CHAPTER 72: RECORD TIME

Chapter 72

Cameron

I don’t know what just happened—only that one second I was fine, and the next, a surge of anger and bone-deep possessiveness hit me so hard it stole my breath. My wolf was at the surface, teeth bared, claws ready.

If Lenora hadn’t touched me, grounding me with that small, steadying hand, I might’ve stepped forward and snapped his neck without a second thought. The image of it felt too easy, too natural—like breathing.

What the fuck was that?

Lenora guides me away from the noise, her touch steady on my arm until the crowd fades behind us. Only when it’s just the two of us do I feel my chest loosen, the heat in my blood ebbing enough to think clearly.

"Thank you," I murmur, my voice rough.

She steps closer, close enough for her scent to fill my lungs, and her fingers thread slowly through my hair. The simple contact is grounding, intoxicating.

"I don’t know what came over me," I admit, eyes locked on hers. "I didn’t like how close he was to you. It felt like a challenge—like he was disrespecting me."

"Well, since we’ve always been isolated—just us three with Dad in the cabin, and the only other real interaction being Ronan—I guess it slipped my mind to tell you," she says, almost sheepish.

Her words carry that casual tone she uses when she’s explaining something obvious, but her eyes stay on me, watchful.

"Wolves are extremely territorial," she continues, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"Yeah," I say, letting out a low huff, "I think I just found that out."

She smiles faintly, tilting her head. "Sorry, but I’m proud of you. Normally, newly mated wolves don’t show as much restraint as you did—it usually ends with broken bones or a full-on skirmish."

"It felt weird," I admit. "Like there was only one word in my head—mine. How dare he touch what’s mine."

She shrugs, unapologetic. "I am

yours. And it was an honest mistake—he should have known better."

"Are you not bothered by the whole mine part?" I ask. "It sounds a little... objectifying."

She hums thoughtfully. "Hmm... I suppose it does, if you look at it from a human perspective."

"What other perspective is there?" I scoff.

"Something you keep forgetting—you’re not human. I’m not human," she says, leaning in, her gaze steady. "I am yours—my heart, my soul, my body, my very existence. Of course you’re going to be mad. It’s like when a random pedestrian stands too close to your new shiny car. Bad example, but it’s the only one I can think of."

"Really? A car?" I say, smiling despite myself.

She smirks. "Remember when Ronan’s fancy new truck got brought home, and I accidentally stood too close, and he panicked and chased me away?"

I snort. "Seriously—him and that car."

"Exactly. It’s something like that—only a thousand times more because I’m your mate. And because you’re an alpha wolf, you’ve got double the normal wolf instincts. It’s not just possession—it’s protection. And it’s wired into every bone in your body."

"And," she murmurs, stepping closer, her warmth pressing into me as her hands slide around my waist.

Her eyes hold mine—steady, teasing, dangerous.

"I like it."

Her voice dips lower, deliberate, every word deliberate. "What do you think about tonight... when we’re alone... you use me like an object?"

There goes all the blood, rushing straight to my dick.

Very inconvenient.

I shoot her a glare, the kind meant to burn right through her smug little smirk, but she only laughs—light, maddening, knowing exactly what she’s done.

She takes a deliberate step back, hands behind her like she’s innocent, even as her eyes drop pointedly to the obvious strain in my shorts.

"Well," she says, her tone all false apology, "I didn’t mean to."

Liar.

She loves to rile me up, and she knows it.

I’m not just going to calm down on my own—that much I know.

My eyes scan the area. We’re tucked into an isolated stretch of the golf course, far enough from the main crowd, but still too public for what I really want to do. As much as I’d love to drag her behind a tree and deal with this properly, this isn’t White Stone. Here, the place crawls with staff, gardeners, and security cameras.

"Stand in front of me," I say, my voice low enough to make her blink.

Her brow arches. "Why?"

"I’m using you as a human shield," I murmur, stepping closer until she has no choice but to shift into place. "And you’re going to deal with what you just caused."

Her lips curve into a slow, knowing smile.

*

It was pure torture making it to the car park. Every step felt like a test of control—hers and mine. I had to keep my jaw tight, my hands to myself, and my expression neutral while my body screamed for anything but restraint.

