Shivs #2
I set the glass down and ran my hands through my hair.
The bourbon had my tongue loose, but my mind was racing.
“In shifter culture, there’s a thing called fated.
Not just sex. It’s like… a chemical lock.
You see a person, and you just know. No matter how fucked up or wrong or impossible it is, you want them.
More than food, more than blood. It’s forever. ”
Her eyes widened. “Like imprinting?”
I nodded. “Worse. Because you can’t turn it off. Even if you try.”
She went very still. I watched the understanding bloom on her face—curiosity, then fear, then something like hope. “You knew? When you saw me?”
I gripped the chair arms to keep from lunging at her. The first time was when I saw you on TV. You were standing at the funeral in the rain, and I felt it.”
She let that sink in. “That’s why you keep coming back.”
“Yeah.”
She drained her glass. “It’s not just you. I feel it too. And I hate that I can’t explain it away.”
I smiled, sharp as a wolf. “You’re smarter than most.”
She shivered. I could see it, even in the growing dawn light. The bourbon and the talk and the tension had made her body electric, every nerve ending on a hair trigger. The scar at her chin was flushed, and I could smell her skin—salt and whiskey and want.
She reached for the bottle, and I did too. Our hands met, and the zap of contact was violent. She gasped, dropping the bottle to the desk with a clatter. The air in the room changed, got heavier, almost humid.
I watched her pulse hammer at her neck, the mark there a living thing. My vision doubled, then tripled. I felt my teeth go sharp, claws wanting out.
She saw it happen. Her lips parted, just a little.
“Does it hurt?” she whispered.
I shook my head, barely keeping it together. “Only when I fight it.”
“Then don’t.”
We sat like that, hands tangled on the bottle, both of us seconds from tearing the other to pieces or falling into bed, maybe both. The sun edged over the horizon, splitting the room into gold and shadow.
I let go first.
We didn’t make it out of the study. It was like the bourbon had lit a fuse that burned right through both of us, and when she reached for the bottle again, I didn’t wait for another invitation.
I grabbed her wrist, and for a second I thought she’d flinch or fight.
Instead, she went molten, climbing into my lap like she’d been doing it all her life.
Her knees straddled my thighs, silk robe sliding open at the hem.
Her hands found my jaw and yanked me into a kiss—none of the delicate, polite bullshit you get on TV, but a brutal, open-mouthed, almost savage clash.
Her teeth scraped my lower lip. I tasted copper and bourbon and her, and I couldn’t get enough.
I wrapped my arms around her waist, hands locking at the base of her spine.
Her body was so warm it nearly burned through the cotton of my T-shirt.
She rocked forward, pressing herself into me, and I could feel the electric buzz of her skin, the hard beat of her heart.
My own pulse hammered in my ears, louder than any gunshot.
She tugged at my shirt, twisting it in her fists until it tore at the shoulder seam.
I let her do it, let her see the ink and the scars and the raw, animal body she’d been flirting with all night.
She ran her hands over my chest, nails scraping hair and old scars.
I wanted to mark her in a dozen new ways.
She pulled back, just a breath, eyes gone wide and glassy. “Fuck,” she muttered, the word almost reverent.
I grinned, showing just a little fang. “Still scared?”
She shook her head, then bit her lip. “Not nearly enough.”
She moved her hips, grinding down against me, and the pressure nearly snapped my control. I growled, low in my chest, and she grinned back, proud of what she’d done. She kissed me again, then slid a hand down my stomach, fingers splaying over the bulge in my jeans.
“Damn, Carrie,” I said.
She answered by popping the button, then yanking at the zipper with a violence that sent shivers up my spine. She wrapped her hand around me, not gentle, not slow, and it was all I could do not to snap the arms off the chair.
I caught her by the hair, twisting just enough to tilt her face up. “If you start this, you'd better finish it.”
She laughed, breathless. “Is that a challenge?”
“Damn straight it is.”
She shifted, using her grip on my cock to steer me as she climbed up, hiking her robe to her hips. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She was slick, already open for me, and when she dragged the head of my cock against herself, I thought I might black out.
She hovered there, teasing us both. “Say you want it,” she dared.
I didn’t hesitate. “I want you.”
“Will I be safe?”
“Fuck no,” I said.
“The other night, when I was strokin’ your fur—”
“And your hand went down too far?”
She nodded. “It was like you had two sets of balls.” She sat back on my legs, my cock hard and throbbing against her stomach. “Tell me about it.”
“Two things are going to happen, babe. First, I’m going to bite you, marking you, making my claim, showing my undying love for you.
We’ll be forever, Carrie. Always.” I paused, letting the words sink in, letting her fight with the words in her mind.
It was time for her to decide if I was worth it, or if it was time to part ways, though I would still protect her.
She put her hands on my chest, eyes so blue they looked like Caribbean pools. “Go on.”
“Once I’ve marked you, during sex, the second thing is going to happen,” I said.
“I could sense the growing arousal between her legs, a bead of wetness appearing on her pussy lips. “I’ll enter you, fuck you senseless, making sure you come, making sure you’ll never forget.
” I put my hands on her hips. “If the moment is right,” I pulled my cock toward me and she looked down, “those two glands will push inside you, a bit painfully, and swell.”
“Fuck, Shivs. Finish.”
“Once I’m inside you, while they are swollen, I’ll not be able to pull out.”
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” she muttered. “Keep going.”
I shrugged, my hands tightening on her hips, nails being replaced by claws.
“I’ll wait until you’re wet, slick, lubricated with your own orgasm, and then I’ll ejaculate inside you.
” I shrugged again. “Could be inside you ten minutes, or maybe thirty. There’s no way to tell beforehand.
