“I get you feel like you had good reasons for letting her believe that.” I shake my head. “But it stops now.”

He agrees with a simple, “I know.” Then moves on quickly. “Now, let’s talk about why I wanted to keep her quiet. I think there’s something different about you. I wasn’t lying this morning when I said I need to know a few things first.” Masen watches my hands while I knead the dough, seemingly engrossed. “I still don’t know what it all means, but there are too many things to ignore like us knowing that we’re Mates before your first shift, the way unmated males respond to you.”

I hold up my hand that’s completely covered in biscuit dough. “What do you mean by that?” I ask.

He takes the towel and wipes my chin where he must have left flour from touching me. “When you drove through the pack houses, every unmated male came out to see who you were. People don’t stare at you at school because they think you’re a rogue, they stare at you because you smell really, really good.” He proves his point by sticking his nose behind my ear, drawing in a long breath, and opening his mouth to let it out slowly. When his hot breath hits my ear and fans my neck, I shiver, and my neck automatically arches back. His hand falls to the outside flare of my hip, squeezing as he brings his chest flush to my shoulder. His other hand travels up to my arched neck. Fingers threading into the hair at the nape of my neck while his thumb caresses my cheek. Mouth still at my ear, he says, “Like warm vanilla and sex, baby.”

His teeth nip the bottom of my earlobe, and I whimper. His body pushing mine against the counter is the only thing holding me up. Masen kisses his way down my throat and across my exposed collarbone. He turns me slightly and pulls me so my breasts push into his lower chest. He moans at the contact. “So soft for me, baby.” My body molds to his.

He leans down with his forearm under my butt and his hand clenching my outer thigh and lifts me until my mouth is inches above his. I wrap my legs around his torso. My hands still covered in sticky dough bracket his head. I look down at him, and the tip of his tongue traces my bottom lip, my thighs squeeze him as my mouth falls open. The air in my lungs leaves in a long, hot pant. Watching him with his eyes hooded as he teases my mouth has me so worked up I start rolling my hips against his hard stomach to soothe the ache. “You need something, baby?” he asks, his voice so low it’s almost a growl.

I don’t know how to answer or what I need but, “Please,” falls from my mouth.

“Oh yes, that sounded so nice, Little One. Say it again.” His hand is still wrapped around the hair at my nape, tugging. The tiny pricks of pain make me rock against him harder.