The worst part? She knew. She walked half a step ahead of me, swaying just enough to make it impossible to think about anything else.

By the time we reached the car, my patience was hanging by a single fraying thread.

I yank the door open for her, and she slides in with that same maddeningly smug little smirk—the kind that says she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

I get in, slam the door behind me, and drop into the seat.

And, okay... I may or may not have bought a bigger car for this exact scenario. Leather seats, extra legroom, and some very deliberate custom modifications.

Lenora knows it too. She glances at me, then at the space between us, her lips twitching in amusement.

She sinks to the floor, settling between my legs like she’s done it a hundred times before. She has.

If we’re going to have car sex anyway, I figure—might as well make it comfortable.

I lean back in the seat, the bright afternoon light spilling in through the windshield, warm and golden, catching on the fine dust motes in the air.

One hand grips the edge of the seat for balance, the other slides into her hair—because I need something to hold onto before I lose the last shred of patience I have left. The faint, clean scent of cut grass mixes with her shampoo, and that warm, uniquely Lenora scent that always has my instincts snarling for more.

"I can’t believe you have me doing this," I mutter, my voice low and rough. "I’m not a damn teenager."

She glances up at me, her smile sharp and knowing, and starts sliding the zipper of my shorts down with deliberate slowness, like she’s unwrapping something expensive.

"I’d be offended," she says, voice almost a purr, "if I didn’t have that effect on you."

"And you abuse your power," I growl back—right before a low, helpless groan escapes me as her tongue drags from the base to the tip like I’m her personal lollipop.

"Do I?" Her lashes flutter up innocently, that mock-curious tilt to her head like she’s never done anything wrong in her life. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Right. Like it’s not her favorite pastime—Let’s make Cameron hard in the most inconvenient situationsimaginable. If there was a championship for it, she’d have more trophies than an Olympic gold medalist.

My hand tightens in her hair, a low growl rumbling in my chest.

"They’ll look for us soon," I warn, my voice rough. "Think you can make me cum in record time?"

"Is that a challenge?" she asks, raising an eyebrow, all mock-innocence and quiet confidence.

"Yeah," I grit out, my fingers curling tighter in her hair.

She gives me a smug grin, looking up at me from between my knees. Lenora on her knees is a sight to see—half sunlight and shadow, hair brushing against my thighs, eyes gleaming like she knows exactly how this is going to end.

Her hand holds my base, her lips close over the tip, and it never gets old. Almost—almost—as good as being inside her.

She knows my body better than I do, knows every weak point, every place to push until I break. I’m not going to last.

She starts slow, her tongue tracing deliberate, maddening patterns that make my vision blur. The air inside the car feels too thick—perfume, leather, and the faint clean scent of cut grass drifting in from the golf course. The sunlight slants through the windshield, catching on the curve of her cheek.

"Lenora..." My voice cracks when she takes more of me in, the snug pull of her mouth making my jaw clench hard.

She hums low in her throat like she’s pleased with herself, the vibration sparking a sharp, involuntary gasp from me. Her free hand slides to my hip, nails grazing lightly over my skin. Every scrape makes my muscles twitch, sends a shiver down my spine.

Her rhythm is merciless—her hand twisting in perfect counter to her mouth. My grip tightens in her hair before I can stop myself, my hips shifting forward, deeper, until the back of her throat swallows me whole.

How the hell does she always do this?

And then my undoing—my Achilles’ heel. Her tongue changes. It’s not human now—longer, rougher, hotter—dragging over every sensitive nerve with devastating precision. My eyes roll back, my head hits the seat, and a low growl tears out of my chest.

She knows exactly what she’s doing. She uses that tongue like a weapon, curling it under me, wrapping just enough to make me twitch and curse. I’m panting now, bracing one hand on the door, the other still tangled in her hair.

"Fuck—" The word is ragged, my voice breaking as the pleasure spikes sharp and white-hot.

She doesn’t slow. She doesn’t give me space to breathe. She takes me deeper instead, working me in quick, perfect pulls until my body locks tight and the release rips through me hard enough to make my vision stutter.

When I slump back against the seat, chest heaving, she swallows, pulling back slow, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.

Her grin is pure sin. "Record time," she says, smug as ever.