Chapter Thirteen
Hollis rolled the shirtsleeves of his white oxford to his elbows. He was tired. And pissed. He’d expected to eat at the hotel and work things out with Ellen. They needed to talk, to be rational, and to not let their emotions get in the way.
Instead, he’d walked into his suite to find a note from Mal telling him where they were.
What he had to say was for Ellen alone…without audiences or Mal’s I-told-you-so grin. He’d spent the afternoon reconciling trial data and developing a testing strategy going forward. But he’d been too distracted to trust himself, so he rechecked his work and then handed it off to Kim for a final review. If he hadn’t trusted his team, this would be harder. As it was, he gave up and left it in their capable hands. If they needed him, they’d call.
What mattered now was this. Ellen. He didn’t know what came next or how the fuck it would play out, but he couldn’t let her go. Period.
If she needed Cyrus’s head on a fucking platter, he’d figure it out. But right now, Cyrus, the Others, the pack, and the cure could all wait.
He moved through the lobby and out the back doors to the courtyard. Music greeted him. Music, people, and the smell of beer. This was the last thing he wanted right now. Pushing through the crowd, he spied Mal and Olivia at a far table. They leaned close, heads together, smiling and whispering.
He frowned, sweeping the crowd for Ellen.
It would be all too easy to slip away from a place like this. God knows Olivia and Mal weren’t paying any attention to anything but each other. He stalked across the courtyard and scowled down at Mal.
“Where is she?” he snapped. “If you’ve lost her, Finn will lose it.”
Mal sat back in his chair. “Finn will lose it?” He shook his head.
“I’m not playing with you, Mal.” He’d never wanted to punch his friend before. But now, it took everything he had to hold back.
“She’s fine,” Olivia sounded off. “She’s dancing.” She pointed.
Hollis spun, searching the crowd.
Ellen was in a dress. Her graceful limbs swaying to the beat of the music. Eyes closed, head back, she was lost. Beautiful. So fucking beautiful he ached. But when the son of a bitch dancing behind her put his hands on her hips, Hollis saw red.
“Easy,” Mal whispered. “She’s just dancing.”
The words were barely audible, muffled beneath the roar of his blood. The roar of something raw and angry and primal.
“Jesus, Hollis.” Mal stood, his hand clamping on his shoulder. “Keep it together. No scenes.”
Hollis knocked Mal’s hand from his shoulder and headed straight for her. If the man didn’t stop touching her soon, he didn’t know what would happen.
“Dude,” the man said. “We’re dancing.”
Hollis didn’t bother looking at the man. He stared at Ellen, his control slipping away. Words rose up and lodged in his throat. Angry words. Pleading words. But nothing was enough—nothing was right.
Ellen’s eyes popped open wide as she stared at him. “Hollis?”
“She can dance with you next,” the asshole with his hand still on Ellen’s hip mouthed off.
Hollis didn’t try to hide his rage, it was impossible. All he could do was stare at the man and imagine how easy it would be to rip his arm off…and remove his hand from Ellen. A low growl came from the back of his throat. She was his.
The man stepped back, no longer touching her.
Her eyes locked with his, then fell to his mouth, a hard shudder racking her body.
Hollis grabbed her hand and tugged her behind him. Through the crowd, past the lobby, and into the nearly full elevator. She stared up at him, flushed cheeks and breathing hard, her hands gripping his shirt.
He stooped, running his nose along her neck. Her scent, arousal and sweat, made him groan against her throat. Her hand slid up, grasped his neck, and pulled his head to hers.
It was a soft kiss, clinging just long enough to snip one of the few remaining threads of his control. He ignored the cleared throats and whispers of the others in the elevator. Her fingers twined in his hair, tugging until his gaze met hers. Her hunger gripped him by the throat and made breathing impossible.
They reached their floor and she slipped out first, smiling at him over her shoulder. He followed, struggling not to chase after her. Instead he took his time, studying the sweep of her ass in that tiny, little green dress. Long legs. An almost bare back. And the strap of a black lace bra.
She leaned against the doorframe, waiting as he fumbled with the key card in the slot. Her hand covered his, taking the card and placing his hand against her stomach. She lingered, waiting for him to move into her before opening the door—putting space between them again.
The door shut behind them, sealing them in his suite—in silence. He stared at her, listening to the rapid thrum of her heart and the quiver of her breath. She was his. There was no doubt or hesitation. It was a fact. As natural as breathing.
