Checkmate

Squeeze

Damn.

I wanted to cover my neck immediately, but something told me that wouldn't help matters, that ship had sailed.

Damn, damn, damn.

I cursed myself for my carelessness.

While I'd all but forgotten the incident - which seemed like a dim memory in light of everything else that had happened since - the bruises had been too obvious to forget. I'd taken great pains  while dressing to ensure they were hidden, and not just because I didn't want any questions from people. I hadn't wanted him to see them.

Mate or not, I had had an inkling that he wouldn't react well.

And, judging by the hard stare burning into me, I had been right.

"Who?" He demanded again, still in that deep growl.

"It's nothing." I said, keeping my tone casual and calm.

"Nothing." His voice was low.

And then he was next to me.

He had moved so quickly I hadn't even seen him coming, and had my arm in his grip while he pulled the scarf from me with his other hand, in one swift motion, so that my throat was exposed fully.

He became still, eyes fixed on my throat.

The silence was thick, tense.

After a long pause, he lifted his gaze to mine.

I swallowed.

"Nothing?" He said softly, too softly. "Try again."

"It's not a lover, don't worry." I tried to laugh it off, but I knew I hadn't succeeded, it sounded forced even to my own ears.

He didn't even blink, just continued to pin me with his intent gaze. 

"I'm fine." I said, trying for calm and soothing this time. 

"I know you are. Who did it?" He asked quietly.

"Let it go." I said equally quietly. "It's not important." 

And that was the truth as far as I was concerned. It was a random incident, it was done and dusted, with no ill effects, and the bruises would fade. The less fuss the better. I didn't think anything could be achieved by telling him about it, so I wasn't planning on getting into it. He had to accept that.

He said nothing, lowering his gaze to my throat.

That's it. Enough staring at it.

I reached for the scarf, intending to wrap it around my neck again.

His hand clamped around my wrist, stopping me. 

I looked at him, but his eyes, still more green than ocean, were still on my throat. I was about to say something when he lowered his head, leaning slowly towards me. I stiffened.

And then I felt it.

The lightest touch of his lips at the base of my throat. 

Followed by another, further up. 

And another.

He was tracing my bruises with his mouth, I realised dimly, as my pulse began accelerating erratically. I could feel his lips moving gently over my skin, as soft as butterfly flutters. Slowly, with exquisite care, his mouth caressed the contours of my throat, stroking over the sensitive skin and gently easing my head back, giving him more access. 

I could feel every single touch, and not just on my throat. My whole body was alive with sensation, my matemark burning hot as he moved, his fresh scent invading my senses, his silky white-blonde hair brushing my chin with every touch, the feel of his breath warm on my skin and his hard body hovering mere inches from mine.