FORTY

Billie

CLIMBING INTO THE back seat of Jax's car, I make sure to keep my hand holding the Styrofoam cup and flimsy plastic lid steady. Elder Ralph was able to procure the cup and its contents for me after the funeral service. We're on our way out of here, but there's one more stop I'd like to make before we go home. I talked about it with Jax and Ethan when Xander was learning how to operate the excavator, and they've agreed that if Xander wants to, they will do their part to make sure we're safe and alone. But we can't push him. I'm a little unsure, well aware that I might be overstepping. At the same time, my gut is telling me to surge ahead.

Once the doors close, I nervously inch closer to Xander and turn my face to his body. With my eyes on his chest, I tug on my ear and weakly mutter, "So, Xander?"

He adjusts his position to drape one arm around my shoulders while his other arm reaches across to take hold of the side of my face in large rough hand. With a brush of his thumb over my cheek, he guides my face up so I have no choice but to look into his eyes. Those unique, gorgeous ice-blue eyes with my blue-gray ring are boring into mine with far too much concern. "Yes, Wilhelmina?" he says.

I swallow. "Remember what I said, the... um... order of things? Dead, buried. . ." I pause, hoping that he'll remember.

Letting go of my chin, his eyelids shutter closed, and his head bows forward. "Dead. Buried. Dancing. Worm food. Done," he replies in a low voice.

Slipping my hand over his shoulder, I weave my fingers through the ends of his hair at the back of his neck and softly hum my affirmation. "Exactly. So, I was thinking we could complete the list... since the first two are already crossed off."

He turns his head to face me, my hand that was in his hair now cupping his sharp jawline. He leans into my palm. His wide eyes trail from my face down my body, all the way to my hand and the cup I'm holding, and then back up. His lips curve into a lopsided grin, and he chuffs a low laugh. "Shit, you've got worms in that cup, don't you?"

"Yup," I confirm with a titter. "I wanted to make sure there were some to get it started."

Ethan's raspy chuckle is joined by Jax's gasping laughter as he asks. "Fuck, Billie, did you have one of our elders leave a funeral to pick up worms for you today?"

Hitching a shoulder I reply, "I asked nicely." They both laugh harder. I bring my gaze back to Xander, my hand still holding and caressing the side of his face. "You don't have to. I just wanted the option to be available, if you were open to it."

Ethan half turns in his seat, gazing between the both of us he adds, "She talked to us, Xander. I'll shift and run the perimeter. Jax will park and block the pathway with his vehicle, keeping lookout from the gate to the plot. But no pressure—I just wanted you to know that we've got you."

Xander kisses my hand, then shakes his head and smiles. "Fuck it, let's do this." The three of us cheer, and I hug him with one arm, keeping the worms safe in their cup.

* * *

It was just after six by the time we reached the graveyard, the sun's last rays having disappeared over the horizon—Mid-October in the Northeast. Ethan's already shifted, and Jax is walking down toward the entrance from his parked car. This is mostly a pack graveyard, but there are still some human gravesites. There's no security or cameras because pack members visiting their loved ones come in both forms, and wolves do not exist in the wilds of New Hampshire.

Xander and I are strolling hand in hand, like we have all day, up the small hill to his father's grave. They've filled it in and topped it off with sand and gravel. I place the cup of worms at the foot of the site and hobble across it, my feet just about done with wearing heels for a while. Getting my phone out, I scroll through Spotify and cue up the only song I could think to pair with dancing on a gravesite: Blue ?yster Cult's, " Don't Fear the Reaper ." Setting the volume low and the song on repeat, I press play and place my phone at the base of the tombstone. Turning around, I reach my hand out to Xander with a confidence that would imply I've done this type of thing before. I haven't, but I know that for Xander, I need to embody that confidence. Hell, this was my idea, and it feels right, like we're supposed to be here this evening, listening to this trippy-ass, spooky song, while dancing on his asshole of a father's grave. So, I may have never done this before, but one thing I've got confidence in is following my gut intuition.

He hasn't put his tie or jacket back on, and his sleeves are still rolled up from the double-blind touch experiment. His shirt is halfway unbuttoned, allowing a glimpse of the rapid rise and fall of his chest heaving in the twilight. He takes hold of my hand, and I feel trembles running through his body down his hand and up my arm. I give him a slight tug and pull him on to our dance floor.

Once his feet meet the gravel, the air around us changes. The previous look of wariness in his eyes is quickly replaced with one of smooth seduction. In one fluid movement, he squats down and sweeps me up in one arm. While spinning us around, his free hand works to untie the shreds that are left of the satin belt of my tuxedo-wrap jacket. His chest rumbles, and his tongue glides up my neck. Goosebumps plume over my skin, and my head falls back in willful submission, wanting more. His rough hand slips under my jacket and skates over my shoulder, pushing the material off one arm. He releases me to my feet, then with a move worthy of Magic Mike, he holds the sleeve of my jacket in one hand and twirls me free of the material completely, leaving me in the spaghetti-strap triangle top.

Drawn back to his body, my arms slip under his loose shirt and around his waist, while his hands hold me at my hip and nape. And we dance. I let myself become plaint, following his lead because one thing is clear, Xander can dance. We twirl and spin with one another, and our legs twine. Splaying his palm across my midback, he dips me over his bent leg, and my arms release above my head, arching my spine and opening my chest for him. My heart for him.

With the moon rising, the air chills and my nipples harden under the thin silk-like fabric of my top. His callused fingers trail down my chest from collarbone to sternum, heating my skin with his touch. My chest thrums with the beckoning beat of my heart.

His fingers pull the flimsy material to the side, exposing my bare breast to the night air, and my pulsing heart skids to a stop. He seals his wet lips around my peak. Growling, he inhales and sucks as much of my tender flesh into his hot mouth as he can, my spine seemingly curving from the force. He frees my other breast, and his fingers skillfully pluck and twist my nipple. Heated desire pools at my core, and blood rushes to my head, bringing on a wave of dizziness that has me grasping at his biceps. I pull myself closer to him, pressing my core against his firm thigh. My pussy flutters from the contact, and I begin to rock and grind my hips against his thick muscles.

He groans around my flesh, and his teeth rake over my nipple before swinging me back up. My vision spins, and I have only a moment to see the glow in his eyes before his lips take mine—lips that are quickly followed by teeth and tongue. I open up for him, finding my own strength and pleasure in choosing to submit to Xander. To my alpha. His soft tongue plunges into my mouth as he forces his wolf's growls down my throat. I swallow them all. His teeth scrape across my lips, and a sharp pinch of pleasurable pain slices through me. His body quakes, and his mouth sucks and laps up my blood with ravenous need. The sharp zip of my zipper pierces the quiet around us while Xander guides me backward toward his father's headstone.