Chapter 38 — Rhiannon #3
Come on my cock, Rhiannon. His thought transmits deliberately this time, spoken directly into my mind with an authority that has no business existing in a human, and yet. . .
The pleasure loop peaks. My wolf ignites like a forest fire. Ethan’s heart beats within my chest. The dual sensation of being filled and feeling what filling me does to him coalesces into a single point of white-hot pressure.
The orgasm tears through me, and the sound that comes out of my mouth is half his name and half something no human throat could produce, at a frequency that rattles the windows and vibrates through the stone walls. My wolf howls beneath the surface — a sound of pure, ferocious claim.
“Ethan. . .” My inner walls grip him and his whole body shudders.
The staggering, near-painful pleasure of being held inside me while I come is written across every line of his face.
“That’s right, my love.” His whole body stiffens with the effort of not following with his own release.
We don’t stop. The orgasm rolls through me, and the pace becomes relentless. Both of us chase the final edge together, his hips driving upward, my body meeting each thrust.
“You’re why I stay, Rhiannon. I’d pick this world a thousand times just for one more night with you.” His lips brush my neck between words, each confession matching the rhythm of our bodies.
My wolf narrows to a single focus to fulfill an ancient and absolute mission. Claim him.
My fangs descend fully. My eyes blaze solid amber, the room awash in gold. Subconsciously, I bury my face against his neck in the exact place where the mate-mark would go, the junction of throat and shoulder where the pulse beats loudest, where the bond would seal permanently into flesh.
I don’t understand what is happening. Female Lycans don’t mark.
That’s not how it works. A male marks his mate.
Always. Every bonding story, every elder’s teaching, every instinct bred into our kind follows that law.
Yet this overwhelming need I have rewrites everything I thought I knew about biology.
My teeth press against his skin. I can feel his pulse on my tongue. I taste salt, cinnamon, and the coppery, bright thread of blood underneath his skin coated in sweat. Every cell in my body screams.
Mark him. Seal the bond forever.
My wolf is not asking. She’s demanding, pleading.
Claim him, she howls inside me. Do it! He’s ours. OURS.
But I hold back.
Not out of fear or uncertainty. Out of love.
Marking him now, without his understanding of what a fated mate bond means, while his place in Clarion hangs by a thread, when he hasn’t been given the freedom to choose or refuse, would be possession disguised as love. I will not trap him. Even in something this beautiful.
The restraint comes at a price. A sound escapes me, part sob and part agony, wrenched from so deep within my chest that it feels like it’s scraping my bones on the way out. My teeth nick his skin as I pull back, leaving the smallest cut with a bead of blood bright as a ruby.
The sight floods me with a fierce, possessive rapture brighter than anything my wolf has ever known.
He is not marked, but he is still mine.
We climax together in that suspended, blissful moment.
He releases inside me, hot and deep, and through the link I live what it’s like for him, the freefall, the surrender, the absolute obliteration of everything around us except where our bodies are joined.
His moan against my shoulder resonates through my bones.
His arms wrap around me immediately, pulling me into his chest as he collapses on to the bed. Our breathing slows from ragged to deep to something approaching steady. The mind-link settles from a roar to a quiet hum, a warm current running between us like an underground river.
His fingertips trace slow circles on my shoulder blade: light, unhurried. His lips brush my forehead, soft and reverent.
I press my ear against his chest and listen to his heartbeat slow from a gallop to a steady, even pace. His other hand brushes my hair back from my face, tucking it gently behind my ear, and the quiet tenderness of it nestles deep inside me in the form of a warmth I don’t know how to hold.
Tell him. The thought emerges, unbidden but undeniable. The Moon Goddess chose this. He is your fated mate.
I trace the tiny nick on his neck, already clotted. He doesn’t even know it’s there.
Tell him.
Yet, tomorrow we climb a mountain to face a man who commands dark magic and is using our friend to do evil.
Tomorrow could be our end. Ethan deserves to receive this truth at a time when he can sit with it, mull it over, and choose it freely, not on the eve of a battle that might take one of us, or both of us.
After Holden is stopped and Jayme is free, I’ll tell him everything.
My wolf whines, low and mournful, still aching from the denied claim.
I close my eyes and press closer to Ethan, letting his heartbeat count the seconds I refuse to waste on worry. His arms tighten around me, warm and solid, grounding me here.
Tomorrow will come soon enough.
But right now, this moment belongs to us, and I hold it like a breath.
This is enough for now.