THIRTY-EIGHT #4
“Tiny Terror,” I start, heart hammering and knot pulsing. “You’re several hostile conditions dressed in tactical gear.”
That gets me a tiny, breathless smile.
Once I’m covered, she takes me in her hand again and guides me to her entrance. Then she pauses, her eyes meeting mine, before she demands, “Say something stupid.”
I swallow a laugh and something that is embarrassingly close to a sob. “Your hair is in my mouth.”
She blinks at me, then laughs.
“There,” I say softly. “That’s better.”
Then she sinks down on me, slow and fierce, her mouth falling open with the sensation of me filling her.
Mine probably falls open, too, but I’ve honestly lost track of my face as a whole concept at this point. She takes me inch by inch, hot and wet and tight enough to make my vision blur. Her hands brace on my chest and her eyes stay locked on mine like she’s daring herself not to look away.
When I’m finally seated inside her, she stops. The room tightens around us, music pulses, and her scent wraps around my throat. I grip the sheets instead of her hips, and she notices. Of course she does.
“You can touch me.”
“I know.”
“Ewan.”
“I know,” I repeat, my voice completely wrecked. “But I’m doing my best not to flip you over and lose my fucking mind right now.”
Her smile is slow and dangerous. “Maybe I like you this desperate.”
Then she moves.
Fucking hell.
She sets the pace herself, rough at first, then slower when she finds a rhythm that makes her tighten around me. I keep one hand on her thigh and the other on her waist, simply holding on while she ruins me for any other woman.
Dakota rides me to the beat of the music, and there’s nothing silent about it. It’s messy, hot, and alive. Her hair sticks to her neck, my hands shake, and she laughs once when the bed frame knocks the wall. Then she clamps her hand over her own mouth like she’s done something wrong.
I catch her wrist. “Oh, no. You’re not keeping that from me.”
Her eyes burn, and I sit up, bringing us chest to chest. The angle changes and she gasps, arms locking around my shoulders. “There. There, don’t stop.”
I don’t. I hold her as she moves, my mouth at her jaw, her throat, but not biting yet. My knot swells more, pressing against her every time she takes me. She feels it too, her whole body clenching.
Her rhythm stutters, but not from fear this time.
Awareness.
Memory.
Want.
Her eyes lift to mine and I’m breathless when I ask, “Knot?”
“Yeah.”
Simple. Certain. Not a trembling negotiation, and no fear scraping teeth over the moment. She knows this now, knows the stretch, the catch. She knows the way an Alpha’s body locks with hers and forces the world to narrow down to breath, skin, scent, and staying.
Xeon gave her that without taking more than she offered, and now she knows what choice feels like here. So I don’t make it bigger than it needs to be.
I touch her hip. “Tell me if you need me still.”
She nods, then she moves again. I slip my hand between us, fingers finding her clit again, slick and swollen.
Her rhythm breaks hard and she grinds down against me, chasing it now.
Not hiding from it. Her Omega lock starts as a flutter, then a deep, greedy pull around me that drags a sound from my chest I don’t even recognize.
Dakota’s nails dig into my shoulders, and she pants, “Ewan.”
“I’ve got you.”
“I’m going to…”
“I know. Let it.”
Her Omega clamp grips me tight then, pulsing and pulling. My knot catches at the same time, swelling fully inside her and sealing us together. She cries out, not scared or lost, just overwhelmed by pleasure and fury and relief.
I hold still even though every instinct is begging me to bite her. Every instinct can bloody well wait.
Her forehead presses against mine then. She’s trembling everywhere, but her voice is steady when she whispers, “Ask.”
My heart stops before it starts beating all wrong, because I know what she’s saying to me. I know what that single word means.
So I do. I ask.
“You want my bite?”
Her eyes open, clear and wild and certain. “Yes.”
“You want the bond?”
“Yes.”
“Dakota.”
Her hands frame my face in the next breath. “Ewan. Bite me.”
Fuck me, but I do. I press my mouth to the side of her neck, right over the gland, and bite down. The bond snaps into place like light breaking through storm clouds, not quiet or gentle. It’s bright, loud, and alive.
Dakota’s pleasure crashes through me with my name printed inside it. Her fear, too. Her rage. Her pain-in-the-ass, stubborn bravery. Wild honey and rain flood my senses until I can’t tell where her scent ends and mine starts.
She sees me, too. I feel it happen. Her shock. Her wonder. Her sudden, furious tenderness when she realizes how scared I am of hurting her and wanting her and losing her all at once.
“Oh,” she breathes.
It’s such a small sound, and it completely destroys me.
My own release hits, dragged out by the lock, the knot, and the bond flaring to life between us. I hold her through it, mouth gentle on the bite now, licking the mark until she shivers and clutches me harder.
For a while, neither of us moves. Not that we can, because my knot keeps us joined. And when her lock eases slowly, she tightens again when soft aftershocks rock her body, making her hide her face in my shoulder. “That’s just rude.”
A laugh breaks free from my chest, and she stiffens. Then, against my skin, she laughs too.
It’s small at first, then it’s helpless. Breathless. Alive. The sound moves through the new bond, as bright as the afternoon sun. I feel it. She feels me feeling it, and her laughter fades into stunned silence.
“That was weird,” she breathes.
“Bond?”
“Feeling you get all internally smug.”
“I’m not smug,” I counter, even though I might be a little.
“I’d argue you were emotionally smug.”
“That’s not even a thing. You made that up.”
“Did not,” she mutters, and I can’t help the smile that splits my face as I lie down and bring her with me, my hand rubbing up and down her back while the music continues to play somewhere next to us now. I don’t even know when she lost the headphones, not that it matters.
Eventually, after a stretch of silence, I ask, “How’s your head?”
She pauses and actually checks. “Quiet.”
“Hmm,” I sigh, approving that answer.
“How’s yours?” she asks.
“Full of you.”
She lifts her head and gives me a look.
I wince. “Too much?”
“You think?”
“Only with my knot right now,” I answer without really thinking about it.
Her mouth twitches, and I kiss the corner of it. Then her cheek. Then the edge of the bite, careful and proud in a way that doesn’t feel like ownership. Not on her. Not with her. Because the mark isn’t a collar. It’s a door we both opened and stepped through together.
Dakota settles against me again, still locked around my knot, hair spilling over my chest, and her heart slowing down against mine. After a whole minute, she says, “I laughed.”
“That, you did.”
“During sex.”
“A historic event, if you ask me,” I tease. “Get it in the papers. Tiny Terror Discovers Joy.”
She snorts, and then grows quiet. Through the bond, I feel the little edge of shame try to build, so I kiss her hairline before it can grow spikes.
“You sounded very happy,” I point out.
She doesn’t reply at first, then her fingers curl against my chest. “I was.”
The words are tiny, but they’re there, so I close my eyes and hold her close.
Outside the room, Haven Ridge keeps beating the drum of its rules and locked doors and glossed threats.
Inside, Dakota’s scent is all warm and soft against my skin.
Wild honey and rain.
Not buried.
Not panicked.
Not disguised.
And when she laughs again, softer this time, she doesn't hate herself for it.