He walked down the hall, unbuttoning his shirt and then tugging it from the waistband of his pants. She followed, watching him, staring at his chest, as he carefully closed the bedroom door.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands fisting in the comforter. All fire and anticipation.
He stared at her, struck by how incredible she was. Woman, undeniably. Fierce and sexy as hell. And his. He closed the distance between them, running his fingers up the column of her throat and along the curve of her cheek. She stared up at him, breathing heavy, but not touching him. When his thumb swept across her lower lip, she sucked the tip into her mouth—and something inside flared and caught fire.
He bore her back onto the bed, impatient to touch every inch of her. The muscle of her calves, the bend of her knee, and the silk of her thighs. Her breathing hitched as his fingers slid higher, tracing the lacy edge of her panties. Still, she didn’t look away. He didn’t want her to.
He edged the lace aside and traced the seam of her body with hungry fingers. Her legs parted and she reached out for him.
She wanted him. Ached for him. The way he ached for her.
His thumb flicked her tight nub once, twice, eliciting the sweetest moan from her lips. He slid one finger inside of her, soaking in her every reaction. The feel of her clamping down on his finger, the shudder in her thighs, the glazed passion in her eyes. She gripped his arm, holding his hand between her legs, and stared up at him, panting.
“Dammit,” he ground out.
One tug tore her panties free. His hands slid the fabric of her dress up, revealing her abdomen and the prize between her legs. Scars crisscrossed every inch of her. Faint, flat, white, so many. Where had he been when this happened to her? Why hadn’t he been there, to protect her? He’d kill Cyrus for this—no matter what. Ownership rose up.
She was his now. And no one would ever lay a hand on her again.
Ever.
His hand stroked across her stomach and up her side. Sensation was all that mattered. And pleasure. Her pleasure. Whatever her past, her future was his. He’d make damn sure he’d put her first. Starting now.
He kissed along the blade of her hip, ran his nose along the crease of her thigh, and replaced his thumb with his tongue. Honey on his tongue, wet and ready for him. Teeth and lips and mouth, he worshipped her until her hands fisted in his hair and her cry echoed off the walls of his hotel room.
He stood, staring down at the image she made.
Dress tossed around her waist, naked and exposed, and sexy as hell. He traced a hand along her abdomen, gratified by the shudder his touch caused.
She rolled over, reaching up for the tab of her zipper.
He bent, pressing openmouthed kisses to her bare back as he slowly pulled her zipper down. His hands stroked the swell of her ass, the muscles of her thighs. Lips, then tongue, traced the valley between her shoulders and nuzzled the nape of her neck. The taste of sweat, salt, and Ellen had his dick pulsing against the seam of his pants.
She turned, reaching back to grip his neck. He freed her bra strap, his hands cupping her breasts from behind.
“Fuck.” He growled, the feel of her in his hands too much. He bit her shoulder, pressing his straining erection against the curve of her soft ass. She was naked. His pants were definitely in the way. But letting go of her held no appeal.
She rolled over and pushed him back onto the bed. His pants were gone in a matter of minutes. And Ellen was smiling down at him. She put his hands on her breasts, rolling the tips between her own fingers until he was groaning.
Her hand encircled his aching erection, her fingers tracing the length of him, pulling a broken moan from his chest. Every stroke had him stiffening, arching into her hand. And when her lips sucked the head of his throbbing dick into the heat of her mouth, Hollis roared. She smiled up at him, her hands and mouth leading him too close to his own release.
“Ellen,” he whispered, reaching for her.
She straddled him, her fingers offering one last stroke before she slid, ever so slowly, onto his rock-hard dick.
His hands tightened on her, kneading the soft skin of her breasts as he was enveloped deep inside of her. So tight, so hot, gloving him to the root.
She stilled then, balancing herself with one hand on his chest. She moaned, then whispered his name, broken and frantic and desperate.
He stroked the hair from her face so he could watch her. To see everything.
Their gazes locked, her breath hitched, and a powerful shudder racked her body—and his.
“Ellen,” he whispered, pressing his hand against her cheek.
She rocked gently, her eyes closing when he was buried deep.
The words tore from him before he knew what he was saying. “Say it.” He growled, his fingers biting into her hips.
She stared down at him, her eyes blazing into his. “I’m yours.” Her nails scoured along his chest. “And you are mine.”
