Warning: This chapter is very suggestive.

Chapter Fifteen

The Hunger

Chloe felt like she burning alive as she woke from a dead sleep with a jolt, sweat soaking her night clothes. Her skin felt like it would peel off as she clambered out of bed, pausing when she caught the glimpse of her reflection, taking in the red hue of her face, the dilated pupils, the way her chest heaved, before she continued on, heading for the kitchen downstairs.

The floor beneath her bare feet was cold and made her break out in gooseflesh; shivering, she rubbed her bare arms and reached the fridge. In the kitchen, everything had turned silvery-white as moonlight streamed in from the window above the sink.

She stretched on tip toe to grab a glass from the cabinet situated close to the pantry, wheeling back to get a little bit of ice from the fridge, and let out a gasp when she saw the figure lurking in the doorway. The glass slipped from her grasp, fell to the floor with a loud clatter that seemed to echo in the quiet of the house, and she trembled. Butterflies rose in her stomach. Her palms began to sweat.

Harsh green eyes accessed her quickly before their owner spoke, his voice low like thunder. It sent shudders down her back to hear that voice. "Why are you awake?"

She opened her mouth to speak but all that came out was a little whine. She clapped a hand over her lips, stumbling back. He was so very there, so very male, biceps and broad shoulders and she had no doubt if she sampled his skin, he would be salty. His skin looked smooth and silky stretched taut across his biceps.

"Chloe?"

She shook her head, trying to push away the swell of hungry, ardor-laden thoughts but when their eyes met, it was useless. Flashes of images of his hands on her body, dragging up her tiny tank top, his mouth on her neck, his voice growling her name, blinded her momentarily and when she came back to, he was knelt beside her.

"What's wrong?"

He touched her arm—a very bad, bad idea—and whatever sanity she had shattered. She closed the distance and plastered herself to him, feeling the heft of his weight against her, his hands catching her waist, right under her breasts, and it made her whimper. Her body felt like it was going explode if he didn't give her what she wanted.

She squirmed, struggling closer, grasping his hands to drag them to the bottom of her tank top.

He reared back, his nostrils flared as color flooded his face. "Oh," he said more so to himself than to her but she hardly could hear him over the roar of blood in her ears, "Chloe. Chloe. STOP!"

She froze as the anger in his voice soaked through her lust-muggy mind, banishing the rampant fantasies of limbs entangled and hungry kisses, and squeaked, yanking herself out of his grip. "Wh-what ha-happened?" she whispered, her voice low, hoarse, her throat feeling as though she'd swallowed sandpaper. Her skin prickled when he looked at her, red coloring his face underneath the patches of acne. She had done something very, very stupid, hadn't she?

"Once you unlock your element, most experience a rush of heat. Desire." The look he shot her flayed her open and she could feel that brimstone fire boiling to the surface again, making her duck her head in embarrassment. She could only imagine that she'd thrown herself at him like some sort of—A strangled, quick noise rose from the back of her throat.

"H-how do I-I sto-stop i-it?" she begged, even as his voice rolled over her not unlike a balm, seeping into her psyche and fanning the flames of hunger that were steadily climbing.

Derek shook his head, her eyes drawn to the way his hair shifted with the shakes. "You don't stop it; you simply endure. I suggest you lock yourself in your room for the next week."

"A WEEK?!" she shrieked. Dread settled into her bones at the harsh look he wore but that flame of desire was rapidly swamping her, making it very difficult to think. "A we-week? Wh-what a-abou-out my tr-tr-trai-ain-ning?"

He rolled his eyes and she had the itching urge to lean across the space between them and taste the skin of his throat. Shaking her head sharply to try and clear her head, she tried desperately to focus on what he was saying, not the shape of his raw, chapped lips, the little beads of perspiration clinging to the fine hair on his jaw, but it was a lost cause.

He stopped talking for a minute and every rational thought flew from her mind when he did so, those glittering, unfathomably green eyes meeting hers, and she was swept under the tidal wave of basic human instinct. She crossed the space on her hands and knees and situated herself in his lap.

"Chloe!" he said with a strangled grasp when she grasped at his shoulders, her nails raking across his skin, and she pressed her mouth to his, moaning at the warmth and taste. He was so warm against, his hands painful on her hips, squirming and wiggling, and it made her want him more.

The fire was in full effect now, burning her alive, singing away nerve endings and rational. All she could think was want, want, WANT. Oh how she burned and ached, trying to lock herself to him by tightening her knees into his hips, and his hands were on her back, pulling her tight, his mouth kissing her a little clusmily, and then, oh, they were moving, up off the floor, up the stairs.

One hand touched her buttocks, holding her in place as he pulled his mouth from hers with a wet smack. His eyes bore into hers as he walked down the hallway, and she tried very hard not to wiggle in his grasp, and he opened a door. Excitement raced through her veins alongside the fire of hunger.

He strode in without pause, laid her more gently than she would've thought, and she reached for him, desperate. He leaned down, giving her a long, slow kiss that made her even more frenzied, and when he stood back up, there was something different about his expression.

"This is for your own good."

Before she could clasp him to her again, he turned and walked away very quickly, closing the door. In the time it took her to get to her feet after grasping for her bearings, he'd locked the door, and she raged against the wood, kicking and punching, screaming, uncaring if she woke the entire house.

Derek listened to her rage and howl in her room, unable to push those hot, hungry kisses from his mind. His shoulders stung from where she'd scratched him and his lips burned pleasantly. He could only imagine her disgust if he had been a weaker man, bound by the desires of his own lust and the object of them warm and eager and willing in his arms, and took up on what she offering without hesitation. If he indulged her, she would be horrified and disgusted and he would be a pervert, a disgusting lecher to take advantages of her like that.

He, on no certain terms, made it very clear how he felt about her and that would not change because she was experiencing Heat.

Still some part of him wouldn't have minded and that part scared him.

"It's for the best," he muttered to his window, watching the moon for a moment before returning to his bed.