Chapter Nineteen
Demi
Being claimed was supposed to make me safe.
That’s what he’d said. That’s what I’d wanted to believe. But the second we stepped into the clubhouse, I knew it wasn’t that simple.
Every pair of eyes followed me.
Some smirked, like they were in on a joke I wasn’t. Some narrowed, sharp and suspicious. Some were calculating, already measuring what they could use me for.
And the women—God, the women—looked at me like I’d just stolen something that belonged to them.
Werewolf’s hand stayed at the small of my back, heavy and firm, guiding me through the chaos.
Every time I felt his touch, I remembered the way he’d kissed me. The way he’d growled against my mouth. The way his body had pressed hard and hungry into mine.
And every time I remembered, I burned hotter.
We didn’t last ten minutes before I snapped.
He’d pulled me into the back hallway, away from the noise, with his jaw clenched and his eyes sharp.
“You stay close tonight,” he ordered. “You don’t talk to anyone you don’t want to. You don’t leave my side. You got that?”
I crossed my arms and glared. “You don’t get to bark orders at me like I’m one of your prospects.”
His eyes flashed. “You think this is a game, Demi? You think being mine means you get to strut around and pretend like none of this touches you? It touches you now. It could kill you now.”
“Then why did you do it?” My voice cracked, raw. “Why claim me at all if it just paints a target on my back?”
His jaw worked, his fists curling at his sides. “Because I didn’t have a choice.”
The words hit like a fist.
I stepped closer, fury and something hotter burning through me. “That’s bullshit. You always have a choice.”
His breath came sharp, and his eyes locked on mine like a storm about to break. “Not with you.”
The silence that followed was electric.
Then his hand shot out, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me into the nearest room. The door slammed behind us, and suddenly my back was against the wall. His chest pressed to mine, and his breath was hot and rough against my ear.
“You drive me insane,” he growled.
“Good,” I whispered.
His mouth crashed down on mine before the word was even gone.
The kiss wasn’t gentle.
I answered with everything I had: anger, hunger, grief, and need. My hands fisted in his cut, pulling him down harder, closer, deeper.
“Wolf.” My voice broke into a moan when his mouth dragged down my throat. His teeth grazed my skin, and his lips sucked a mark I’d feel for days.
“You’re mine,” he rasped against my neck. “Say it.”
“I’m—” I gasped as his hand slid up under my shirt. His calloused fingers rough against my bare skin. “I’m yours.”
The words tumbled out before I could stop them. And once they were out, I didn’t want to take them back.
Because they were true.
I was his.
We tore our clothes away, piece by piece. We were urgent and yet clumsy, just wanting any barrier gone between us. My jacket hit the floor. His shirt was yanked over his head. My shirt ripped at the seam when he got impatient.
“I need this,” he muttered against my mouth.
My hands roamed his chest over the ink and muscle hard under my palms. My nails dug in when his mouth found my breast.
“Wolf, oh, God—”
He lifted me then. Hauled me up like I weighed nothing. My legs wrapped around his waist, and my back slammed against the wall again. The impact rattled the picture frame beside us, but I didn’t care.
All I cared about was him.
His mouth. His hands. The way he held me like I belonged there. Like I’d always belonged there.
He ground against me, hard and relentless. Every move made me gasp and ache.
“I’ve wanted this,” he rasped, with his forehead pressed to mine. “Since the second you walked into my life. I’ve fucking wanted this.”
“Then take it,” I whispered, with my nails digging into his shoulders. “Take me.”
His growl was low and feral.
And then he did.
The first thrust stole my breath.
Hot. Hard. Deep.
My cry echoed in the small room. My hands clawed at his back as he filled me.
Stretched me.
Claimed me in the only way that mattered.
“Mine,” he growled, the word punctuated with a sharp snap of his hips. “You’re mine.”
“Yes,” I gasped. “Yours.”
He kissed me again, messy and bruising.
The world narrowed to just us. His body pounded into mine while my nails scraped down his skin. Our breath tangled.
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle.
It was raw. It was brutal. It was everything we’d been holding back exploded all at once.
And it was perfect.
When my orgasm finally tore through me, I cried out. My body clenched tight around him, and it felt like I was flying.
He followed with a roar as his hips drove hard, and his body shuddered as he buried himself deep. His claim sealed in every ragged thrust.
For a long moment, we just clung to each other. Sweat-slick and shaking, while our breaths were ragged, and our bodies still joined.
Then he pressed his forehead to mine. His voice was rough, almost broken.
“There’s no going back now, Demi.”
I cupped his face and forced him to look at me. My own voice was steady even through the tremble of aftershocks. “I don’t want to.”
His eyes burned softer now. He kissed me again, slower this time, deeper, with a promise instead of a war.
And in that kiss, I knew the truth.
He wasn’t just claiming me for the club.
He was claiming me for himself.
And I was claiming him right back.