He thrust up, his hands holding her tightly against him. He loved the groan she made, loved the way she arched forward so he could suck her nipple into his mouth, loved the way her body tightened around him—hungry for him.
Mine. He didn’t say it, but she knew.
She moved then, thrusting slowly, deeply, seating herself on him again and again.
His hands slid along her sides, cupping her breasts, working her nipples, before gripping her hips once more. He was driven, grinding her against him, binding her close—them close. He wanted her to fall apart, to scream his name. He needed it, now. He reached between them, one finger stroking and working her over until she cried out. Rough and raw, her nails bit into his chest and sent his release crashing into him. He came hard, powering into her, arching stiffly until the spasms began to fade.
She fell to his side, gasping.
He pulled her against him, the newness of their connection demanding no space between them. She didn’t argue. Her head rested on his chest, her fingers stroking along his collarbone as she lay, soft and pliant, against him. He lay still, his heart thundering and his mind spinning.
This was not what he’d expected. The hunger was stronger now. So was the connection. He knew, without doubt, that she was irrevocably tied to him now. It was undeniable. And disconcerting as hell.
Focus. Calm. The beat of his heart echoed hers.
Their breathing synced.
The air grew charged—almost kinetic.
Her hand ran over his chest, her nails toying with the sparse hair that covered his chest and raking his nipple.
His hand captured hers, instantly hard by her touch.
Those bewitching eyes of hers met his, on fire—for him. How could she do that? Turn him on with a look.
He lifted his head and kissed her, hoping to shut down his brain before the reality of what had happened sank in. There was no going back. For either of them. Overthinking it, rationalizing it, arguing about it, wouldn’t change a thing. There was no denying it.
This proud, warrior woman was now his mate. For all time. A tidal wave of thoughts, emotions, and feelings crashed into him, but one thing stood out: for the first time—maybe ever—he felt whole.
And strong.
The look on her face made him fearless in a way he’d never known. Fearless. Strong. Predatory. She did that to him. Her wolf did that to him. Whatever shit came their way—they’d handle it. Together.
With a sigh, she melted against him, resting her head on his chest and threading her fingers with his. He closed his eyes, savoring the touch—this new, fragile intimacy.
Images began to seep in, the sort of images that threatened the newfound warmth he’d found in her arms. Vibrant and sharp, snippets of conversations, scents, and sensations.
The bond was sealed in several ways. Mating—something they’d repeat shortly. Sharing memories—life changing, important—those that formed who they were and shaped their wolves. Finally, a shared mark. Ellen was a born wolf, she had no origination bite. The twinge of regret that stirred was quickly snuffed out when he realized she would bear his. One more scar. One more wound. His fault this time. Would she mind?
The room, the bed, and the world around them faded and he was living her memories. The more he saw, the closer he came to falling apart. He’d understood the concept, but this—the reality of what that meant—fuck no. His heart was ripped open. There was no way to stop it, to buffer the brutality or make it easier to bear. There were no words to express the grief and suffering.
She had a baby. A daughter. Ellen’s whole world. Isabel. He felt her in his arms, knew her scent, and fought to keep her from Byron. He couldn’t of course. These were memories. And Ellen’s screams, when the lifeless body was returned to her, broke something inside of him.
Her mate. William. Strong. A warrior. A proud man. Easily baited into a fight. He’d refused to beg for her, refused to beg for Isabel. She’d been forced to watch as he’d been tortured, skinned as a wolf, and had his head chopped off. His hide still hung on Cyrus’s wall, baiting Ellen. Reminding her of William’s last words, “Avenge me. Avenge our daughter.”
He’d left her to bear that? Left her alone to face the monsters?
“Jesus Christ,” he ground out, on sensory overload. He was there, trapped inside, drowning in the shitstorm of Ellen’s past.
It kept going. The feel of a bite. The slice of a blade. Beatings. Being used by the pack. Byron. Cyrus.
So much Cyrus. He treated her differently? Why? Biting her—covered in her blood—drinking it? His fucking smile… Rage kicked in. His rage. Hers. Her need for revenge was almost secondary to death. Almost. Death would be giving up. And she was a fighter.
Now he knew where her scars came from. He’d never fucking forget. No matter how badly he wanted to.
Cyrus. That smile. Motherfucker.
