The Reluctant Mate

Amanda Mature

This was exactly why I should have shut Porter down. Forget letting him buy me a coffee or inviting him out again, I shouldn’t have gone near him in the first place. He was so much larger than me, and his voice against my ear was sending heat rushing throughout me and I already wanted him so bad. I didn’t like this power he seemed to have over me. I had promised myself that I would never let myself get trapped by a man again, and I was going to keep that promise, even if Porter had been horribly right.

He had been the best I had ever had. Not even a contest. Which made him even more dangerous to my wellbeing, because how much would I be willing to give up to feel that good?

I scowled at him with all the frustration I could muster. “No. This was supposed to be on my terms, and you’re already crossing the line again. I can’t trust you.”

“Yes, you can,” he said, and the slow drawl of his voice against my skin and the certainty ringing in his words made me ache.

How was it that we ended up swaying on the dance floor like this? “I don’t trust men.”

“I’m so much more than a man,” he responded so plainly I could almost have imagined that he was serious and not just being cocky.

I scoffed at him. “Right. You’re a god, except spelled in reverse.”

It was supposed to be an insult, but he laughed, and I tried not to love the sound of it. How was even his laugh sexy? “Definitely not a god, and dogs are too domesticated to compare, Amanda.”

Even the way he said my name made me almost forget myself. I was a traitor to my own best interest, because I had the strongest desire to just suggest we go back to my place right now and have another go.

But that was a bad idea, because I knew exactly where that would lead, and I needed to shut this down, before he got more attached. He was already obviously turned on as we moved together. It felt too good, the way we fit like we were made for each other.

I was so tempted, too tempted, even though this had been exactly the reason I had given in and texted him to come in the first place. One time had not been enough. My head felt woozy. “I need some fresh air.”

“You alright?” Instant concern. It made me feel warm and nervous. I loved the attention and hated the focus. I didn’t answer, I just walked towards the door with him following me. He was already so territorial, and we’d barely just met. If I did slip and fall into a relationship, I’d be in exactly the same spot that I had escaped once before. What if I didn’t get out this time?

I clearly hadn’t drank myself stupid enough yet, because the memories were coming back. Steven opening doors for me, giving me sweet romantic gifts, speaking flowery flattering words. He had charmed me right out of my brain, and I had fallen so hard. He had been my first. I had been so naive.

I glared at Porter, who had followed me. He was already so clingy and possessive, and I hadn’t even given him any promises. Steven had hidden his dark side well, and it seemed like Porter wasn’t even trying to. He was breaking my rules and I’d been a fool to even give him this chance, even if he looked like an Adonis chiselled from stone, and if he said things that made my blood heat with flickering interest.

But I couldn’t let myself trust him no matter what he said, because I couldn’t trust myself.

Still, I wanted him so much that I could have taken him then and there, it was like my body had become addicted to him after just one taste. That guy who had been grinding up against me on the dance floor had been doing almost nothing for me, and then Porter had showed up, and I was instantly turned on. I shouldn’t be attracted to that sort of barbaric behaviour. Normally it made me feel sick. And it did make me feel sick...but some twisted primitive part of my brain also liked it and was greedy for more.

I glanced at his face, and then down at his pants. One more time couldn’t make the damage that much worse, could it? I should say something harsh right now and send him home and find someone else inside. But that plan just didn’t seem that appealing.

I pushed off the wall, knowing how stupid I was being and doing it anyway. “Take me home.”

—————

He had his truck and insisted on driving, so I didn’t argue since he hadn’t had time to drink anything. When we pulled up at my place—the location of which he clearly remembered because I hadn’t had to give him instructions—I met his eyes. “We are just here for sex, and then you leave. Right after.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” It was what I needed to keep myself safe. And it was going to be the last time, I thought sternly. After he left, I would delete his number from my phone, and force him from my mind. We went inside, and once we got to my room, I kissed him and his arms were around me, and I started pulling off his clothing while he steered me to the bed. Half dressed, he landed on top of me and kissed me again, the taste of him addictive on my tongue, the feel of his mouth playing over my neck enthralling, his hands on my body bringing me to new heights of passion.

He was dangerous, because I never wanted him to stop.

He did stop, but only to grab a condom without me prompting him, and this time he flipped me over without argument, and took me from behind, sinking into me as deep as he could go. My toes curled, and I gripped the sheets to brace myself against his punishing pace, then he slowed, and for a second I thought he was stopping, but his arm wrapped around and he found me, making me implode while he still impaled me.

Then he started moving again, and I felt him release into the condom. I tried not to enjoy the sound of his satisfaction, because I assured myself I didn’t care how he felt. Because this was the last time and he was not my problem. Not mine. I shouldn’t even need to remind myself about things like that, but for some reason kept forgetting.

He pulled out of me, and without me even telling him to go, he cleaned up and pulled his clothes on. He met my eyes just once as he reached the door, as if begging me to ask him to stay, but I ignored the silent request. He needed to go, and now, before I gave in to a stupid whim and invited him not to.

“Good night, Amanda.”

Then he left.

And I cared more than I should have.