Chapter 12 - Robyn

Time halted as I submerged myself into the world of Clifton Spears. Gone was his usual goofy demeanor, replaced by a fierce smolder that spoke of his growing desire. From my place on the ground, on my knees in front of him, I felt the very molecules in the air go still while he firmly cupped my chin in his right hand.

Here, perched in his palm, warm from my belly glowing with desire, I saw him for the man I knew him to be—a warrior, a leader, an Alpha .

Only a second passed without another move, and then it was a feverish sampling, a dive with his tongue that made my eyes roll back and my limbs melt. He pulled me forward by my chin alone, his lips firmly sealed over mine like it would be my last breath to him—like it would be our last breath together.

Molten heat flashed through my core as I bent to his will and met the warmth of his stony abs. Curly hair tickled my nose as I nuzzled into the flesh that I had been missing all these years. This was my weakness; both he and his extraordinary body built from tilling the fields and hardened into a shield that now guarded us from the truth outside these brick walls.

He released my lips and at once replaced his curious tongue with his thumb, depressing my tongue with the digit to retain my silence as he growled, "Don't think of anything else while you kiss me. Do you understand?"

My jaw slacked with the whimper that came without warning. The sound of it seemed to please him, prompting a wide smile from him and a praising chuckle. He sat back with a cool smolder that would have made me crumble had he not been holding me up by my chin.

As he parted his knees, his hazel-brown eyes slid south—to the cylindrical outline that pulsed with a stiff throb right in front of me. Saliva slicked the inner edge of my lip as I ran my tongue over my teeth.

I gazed up at him through heavy lashes. "Yes, Sir."

He squinted at me. "Show me you understand."

Instinct took over, a memory that lived inside my muscles as much as the blood and flesh did, as much as the very cells of my body. Everything relayed through my confident fingers a sincere touch that started at his inner thighs and roamed inward in long, sweet strokes. Each one sharpened his gaze, causing the corner of his mouth to twitch ever so slightly as I drew closer to his cock.

While he casually threaded his fingers behind his head, I resisted the urge to blink. I couldn't do anything to threaten the connection of our eyes. We were hooked hard enough to carve each other thin, to strip a much less capable shifter of any possible pride. This sturdy of a stare came from years of experimentation, trial and error, and trust.

At the hem of his boxers, he shifted his position, scooting into a reclined position on the chair. One slice from my nail removed the barrier in half a second, revealing his girthy cock curling up in a mushroomed point to his navel. The way the head flopped against his lower abdomen left a web of arousal that strung between the slit of his cock and stomach. It stole my focus, dropped my jaw, and made my mouth water on cue.

His hand slid to the back of my neck. "You lose."

My eyes snapped up. Shoot, I broke eye contact. "Loser comes last."

Mischief sparkled in his eyes as he leaned forward to stroke my cheek. "Can you handle that old game?"

"I can handle anything."

He stroked the length of his cock as he raked his lower lip through his teeth. Out of my peripheral vision, I watched him pump his length, slow and willful, the sensation making my slit ache as I hiked the ceremonial robe up. The moment my breasts were free, he cupped them gently, rubbing circles around my nipples as he propped his cock in my cleavage.

"That's it," he grumbled, "you remember just how I like it… That's a good girl…"

I bowed my head, keeping him in my sight as I stuck out my tongue. Every thrust inspired me to press my breasts together with my shoulders. We coated my flesh with his arousal and my saliva, the combination of which encouraged his pace to double. I savored the position, my lips soaked with fluid and my eyes watering as I fought the urge to blink.

No breaks. No daring glances. Him. Just him.

It felt like we had never parted ways. He fell right into his usual rhythm—three quick pumps and a beat of rest—as though three hours had passed since we last made love. I gripped his knees, digging my nails into the hard tendons underneath, all while remaining hypervigilant about eye contact. That was the game he and I had made ages ago.

His thrusts abruptly ceased as he caught my chin once more. He widened my mouth by hooking his thumbs into the corners, pulling the skin taut enough to make me squeak as he inserted his cock. With half his length submerged, he smiled, peeking into the space left between our bodies.

He shook his head and clicked his tongue three times. "Why aren't your hands behind your back?"

I dig my nails harder into his knees.

He hissed and shoved his cock into my throat, holding me by the back of my head as he sought to readjust my hands. In a flash of hot tears and a gagging fit that seemed to last for ages, he hooked my wrists behind my back and kept them pinned to the base of my spine as he used my mouth to his advantage.

Now, I had to break eye contact. There was no way I could contortion myself into the right shape just to keep his pupils blown out on me. But in many ways, this was better. This reduced me to a blob of sensory bliss, the kind that dealt with muffled grunts, gasping gags, and desperate humping. From the sting of him clutching a handful of my hair to the firmness of his cock racing over my tongue, I became nothing more than a servant to his desires.

Just when I felt like the humidity would get to me, he pulled my head back to grab my chin again, releasing my wrists and leaving them cold, limp, and useless. Where were they supposed to go now? He directed me by my chin, the startling appearance of light across his deadpan expression both frightening and wondrous. It sparked his eyes, the hazel in them truly coming to life in faint flashes like the metal inside a lightbulb.

