear. I curl into his chest as he cuddles me to him, his nose burying into my hair and his hand cupping the back of my head. No words pass between us, but none are necessary.

As I lie there in the circle of his arms, basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking, soaking in the security and comfort I feel when I’m with him, I realize something.

I realize I don’t want him. Or need him.

I love him. Every flaw, all the messy, raw, and real pieces of him, including the gruff personality and the prickly exterior.

I love every single detail about him.