Fury consumed him. He stared blindly at the ceiling overhead, fighting back nausea and hate. Lungs aching, fighting for air, fighting against the pressure on his chest. Heart twisting sharply, clamping down so tight he saw stars. Skin tingling, tightening, stretching until he knew it would split. The snap of bones. The tearing of muscle. His body seized. Twisting, snapping, and forcing a groan from deep inside.
…
She lay, sprawled across his chest, fulfilled and sleepy. Her wolf had chosen well.
When bits and pieces of Hollis’s life reached her, she welcomed them, getting lost in what she assumed it meant to be a human. The images swept her away. His life had been so different from hers—not necessarily easier, just different. He’d had parents who adored him, but that hadn’t made the bullying he’d endured any easier. Or eased the pain he still felt at losing his big brother, Sean, when his helicopter was shot down in Afghanistan. It had hit Hollis hard, prompting him to take a midterm trip with Finn and a few college buddies. That trip changed their lives forever—that trip was when Finn found the bone.
The attack, through Hollis’s eyes, was horrific. Finn was his best friend, the only person who’d accepted Hollis just as he was. To be attacked by him, to see Finn crazed, shifting, hunting down his friends through Hollis’s eyes was nightmarish. Horrible.
“Hollis?” Ellen whispered, tilting back to see him, needing to offer whatever comfort she could.
One look told her he was gone. His body was here, but his mind not. Clouded eyes, clenched jaw, harsh breathing. Something was wrong. His muscles began to spasm. Neck taut, corded, and strained. Head pressed back and jaw locked tight. Very wrong. Even his breath irregular and harsh. “Hollis,” she pleaded, shaking him.
Her palms rested on his chest, invading his mind for answers. What was happening to him?
What she saw… No. No. He knew. The realization slammed into her, enraging her—and stealing the calm of their mating. He knew. Her secrets. Her shame. Her past would haunt him forever. Nothing she did or said could erase it from his mind. A chill stole over her as his hands slid from her, grabbing fistfuls of the comforter as his body seized, the muscles clenching and tightening.
Whatever they’d shared was tainted now. Her wolf slunk away, curling in on herself and leaving her to cope on her own.
“Fuck you, too.” She growled, sliding from the bed. “He needs us. Stop being a coward.”
A strangled sound tore from his throat. The change? Even if it was natural for their kind, could he survive it? There was nothing natural about the odd jut of his chin or how his eyes rolled back in his head.
“Hollis.” She ran a hand over his chest, refusing to give in to the panic of her wolf.
The rasp of his breath was thick, choked. Dammit. The muscles of his chest continued to tense and roll beneath her touch.
“Listen to me.” Her voice was steady. Her shame, memories, and past didn’t matter now. Not now. Only he did. His heart shuddered. Irregular. Rapid pulse—too rapid.
“It’s not real. None of it is real.” she spoke softly. “Can you hear me?”
His head turned toward her, but his body wasn’t responding.
“Breathe.” Softer. Almost a whisper. Tearing his hand free from the comforter, she pressed his hand against her chest. “My heart.” She leaned closer, running her nose along his temple. “My scent.” Her eyes were burning as she kissed his lips. “You’re here. Safe. With me.”
A ragged breath in. Deep. Then out. In.
His eyelids fluttered and then his body slumped against the mattress.
“Good,” she murmured, squeezing his hand. “Slow. Be easy.” She perched on the edge of the bed, hoping. It took time but, slowly, the hammering pulse in his throat grew steadier.
His hand clasped her wrist. Tightly.
“I’m here.” Startled by the ferocity of his grip and freaking the fuck out, but there.
How did this work? This connection was unlike anything she’d had with William. They’d never shared memories—that she remembered. Could he read her now that they were mated? Was it based on touch? If so, it would be best for him not to touch her. Not when her wolf was frantic, pacing, whimpering—fearful of losing him. He needed strength, not cowardice.
Not that she was feeling strong at the moment.
His gaze cleared, fixing on her, but his breathing remained unsteady. And the weight of his gaze was crushing.
She eased her hand from his hold and stood, at a loss for what came next.
The longer he lay there, staring at her, the more anxious she became. While his breathing steadied and his pulse returned to a non life-threatening rate, she was fighting the urge to run. Far, far away.
“I’m sorry.” The words were raw.