He drew me to my feet, the sudden shift in height causing a wave of vertigo. But he grounded me into his lap shortly after and nestled his hard cock into the folds of my slit. I gasped as he manhandled the robe from my shoulders, exposing supple flesh ready for him to carve with his mouth, his fingers, his palms…

With each desperate hump, my arousal soaked his shaft, allowing him to coast uninhibited as I clutched him to my chest. He lapped my plump breasts, my swollen nipples, and nipped the tender flesh of my cleavage. He cupped my bottom and hugged me tight to him before sliding me away, charging our coupling with calculated surges.

"Please," I begged breathlessly as I drove my fingers through his thick hair, "fuck me, already. Fuck me, Cliff. I'm literally dying to feel you—"

He raised my hips and pierced me, sending a pressured shock through my center. I threw my head back as I clung to the back of his head, curving into the tender palms that cradled my spine. One hand smoothed between my shoulder blades as the other centered itself on my vertebrae, sliding south to the slit of my bottom. He lodged his fingers into my pocket, curling his middle finger over my rear entrance.

I shuddered in his arms, starved for an orgasm. My lips quivered as I trembled through my next insult, "Fuck you for making me lose."

His rough chuckle vibrated my left nipple. "You want to fuck me—?" He reclined, loosely hooking his thumbs into my hips. "Go ahead, Darling. Fuck me ."

Bashful heat bloomed on my cheeks and breasts. I hugged my shoulders lightly as I arched against him, rolling my hips through one tentative thrust, then through another, and then another. Soon, my hands were roaming my shoulders and lifting my hair, exposing my curvy form to the man I knew to be mine.

His fingers drew amorphous shapes along my torso. He followed the curve of my breasts to the concave space above my hips and then clutched my hip bones as he launched me into a bouncing rhythm. Uncontrollable whimpers escaped me as I gave him every inch of control. Unearthly sounds reverberated around us—slaps, slurps, sucks, and sighs—the culmination of which heightened my pleasure a thousand-fold.

His rapid thrusts had me bent to his will, and I bowed over him, pouring myself into each humping movement, grinding against him until I was nothing but a sweaty mass of limbs chasing after a fleeting high. Nothing could have broken my concentration then. Nothing could have broken me—except maybe him. Definitely him.

Because no one else could control me that way if they weren't my mate.

No other soul was capable of this.

I collapsed against Cliff as he grasped my shoulders and speared me. Hazy orbs of light filled my vision as he held me tight to his body. Sweat coated our skin, slicking our limbs, making it slippery as I slid off his lap and tried to stand. He caught my elbows and held me steady.

"Careful, Baby," he warned as he gasped for air. "You got doe legs right now."

Giggles bubbled from my center as I clung to him. "Ugh, worth it."

He chuckled as he guided me to the ground and then joined me, encasing me like a pretzel with his arms. "How long do you have?"

"They gave me an hour."

"And how long has it been?"

I breathed deeply. "I lost track."

"Fuck."

"Again?"

He tipped his head back and laughed. That wonderful sound made the eerie basement feel less dreadful. Reality was already setting back in. I didn't want to return to the waking world.

But I sure didn't want to be stuck in this waiting mode either.

After a few calming breaths, Cliff nudged me out of the cage and into the main part of the basement. He helped me dress myself and then fixed his clothes as well, leaving his shirt off. I had no complaints about that.

He pointed to a set of crates. "We should check these to see if there's any clues about the possessions down here."

"You think Moe keeps a diary?"

"You would know better than me."

I cocked my head to the right. "That's fair."

"You know what's not fair?"

"What?"

He grinned dreamily. "That sweet ass getting covered up."

"Cliff, now isn't the time."

"You weren't making that argument five minutes ago."

I pinched my lips together to hide my amused grin. "Alright, let's start snooping."

"After you, Princess."

"I don't know if I like that nickname."

He shrugged while undoing the twine around one of the crates closest to him. "Baby? Sugar? Darling?"

"Nope. Unoriginal."

"How about nerd ?"

I feigned a gasp. "How rude, Clifton Spears."

He chuckled as he pried the lid off the crate. Inside was a medley of straw and packaging that cradled a few giant tomes. Our laughter ceased as we became preoccupied with our discovery.

I lifted one of the books and popped it open. "Eh, sale logs."

"Pelts," Cliff specified, "…and the men who used to own the pelts."

I stared with a haunted feeling at the book in front of me. "Cliff, this book is huge."

"I know, kitten."

" Hell no ."

He took the tome from my hands and gently set it back in the crate. "Don't look at these books right now, Robyn. We'll honor those names when this is all said and done."

"Spoken like a true Alpha."

He paused for a second without meeting my gaze, his hands resting on the thickest book in the bunch. "I just want you to be happy without destroying an entire pack."

"Cliff, it's not your fault that Bill is possessed."

"No, but maybe if I had come back sooner—"

I grabbed his bicep. "If you had come back sooner, then this would have all happened faster, but it wouldn't have actually changed the outcome."

"I left you alone. I'm never making that mistake again."

