Again, the blonde tried leading Joel away. Again, the asshole resisted. “She’s got enough problems right now—as evidenced by the attack on her earlier. She doesn’t need to be dealing with your problems as well.”

“And what do I need, Joel?”

Wincing, Joel turned to look at Mila, who was standing a few feet away. He cursed, taking a moment to weigh his words. Yeah, telling a dominant female what they did or didn’t need wasn’t wise. “I just don’t like that he’s bringing more trouble to your door,” Joel said carefully.

“Well, thanks for sharing that,” said Mila. “But it’s my door, Joel, not yours. I say who can and can’t walk through it—not you or anybody else.”

The blonde gave her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Mila, he’s just a little tense after hearing—”

“You almost died, Mila,” Joel clipped. “If Tate hadn’t heard that whistle, you’d be dead right now. So fucking forgive me if I’d rather that someone wasn’t piling more danger on you.” With that, he pivoted on his heel and stormed out.

“Sorry,” the blonde repeated, backing out of the apartment.

Closing the door, Dominic turned to Mila. Her face hard, her body rigid, her eyes closed, she just stood there. He slowly crossed to her, eating up her personal space, and skimmed his fingertips down her throat. “Open your eyes, baby.”

He’d expected to see torment there. After all, the male who would have been her mate was acting like he had rights to her—rights he’d given up—and just wouldn’t back the fuck off and give her the space to truly heal. Because despite what she liked to think, she hadn’t truly healed. Not fully. And her cat had a long way to go before she’d feel at peace.

What Dominic hadn’t expected to see when she lifted those eyelids was her cat staring back at him. There was a warning there. The feline had been badly hurt, and she was letting him know that she’d tolerate no more of it. He wondered if, unlike Mila, the cat had sensed from his body language that he wanted “more,” and she wanted him to know that she’d be watching him closely. She wasn’t warning him to stay away, though, so he took that as a win.

His wolf strained against Dominic, wanting to get to the cat, wanting to reassure her. But the feline withdrew, and Mila’s blue eyes took him in.

“I thought you were supposed to be keeping your distance from me,” she said.

He slid his hand up her arm. “Tried it. Didn’t like it. Won’t be doing it again.” He nuzzled her neck, needing a lungful of her scent. It felt like weeks since he’d last been inside her. He wanted to bury his cock deep in her pussy, wanted to taste and touch and take her hard. But she was strung tighter than a bow. Needed comfort. Needed to forget what a shit evening she’d had so far.

Taking her hand, Dominic led her to the bathroom, where he slowly peeled off her clothes, keeping his touch light and easy.

“I already had a shower,” she told him.

“I haven’t, and I don’t want to take one alone.” He shed his own clothes and pulled her into the shower stall. The spray of hot water drummed at their skin and pattered the tiles and frosted-glass door. He soaped her body, working the fruity gel into a creamy lather, filling the humid air with the scent of grapefruit. Neither of them said a word. The only sounds were the drum of the water and the whirring of the fan.

Feeling the stress seep from her muscles, Mila closed her eyes. His cock, hard as a rock, dug into her lower stomach. But he didn’t make any moves on her. Aside from the occasional press of his lips to the corners of her mouth or the column of her throat, he didn’t even kiss her. His touch was soothing. Reverent. Calming. There was also something . . . claiming about it. Like, in skimming the pads of his fingers over every part of her, he was leaving some sort of mark on her. His mark.

But that couldn’t be right, she thought. Dominic wouldn’t go so far as to lay any kind of claim on her—no matter how temporary. He was just . . . comforting her. Exposing yet another side of himself. A sensitive side that would shelve his own anger and frustrations to concentrate solely on her.

After washing her hair, he rinsed them both off and used a soft towel to pat her skin while she used a smaller one to towel dry her hair as best she could. Only when he’d toweled himself off did he shepherd her into the bedroom.

Holding her close, he skimmed the tips of his fingers along her collarbone. “Feel better?”

Muscles deliciously loose, her cat much more relaxed, Mila nodded. “You’re good with those hands in more ways than one.”

Mouth curving, he buried his face in her neck and inhaled deeply. “Missed that scent. Missed you. And you missed me, didn’t you?”

She swallowed. “Maybe.”

He breezed his lips along her jaw. “Give me your throat.”

“Fuck, no.”

He smiled, having suspected already that she’d never submit so easily. “You need—” She yanked off his towel and fisted his cock tight; the pleasure of it made him hiss out a breath. He loved that boldness in her. Loved that she was unashamed of her sexuality and made her own demands.

Devouring her mouth, he thrust into her grip as she pumped him with that talented little hand. A hand that wouldn’t be stroking anyone else like that, he thought with a growl. There was something heady about that. About knowing that no other man could touch her.

Fuck, he was already close to coming, which meant he’d need to remove her hand from his cock before he exploded on her instead of in her. While the thought of his come on her skin held great appeal, he needed to be inside her tonight.

Curling his hand around hers, he peeled her skilled fingers away from his cock. “Not ready to come yet.” Crowding her with his body, he tipped her back onto the mattress but remained standing. “Stay.”

Her mouth thinned. “I’m not a dog.”

“No, you’re a very pretty kitty. My kitty.”

His? Mila snorted to herself, sure he didn’t mean it. He carefully peeled open her towel, like he was unwrapping a present. She drank him in, mouth drying up at all that hard muscle and restrained power. His gaze drifted over her. Hot. Territorial. No one had ever dared look at her that way. And it was more than just a little weird that her cat didn’t bristle.

Wary, Mila licked her lips. “Don’t be getting possessive, Dominic.”

Bending over her, he planted a fist on either side of her head. “It’s too late for that warning. And you know it.” He sucked a nipple into his mouth.

Inhaling sharply, Mila drove her fingers into his hair. He bit and licked and suckled like a master. That clever mouth ravished her nipples, making them throb with pleasure and pain. She pulled on his hair, trying to drag him onto the bed. Instead, his mouth trailed a blaze of fire down her stomach before he got to his knees at the foot of the bed and clamped his mouth around her pussy.

Mila’s eyes fell shut as he licked at her slit. Then he was rolling the tip of his tongue around her clit before expertly pumping it inside her. The friction built and built as she moaned, shook, and bucked. And then she exploded. He didn’t stop. He drove her hard and fast toward another orgasm . . . and then he stopped before she could come, the asshole.