But I’ll be locked inside you. There won’t be any pulling away until I’ve come, and the swelling goes down. ”
“Fuck me,” she whimpered.
I shook my head. "I want to take my time with you, savoring every ounce until I’m drunk on the way you taste."
I slid my hands up and squeezed both nipples, immediately leaning forward and sucking on her nipples as they turned red and hard.
Carrie moved her arms around the back of my neck and held my face against her tits, urging me to suck harder. As if I were a newborn pup, I sucked and drank until she cried out.
She dropped onto me in one motion, burying me inside her. The heat of her was insane—nothing human, nothing polite, just raw, burning, desperate need. She gasped, then set her teeth into my shoulder, biting down hard enough to draw blood.
I grabbed her hips, holding her steady as she fucked herself on me. She was strong, so strong, muscles clamping around me with every thrust. I let her set the pace, let her ride me until my legs started to shake. The leather chair creaked under us, the rhythm brutal and perfect.
She reached back, found my hands, and brought them up to her chest. I cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples until she arched her back and cried out again, the sound echoing off the bourbon bottles and book spines.
“Harder,” she begged.
I obliged, flexing my hips up to meet her, slamming into her until she was clawing at my back, nails raking down skin and leaving angry red lines. I could feel the shift in me, the beast wanting out, wanting to take her harder, faster, deeper. My vision went double, then green at the edges.
She must have felt it, because she looked down, met my eyes, and smiled. “Show me.”
I bared my teeth, the canines long and sharp now. She didn’t flinch. She reached up and touched one with her tongue, then leaned in and kissed me again, biting my lip until I tasted more blood.
I stood, lifting her without breaking the connection. She wrapped her legs around me, clutching at my shoulders as I carried her to the leather couch. I slammed her down, pinned her wrists above her head, and drove into her with everything I had.
She took it, matched me thrust for thrust, hips rolling up to meet me. The robe was bunched at her waist, breasts bouncing with every movement, skin flushed and perfect. Her hair fanned across the armrest, eyes wild and hungry.
I felt the edge coming, the point where I’d lose myself completely.
I wanted to warn her, but the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, I held her down and bit her shoulder, the wolf beginning to emerge, every muscle tensing and shaking.
Blood filled my mouth, and I raised my head, howling as if I were in the forest under a full moon.
She screamed, once, a high and beautiful sound. Her whole body seized, then shuddered around me, and I felt her pulse through every inch of my cock, her slick wave washing over my cock. Just as I was about to knot her, she screamed again and passed out.
The change back to man was quick and less painful. “Carrie?”
Her eyes fluttered, and a smile crossed her lips. “Fucking fuck,” she said. She looked down as I pulled out. “I’m sorry,” she said, almost giggling.
I collapsed next to her, both of us gasping, sweat-slick and shaking. For a moment, there was nothing in the world but her scent, her taste, the heat of her skin against mine.
She drew lazy circles on my chest. “Was that the wolf, or was that you?”
“Both,” I said. “But mostly me.”
She smiled, closed her eyes, and let herself relax. I felt her heartbeat slow, then match mine.
I pulled her closer, kissed her hair, and for the first time in my life, I felt at home.
The sun was up now, lighting the room in gold and dust. The bottles on the shelf glowed, casting little rainbows on the wall. The bite marks on her shoulder shuddered and closed, though the blood around the wound remained.
She whispered, “Don’t let go.”
I didn’t.
Finally, she whispered, “I’ve never needed anyone the way I need you right now.”
“The feeling is so fucking mutual that I may never let you out of my sight,” I said and meant every fucking word.
I’d fucked plenty of women before—some for love, some for money, some for the sheer animal hell of it. But nothing like this. Nothing where my brain and body both knew that if she asked me to die for her, I would.
“You’re not scared of all this?” I managed.
She shook her head, a tiny movement. “Of you? No.” She pressed her lips to my chest. “Of myself, maybe.”
I stroked her hair, fingers combing out the sweat and bourbon knots. “You were amazing.”
She laughed, voice cracked. “I begged. I’ve never begged before.”
“I liked it.”
“I did too,” she admitted, and the honesty in it made my bones ache.
“Honestly, I could sip you all night and never get bored.”
The house was still, the only sound her slow breathing and the distant birds in the blue beyond the window. I memorized the smell of her, the way her skin felt against mine, the tiny freckles on her shoulder blades.
She propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at me, face unreadable. “So what now? We just… keep fucking until someone comes to kill us?”
“Something like that,” I said.
She bit her lip, then traced the mark on her neck. “Is it real? The knotting thing?”
I nodded. “It’s real.”
She considered it, then nodded back, like she’d just agreed to terms at a contract signing. “Good. I want it.”
Her hunger lit me up, even after everything. I wanted to take her again, but there was a new gentleness in me—a need to hold her, keep her safe, keep the morning from ending.
She slid off me, gathered up the robe, and wrapped herself in it. She padded to the window, looking out at the mist curling in the trees.
“I should be terrified,” she said, half to herself. “I should run, or call the police, or check myself into a hospital.”
“But you won’t. You need me as bad as I need you.”
She shook her head. “I want to see how deep this goes. I want to see what happens if I stop pretending.”
I got up, pulled on the ruined T-shirt, and stood behind her, arms around her waist, my cock growing between her ass. We looked out at the woods together, the morning brighter and more alive than anything I’d known.
She turned to face me, hair wild, eyes wilder. “Whatever happens, we do it together.”
I kissed her, slow and soft, then rested my forehead against hers. “Whatever happens,” I promised.
The sun edged over the horizon, flooding the room with light. I’d marked the woman I was fated to be with. There was one last thing to do, and she would be mine forever.