My brows knotted together as I dug my nails into his muscle. "Then don't you dare die on me, Clifton Spears. Don't you dare go through with that fight."

He caressed my face. "What's gotten into you? I thought it was the only way."

"I just…I think…I want …" I couldn't form a sentence to save my life. "Cliff, I have something I need to tell you."

"What's going on, pumpkin?"

I wanted to laugh at the attempted new nickname, but I just couldn't summon the spirit. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair . "I'm so sorry. I should have told you sooner."

He grabbed my hand. "What is it, Robyn?"

"Sydney, she—"

"What's wrong with Sydney?"

I stared into his terrified eyes, the ones so round that they could have mistaken for volleyballs painted hazel brown. I held his elbows, hanging onto him for dear life while trying to be brave.

"Nothing's wrong," I said stiffly. "She's just…She's your daughter, Cliff."

His grip lightened. "I…I have…"

"A daughter, yes. You have a daughter." I felt him tilt back and caught him before he could land on one of the crates. "Look at me—Breathe—"

"I have a daughter."

I nodded. "It happened the last time you were here. I should have called you, but I heard you hooked up with a group of girls down in D.C. and then I never forgave you for that rumor, and then I got mad, and then—"

He cupped my face firmly. "I have a daughter ."

"You have a daughter."

He slumped to the ground and took me with him, cradling me in his lap like he was about to start rocking me like a baby. He was quiet for a long time, stiff from clinging to me. I tried to move, but he wouldn't let me. He lifted his head to speak a few times without saying a word, his expression warping for a moment before going blank again.

Eventually, he scooted back and held me by my shoulders at arm's length. "You're sure I'm the father?"

"Cliff, in the years you visited, I never once saw anybody else."

"Not once?"

I shook my head. "Not one time. You're the only man I slept with."

"I honestly feel like a total ass now that I know that. I'm just going to apologize for that right off the bat."

I laughed. "It's not your fault. You didn't know."

"I never asked."

"I never told you."

He squeezed my shoulders. "Robyn, I don't blame you for not calling me. I was just a dumb kid who didn't know anything about responsibility."

"I know."

"You didn't have to agree with me."

I smiled weakly. "You didn't have to stay and challenge the Alpha."

"Oh, I beg to differ."

"You better get to begging then."

He took my chin with a playful firmness I recognized. "No, you ought to get to begging—for my forgiveness. You kept the truth from me, Robyn. You left me out."

I crushed my eyelids closed, squeezing out several tears that had been waiting to fall for a while now. I shoved my face into his chest and tried to breathe, to think, and to get a hold of my emotions. Everything we should have done years ago was being crammed into the smallest amount of time possible. This was a lot to swallow—and at the same time, it was long overdue.

Maybe I didn't need to try to control the outcome anymore.

I hugged him loosely. "I'm sorry, Cliff. I'm so sorry. You better not do that fight in the morning, or else Sydney won't have a father."

"You better save your tears for Bill. I'm not backing down from that fight now that I know I have family here."

My head shot up.

"That's right. I'm not leaving," he assured, "and I'm not leaving you two high and dry. Nobody is getting left behind here." He stood up, wiped his face, and hauled me to my feet. "Now, get to digging, Robyn. We have a pack—and a daughter—to save."

Energy renewed, we dove back into the crates, pulling out pottery, glassware, and maps, among other things. Within another ten minutes, we located a leather-bound book with runes scribbled over the cover. Without my phone, I couldn't take pictures and look up the symbols on the internet.

I squinted at the etchings. "My guess is protection."

"They're not very well done. It's like kid magic or something."

"How would you know?"

He grinned. "Because my sister is a witch." He scratched his head. "Actually, she would know this better than anybody. Let me send her a picture."

When he pulled out his phone, he growled at the screen.

"No bars." He put his phone away. "I guess we'll see what's inside."

He unwound the leather string from the binding and popped open the cover, revealing illegible scribbles done in black ink. So many of the words had been scrawled faster than the ink was allowed to dry, smudging much of the lettering. I could barely read anything. Even Cliff was confounded by the finding.

After several pages, we landed on some sketches—and these were much easier to discern. Because they looked a lot like Moe, Larry, and Curly. Bill had a sketch in there as well, with multiple symbols pointing to various parts of his body. Though the letters were printed legibly, they were in another language.

One bold word at the bottom right corner caught my eye.

I frowned at it. " Sostreth ."

A cold breeze slithered over the back of my neck. I yelped as I slapped the area, flipping around to check the basement. Footsteps rattled above our heads. They were heading to the basement door.

I turned to Cliff. "We don't have much time. Give me the book."

"Let me read a few more pages."

I swatted his hands and snatched the book away. "Get back in the cage—quick!"

Heart racing, skin flushing, I fumbled with the lock, struggling to put it back in its place as Moe came thundering down the stairs. Somehow, I managed to fit the lock in place and tuck the journal under my robe. I knelt next to the cage with my hands in my lap, glaring at Moe, who strolled up to us.

He hiked a thumb over his shoulder. "Time's up, Princess."

With genuine reluctance, I rose from the ground and waved tentatively to Cliff. He wore a faint grin, one that spoke of his plans.

I just hoped he knew what he was doing.