Lysaria
I laid in my bed, trying to force myself to sleep.
My skin felt too tight, too hot, and I couldn’t seem to settle no matter how I twisted and turned on the silken sheets.
I could feel the heat returning, the fire already a low, smoldering heat in my veins.
I sat up and threw the blankets off me with a sigh of frustration.
I stood up and paced the room, thinking.
The way I saw it, I had two choices: I could stay here until the heat became unbearable, by which time Zayne would probably show up to grant us relief, or I could take matters into my own hands and instead of waiting, I could go, find him, and well… .
I stopped, staring at my reflection in the vanity mirror.
I marveled at the woman staring back at me.
She wasn’t the pale, hunted wraith I had been all my life.
Her cheeks were round and pink with health, her eyes clear and unshadowed.
Did I dare? I thought about Zayne, his easy smile as he told me about his pack, sharing his life with me.
I remembered his eyes, stormy with passion as he moved over me.
A blush heated my cheeks as I recalled how he had rolled us over and told me to ride him, and how thoroughly I had enjoyed every moment of it.
I paced around the room once more, the heat clawing at me like an itch I couldn’t scratch.
I started towards the door, then stopped, turning around and berating myself for even considering it.
Then I started towards the door again, this time making it a little further before turning back.
Finally, I managed to reach the door, and I forced myself to open it.
I stepped out into the hallway, closing the door firmly behind me.
I stood there for a minute, breathing heavily.
Now that I was out of my room, moving forward was easier. I walked the short distance to his door and hesitated, my hand hovering over the knob. Then, taking a deep breath, I turned the knob and carefully opened the door a crack. I slipped my head inside and peered around.
The room was dark, the only light coming from the moonlight spilling through the crack in the curtains.
I could see Zayne, a shadowy form on the bed, the sounds of his breathing even and steady.
He must be sleeping. I opened the door wider, stepping into the room and closing the door softly behind me.
My heart pounded in my chest as I stood there, doubting myself, but the need was growing, and Zayne had never hurt me, had never made me feel afraid after that first night when I hadn’t understood anything.
I took a deep breath and walked forward, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet as I approached the bed.
I stopped on the far side of the bed, looking at him in the moonlight.
He lay on his back, his arm flung out to his side, his face turned away from me.
My eyes traced his features, which were becoming as well known to me as my own, maybe more.
He looked different asleep in the moonlight, though.
Younger, more carefree—more like the mischievous young wolf from Joseph’s stories.
The thought made me smile, and I lifted the blankets, sliding between the coolness of the silk sheets.
I pressed myself against his side, his warmth seeping into me, and rested my head on his shoulder.
He mumbled my name in his sleep, and his arm came around my shoulders, holding me tight against him.
I turned my head, my lips finding the warm skin of his neck, and I pressed a soft kiss there, inhaling his scent, letting it surround me.
He said my name again, groaning and turning towards me.
His free hand came up to cup my cheek, his thumb stroking gently over my bottom lip. He studied my face in the dark, his eyes questioning.
“Are you okay, little one?” he asked, his voice husky with sleep. I nodded, nuzzling against his hand.
“I’m fine,” I whispered, my eyes locked with his. “I just needed you.” It was an admission, and I waited, holding my breath to see how he would respond. To see if he would use it to hurt me.
“I’m here, Lysaria,” he whispered. “Whenever you need me, however you need me, I’m here.” I turned my head, fighting back tears, and kissed the palm of his hand. His breath caught, and he shuddered, groaning.
“Lysaria…” I could hear the strain in his voice as he held himself back, afraid he would frighten me. But I realized in that moment that I wasn’t afraid of him, not in that sense, not anymore. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. The only fear I had now was disappointing him.
“Please, Zayne,” I pleaded, my voice small. “Please, I need to feel your claim on me. I need to feel that I am yours.” He groaned again, his voice rough.
“That is the sexiest thing I have ever heard,” he growled, and then his lips crashed down on mine.
I sighed in pleasure, parting my lips slightly, and his tongue slipped in, tangling with mine.
He growled in approval when my fingers came up to tangle in his hair, holding him to me.
His lips left mine, trailing down my neck and across my collarbone.
“You taste like heaven,” he whispered against my skin, and I shuddered.
I pulled back slightly, pulling the t-shirt I was wearing over my head.
I was bare underneath, and I couldn’t help the heat that crept into my cheeks.
But the admiration in his gaze gave me the confidence to ignore it.
I laid down and reached for him, running my hands up his chest to rest on his shoulders.
“Please, Zayne,” I whispered, “I need you.”
He groaned again, his lips descending on mine.
The kiss was possessive and demanding, a raw, uncontrolled thing that was exactly what I wanted.
I moaned against his lips and trembled as his hands roamed over my body.
He traced the curve of my hip, the dip of my waist, the line of my ribs.
Then his hands came up to cup my breast, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, making them draw up into tight peaks. I shuddered and arched my back.
His lips left mine, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down my throat before closing over my nipple.
I gasped, and my fingers dug into his scalp, pulling slightly on the silky strands of his hair.
He growled and released my nipple with a wet pop, only to claim the other one immediately.
At the same time, his hand slid down my stomach, and I shuddered, my legs falling open in invitation.
His fingers found my folds, slipping through my wetness in a way that made me shudder and whimper with need.
I slid my hand down from his shoulder, trailing my fingers over his chest and the hard planes of his abdomen.
I found the hard length of him; he was hot against my hand.
As soon as my fingers closed around him, he groaned, lifting his head and looking into my eyes.
“Lysaria?” It was a question, one I knew exactly how to answer. I stroked him, slowly, sensuously, my fingers squeezing him tightly. He growled, and his hips bucked against my hand.
“You are testing my control, little one,” he said, his voice tight. “I don’t want to hurt you.” I reached up to cup his jaw with my free hand, still stroking his length with the other.
“You won’t hurt me, Zayne,” I whispered, my eyes locked with his.
“It’s okay. I trust you. I want you. Please, Zayne, I need you.”
His control snapped, and with a growl, he flipped me onto my stomach, pulling my hips back so that my bottom was in the air.
I was fully exposed, vulnerable and open to him, but I felt no fear, only anticipation.
His hands gripped my hips, not hard enough to hurt me, but firmly enough to hold me in place.
I felt the blunt head of him rubbing against my entrance and shuddered, pushing back against him, eager for his possession.
He growled again, fiercer this time, less restrained.
Then he bent over me, his teeth finding the sensitive skin where my neck met my shoulder, and biting down—not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to mark me as his.
At the same time, he entered me, plunging in to the hilt and making me cry out and arch beneath him.
Then he began to move, pulling almost all the way out and then plunging back in.
Each stroke making me cry out in pleasure as I bucked beneath him.
The heat built quickly, and with such intensity that it took my breath away.
I screamed as the climax took me, crying his name, but I wasn’t alone.
There was another voice, coming from the wolf who watched from the darkness, her silver eyes now flecked with sapphire blue.
Mine.