Progress

WILLOW

The cotton grazed my thighs, and before I knew it, my panties were pooled around my feet.

Connor’s hands moved down my sides, slow and sure. His mouth followed in a path of worship, kissing every scar. His lips brushed over the skin of my breasts to the warped flesh of those new burns just below my nipple.

“Here too?” he asked.

I nodded, my breath caught in my throat.

He kissed it, went to the next, and the next. It didn’t take long before I was buzzing, my whole body pulsing with need.

His hands curled around the backs of my thighs as his head neared my core, and he looked up. His eyes were once again pitch-black. “Still with me?” His voice was low, rough silk.

I nodded again. “Yes,” I said, barely more than a gasp.

He leaned forward, and instead of going for what I thought he would, what now throbbed, his lips found the inside of my thigh. Specifically, one of the deeper scars, long and thin, from a memory I’d buried.

“Even here?” He waited.

“Even there,” I said without hesitation. The way he’d been looking at me—so steady, so reverent, so patient—cracked something open that drove away all my insecurities.

His mouth pressed against it, followed it with his lips, his tongue, his breath. My knees shook. He moved to the other thigh. There was another mark there, smaller, almost hidden. He kissed it too.

I moaned.

Connor moved higher, closer to where I was pulsing and wet and so tightly wound I thought I might unravel before he even touched me.

He nuzzled my inner thigh with his cheek. His stubble scraped the sensitive skin, sending sparks up my spine. He inhaled deeply, his fingers digging into my legs. “I can smell your need.” His voice was lower than I’d ever heard. “Sweet and sharp. Rain and fire.”

A whimper escaped me—but maybe I’d said his name, maybe only made a sound. I didn’t know anymore.

His face tilted upward, his expression hungry and predatory. “Get on the bed and lie back.”

I didn’t argue. I climbed onto the mattress and lay down, trembling, and parted my legs.

Connor knelt between them and dragged his palms up my thighs. He didn’t go straight to my sex. Instead, he mouthed his way all the way back up, taking his time, to where I was desperate for him.

Lips brushed over places I didn’t even know were sensitive. He kissed the crease beside my center, so close it made me gasp.

Finally, his mouth found me. His tongue—hot, wet, perfect—traced me with a slow, devastating motion.

Loud and raw, I cried out, and his growl vibrated against me in response. I gripped the sheets, seeking a tether. Because I suddenly felt weightless, floating on a tide I didn’t know how to ride but didn’t want to end.

He licked in slow circles before changing direction. He sucked gently, then harder. He shifted his grip on my hips, anchoring me in place when I started to squirm.

My thighs tensed around his head, and I half sobbed his name. He responded by moaning into me, and the vibrations lit up every nerve ending in my body.

“Oh, fuck! Connor…don’t stop.” I wasn’t in control anymore. Not of my body. Not of the heat coiling inside me. Not of the storm he was building with his mouth.

My hips bucked, and he didn’t stop. He moved with me, matched every pulse, devoured me like I was the only thing he’d ever craved.

The pressure built fast, tight and terrifying. He sucked just right. Again.

And I shattered.

I screamed with my full body, no holding back, as pleasure tore through me in waves. I shook, twitched, and tried to wriggle away, but he held me until I had nothing left to give.

When he finally lifted his head, I was gone, ruined and remade. My skin no longer fit, too tight over something that had shifted inside.

“You okay?” he asked, pride in his expression—edging into cockiness.

Unable to speak, I simply whimpered my satisfaction.

He scooped me into his arms, lifting me with ease, and laid me out across the bed, his warmth surrounding me.

In a daze, I curled into him. Once my pulse returned to normal, I glanced up at him. “What the fuck was that?”

Connor chuckled. “That was an orgasm.”

“Well, wow.” I didn’t have any other words, so that would have to do.

He laughed but then froze as his eyes glazed over from a mind-link. His body went rigid. A blink later, and the world came rushing back in. He focused on me and said, “That was Josh.”

I sat up, my heart already flipping into fight mode. “What happened?”

Connor’s face brightened. “He found something.”

CONNOR

The hallway lights were too damn bright for how little sleep I’d had.

Willow walked beside me, barefoot and dressed in one of my shirts, but no one dared look at her twice. She was still flushed and glowing from her orgasm, and fuck me, it looked good on her.

My wolf was smug as hell, pacing under my skin like he’d just conquered a nation. And I could barely walk upright. Every part of me wanted to throw Josh’s laptop out the window and make her scream again—louder, until the whole damn pack knew.

To help dampen my raging libido, I forced myself to think of what Josh could’ve found. It took half the length of the pack house to stop the very obvious bulge in my pants from bulging so damn obviously.

Josh waited at the head of the table with three mugs of coffee in front of him. He looked up as we entered, his eyes bloodshot but sparkling with the kind of manic energy that only showed up after too much caffeine and not enough sleep.

He gestured toward two seats. I sat, but Willow leaned against the chair beside me. She crossed her arms and kept her wary and sharp eyes on Josh.

“Well?” I said. “You called me down here. What’ve you got?”

Josh turned the laptop toward us. On the screen was an overlapping web of logos, sigils, and what I guessed were corporate names. Some were in English, others in languages I didn’t recognize.

“Okay,” he said, tapping the keys, “so, I tracked down the mother company of the patch emblem. I had to go through various fronts—military contractors, pharmaceutical groups, even a tech company registered in the Caymans that doesn’t technically exist.”

“And they all connect back to the same source?” Willow asked.

Josh nodded. “Sort of. They’re all linked to a central holding company. Problem is, ~that~ company’s registered through a blind trust with a dead address.”

I frowned. “Dead how?”

“Post office box. Rerouted through two states, flagged as ‘corporate forwarding.’ Nothing fixed. No real building. No physical trail. Someone very rich and very private went through a lot of trouble to keep it that way.”

“So…that’s it?” I leaned forward, trying not to let my frustration bleed into my tone. “You called me down here for more smoke and mirrors?”

Josh’s smile sharpened, turned sly. “Nah. I just wanted to give you that bit first.” As I stared at him, he held the pause, let it stretch, then slid a piece of paper across the table. “I called you down here because I found the driver.”

“Wait,” Willow said, straightening, her arms uncrossing. “~The~ truck driver? My driver?”

Josh nodded. “The one and only. That hoodie was a great clue.”

~A name. An address. A starting point~. I glanced down at his scribbles, unblinking. “Is this verified?”

Josh shrugged. “As verified as it gets without getting the NSA on our asses. She’s quiet, but she’s still on the grid. Has a utilities account, renewed her driver’s license two months ago. Lives alone in a three-bedroom house.”

Willow snatched the paper from my hand. Her eyes ran over it once, twice, seemingly memorizing every line. But her expression broke. “She helped me,” she murmured. “She didn’t have to, but she drove all night without asking questions.”

“You think she’ll talk to us?”

“I do.” Willow nodded before chuckling. “She’s a tough lady. I can’t wait to thank her.” Her eyes welled, and I squeezed her hand.

Turning back to Josh, I gave him a single nod. “Gear up. Quiet team only.”

Josh grinned. “Time to get some answers.”