Sorry? She stiffened, glancing at him before pacing to the balcony. “I do not want your pity.” Her voice cracked, exposing the chasm of grief she grappled with daily.
Silence stretched on, making her shift from foot to foot. He was watching her, she could feel it. But she couldn’t face him—not yet. Not unless she wanted him to see just how pitiful she truly was.
“Ellen.” He growled.
Stand tall. Arms crossed. Chin up.
“Ellen.” Firmer. Commanding. Oddly desperate.
It was a mistake, but she faced him anyway. The warring anger, sadness, frustration, and confusion lining his face didn’t help. Deep inside he fought a new battle—because of her. The muscle in his cheek jumped as he reached for her. “Come here.” It wasn’t a request.
Her wolf perked up instantly, refusing to deny him. Still, standing by the bed, she hesitated.
She waited. What he’d experienced was similar to her reading—only he’d experienced things no one should go through. All at once, with no warning, it was no wonder he’d reacted so strongly.
Fear rolled over her. If she and William could choose to become mates, could Hollis choose to end their bond? Would she blame him if he did? How could he stay with her now?
“I….” The muscles of his throat worked. “I never—”
“No.” Her arms tightened around her waist. “Why would you?” And how could he bare to look at her now that he knew?
A roar tore from his chest. Primal. Pure frustration and rage.
“This was not the way to answer the questions you’ve been waiting to ask,” she whispered. “But I couldn’t…?” She broke off. “Some things are best unsaid. You see that now.”
His eyes closed. “I see a lot of things.” A hard laugh followed. “Like I’m a fucking asshole. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
“It doesn’t matter.” It was hard not to reach for him. His touch had been the first to comfort her in so long. Right now, she wanted comforting. “I can’t erase what you’ve seen or…make it easier to bear—”
“Don’t.” Hollis sat up, his green eyes boring into hers. “Make it easier for me to bear?” He broke off, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
“Careful,” she murmured, the image of him contorted and twitching all too fresh.
He stood, scowling. “You don’t have to be strong. Not with me.”
He didn’t know what he was saying. Being weak wasn’t an option. Being strong, angry, was her only option since she’d lost Isabel. Cyrus. Byron. The Others—weakness would have made the target on her back that much bigger.
But words were impossible. A shake of the head was all she could manage.
The muscle in his jaw clenched as he reached for her. His hands, warm, on the back of her shoulders, pulling her closer. “I’ve got you, Ellen,” he whispered. “Let go.”
Here, now, in Hollis’s arms, there was no target. “I can’t,” she whispered, throat tight, painfully tight.
“You saw it. Felt it. What I’ve done—”
“You? You fucking survived.” The word was a rasp. He tilted her head back, his gaze blazing into hers. “Cyrus.” He tensed, his face flushing red and his breath kicking up. But his eyes…his wolf was looking back at her—pushing to come out. “He doesn’t deserve to live.” His arms tightened, a low rumbling coming from deep in his chest. He was struggling for control, struggling against his wolf. A wolf that was ready to defend and protect her. If she needed protecting—which she didn’t.
His words were a growl. “Seeing you in harm’s way is more than I can take.”
“So was watching you battle your wolf.” She challenged.
He shook his head. “We’re not going there. Not now.”
Fine. “I’m not in harm’s way. Not this time.” Surely now, he’d understand. Killing Cyrus was a vow she must honor. “If I can get close enough, I can fulfill my promise—”
“To William. I know.” His nod was tight. “I know. And I will help you.” His hand gripped her chin.
She shook her head. “It was my promise.”
“As much as I want to tear him to pieces for what he’s done to you, I won’t take that from you.” His gaze pierced hers before he released her. “Let me help you. Whatever you need.”
He meant it. Naked and glorious, his hands hot on her skin, the ferocity of his words—his gaze—chased away any lingering guilt or shame she and her wolf were grappling with. She wasn’t alone anymore. If she hunted, she’d have a partner.
He brushed the hair from her temple and leaned forward to breathe her in. The simple action that revealed so much. “What do you need?”
Her wolf responded. His scent. His touch. His taste. Her wolf had very definite ideas about what they needed. And, this time, she agreed. “Now? You,” she whispered, tilting her head back for his mouth. She welcomed the crush of his lips on her, the taste of his skin, and urgency in his kiss. His fingers traced the outer swell of her breast, cradling the full weight in his palm as his thumb teased the tip into a hardened peak. She arched back in offering.
