It was that same damn expression he’d favored her with after she had painted his portrait.
Catching his eye again, glancing away as she felt the color rise to her face, Claire heard the memory of her voice demanding that he fuck her, explaining in filthy detail the exact position she desired, how fast he was to move…
Shepherd enjoyed calling her coy in the past, and gods if she didn’t feel that way now.
There was no scolding on his end for her demure behavior in the aftermath, or how she tried to keep her distance and her eyes to herself since. Shepherd was simply patient, sitting with her as she ate, offering her a piece of chocolate every time he’d seen her since—as she’d belligerently vocalized a need for it.
When he did reach for her, a thing that was as inevitable as breathing, there were ages of purrs and long caresses until she was sedate and melting, even smiling softly as she arched and hummed. It was in those moments she would distantly recognize her fingers were tracing the marks she’d placed on his body, having memorized them; enjoying the feel of the slightly raised wounds.
He had just taken her again, employing the exact same position she had twisted him into that day, only having moved far more luxuriously so that she might feel it all with her legs folded between their shoulders, bent in half so that he could plunge in as deep as possible. When it was finished and she was tame, Claire lay on his chest, green eyes following the path of her hand as she asked, “How many weeks have I been back?”
A rumble deep in the sedated Alpha’s rib cage answered, “You have been back home with me for eight weeks.”
Home?
“This is not a home, Shepherd.” There was no rancor in her voice, just soft words as she stilled her fingers and woke a little from the stupor. “It’s a bunker underground in a city full of evil.”
A palm came to her cheek, pulling her attention from his flesh to see the hungry smile in his eyes. “That is correct, little one. Thólos is evil.”
The warmth of the cord deflated and her voice fell flat, “We both know it’s not that simple.”
He answered her with a long slow stroke down her naked spine. “That is not the reply you would have made six months ago.”
“Six months ago many good women I knew still lived; the city was not totally in shambles.” Her calm began to evaporate and sadness took its place. “Six months ago I had not met you.”
“And you were starving to death... hunted and tormented by your fellow citizens.”
“And blissfully ignorant of just how ugly the world could be.” Claire sighed, feeling his thumb pass softly over her cheek.
“Look at me, little one,” Shepherd ordered in a soft voice. When her gaze came back to his, her expression just a little challenging, he promised, “All that was done here, it will only inspire a better world.”
Fanning her hair over his chest, Claire pressed her ear to Shepherd’s heart. Tracing the muscles over his ribs, she sighed. “The very idea what you have done, what the people of Thólos have done, might improve the world, makes it a world I don’t want to live in.”
He hushed her and played with her hair, knowing that she meant every word. A moment later Shepherd’s great body shifted, pouring her off of him so that he might ease down above the pouting Omega. Pressing his scarred lips to where his son grew stronger daily, Shepherd inhaled. One large hand came to feel her there, to seek out signs of new life in the subtle swell of her skin.
Eyes almost dangerous, Shepherd spoke in a voice one uses on children, explaining to his baby, “Your mother is speaking nonsense.” The expression he leveled at her even as he traced patterns on her belly would wither grown men. “She thinks I do not know what is in her thoughts—that I have not recognized her avoidance of any mention of you, my son.” The palm of his hand closed over her little belly and he gripped it as if to reassure the life inside. “But I know she would never follow through on her plan. Claire O’Donnell would never harm her child nor would she suicide and abandon you like her mother abandoned her.”
The blood drained from her face, her heart seemed to drop out of her chest, and Claire gaped. He had exposed her; he had upended her lie.
Rearing up, looming his bulging mass over her, Shepherd held her guilty stare and stated harshly, “Because you love him.” Unsure if he moved out of compassion or if he was trying to draw out some type of confession, Shepherd moved back to where he had been and gathered her up so that she might rest on his chest again in her preferred position. “You would never hurt your son.”