He growled as his mouth captured her nipple. Hot and wet, his mouth devoured the sensitive skin. It was heaven. One breast, then the next, he licked and sucked until she was panting in his hold. He guided her back onto the bed, the magic of his mouth never leaving her body. On and on, he sucked and nipped until her body arched and swayed into him.
She was just as hungry. The hard ridges of his chest and abdomen. The balls of his shoulder. Each rise and valley needed touching, kissing, exploring. The dip of his hips and swell of his ass. Her nails raked just enough to have him arching against her. The long, thick evidence of his arousal pressed against her belly. She parted for him.
He slid deep, tearing a moan from them both. “Mine,” he whispered as he bent forward to kiss her.
Her laugh was cut short by the strength of his thrust. Over and over, he drove into her—claiming her as his. The feel of him, big and thick and heavy, drove her into a frenzy. He lingered just long enough to tease her, nudging the bundle of nerves, coaxing her release, then sliding back. Bliss and the sweetest torture. He could do this for hours. She hoped he would. Her hands stroked the length of his back, marveling at the power of his body. Without the crisp shirts and starched slacks, he was primal perfection. All hers.
“Look at me,” he ground out.
She couldn’t look away. Nostrils flared, jaw clenched, each breath more ragged than the last—he was holding back, driving her crazy, for her pleasure. She was close, so close. The friction and pressure. The heat in his gaze. The brush of his thumb and forefingers against her rock-hard nipple. She moaned, her fingers and nails biting into the curve of his ass.
His lips brushed hers, his tongue sweeping the seam of her lips, and she was spinning and falling toward her release. Her body bowed, stiffening, clenching around him as wave after wave of undiluted pleasure washed over every nerve.
He smiled, his hands brushing her hair from her forehead as he powered into her. Faster and harder, his teeth grazed her nipple, sucked the curve of her neck, while his hands lifted her hips. She moaned, his grip tilting her up, taking him deeper. She was coming again, so hard and fast she cried out over and over. Her lungs ached and her body throbbed, and his rhythm never slowed.
A growl ripped from his throat, low and raw. She shuddered with the power of it. He stiffened, holding her in place as his frame shook with his climax. Watching him come was liberating.
Because he was her mate. Her wolf had craved him like no other. Now, even satisfied, the craving lingered.
His gaze held hers, searching, piercing, before his body left hers. The absence of him was acute. Her wolf didn’t like it, demanding she roll into his side, demanding she place her hand on his chest—over his heart.
She didn’t. She and the wolf were partners. And right now, she, not the wolf, wasn’t sure what to make of this man.
Hollis was man bent on denying his wolf. A man who would choose to eradicate their species from the planet. This is the man her wolf chose? Her gaze wandered, exploring the hard curves and planes of his incredible body. It—he—was an incredible specimen of pure masculinity. From the slight sheen of sweat that covered his chest to his tantalizing scent assaulting her senses, he held a power over her.
Because he was her mate.
His hair fell forward onto his forehead as he lay at her side. He lay facing her, one large hand gripping her shoulder and pulling her onto her side—to face him. This new Hollis was far more assertive. More aggressive. Part of her, the wolf especially, welcomed his strength and domination. But the other part, the one who had been alone and guarded for so long, bristled from his familiarity and confidence.
“You look pissed.” One copper brow rose.
“Do I?” Was she?
“Ready to rip my throat out.” The corner of his mouth cocked up, making her insides clench delightfully.
She would never hurt him. No. Since the idiot refused to connect with his wolf, she’d have to protect him. “I have no plans to rip out your throat,” she murmured, her gaze fixing on the column of his neck. His pulse beat steadily. She wanted to kiss the thrum under the skin. To taste his skin. It was maddening. “I’ll make no promises about biting.”
His jaw muscle leaped, his thumb tracing along her lower lip. “If that was supposed to scare me, it doesn’t.” He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her against him so that his throbbing erection was pressed against her stomach.
She stared up at him, startled. Already? The very hard, pulsing promise of further orgasms said yes. “It’s your wolf, wanting to forge a solid bond,” she whispered, her body ready—hungry.
His eyes darkened and his hand gripped her thigh, hooking her leg around his hip. “Forging a bond?” He stared down at her, smiling. “I’ll forge all fucking night long.”
Her laugh broke off at the stroke of him, sliding deep inside her.