Chapter 24 Theodore
Theodore
“Maxwell…” Rory’s eyes, saucer-wide, stared deeply into mine.
I wasn’t quite sure where my sudden desperation to have him fuck me had come from.
Maybe it was the miracle of the Northern Lights dancing above us.
Maybe it was my shirt hanging off his slight frame, the way it transformed him into something stolen and precious. Something mine.
Okay, it was definitely the shirt.
I met Rory’s defiant stare with an equally determined one of my own. The challenge in those blue-green eyes only made me want him more.
He gently removed his fingers from me and I mourned the loss of them, my body clenching around nothing.
…Fucking hell, I want to fuck him so bad, bury myself inside him and claim him inside and out…
“I know you want to,” I growled at him.
Rory scowled at me, screwing up his entire face in a way that was so comical, I leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose. The expression melted away under my lips.
I took his cock in my hand, stroking it slowly. “Listen, I’m sorry to tell you this. This dick of yours is lovely, but really not that big.”
“Umm, excuse me? It’s perfectly average for my height! I’ve measured it before! Twice!”
I continued stroking him, watching his eyes roll to the back of his head.
“Sorry. I mean, I’m sure I can handle this monster dick of yours.
And before you bring it up again, I’m not asking you to fuck me as proof that I’m definitely bisexual.
I’m asking because I’m desperate to feel you inside me.
And no, I one thousand, one million percent won’t regret it.
And this has nothing to do with my jealousy of Dev—of whom I’m not actually jealous, for the record. ”
Rory’s lips twitched. “Honestly, mate, you didn’t need to make a whole speech about it, you know. I’m absolutely desperate to fuck you.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Plus, I’m sort of still feeling you from last night, so this works.”
The admission sent pure fire spiralling through me. Plus a ridiculous urge to change my mind, to make him feel me even more.
I gripped his cock harder, making him gasp. “My turn to feel you, then, you—”
“Wait,” Rory said suddenly, his hands stilling on my hips. His eyes held mine in a way that made my pulse skip. “I need to scent mark you first.”
“You need to what?” Confusion briefly cut through the haze of desire.
Rory’s lips curved into that wicked smile—one that surely meant he was about to do something that would utterly unravel me. “Wolf thing,” he said.
Before I could demand an explanation, his hands were guiding me back down onto the sleeping bag, positioning me exactly where he wanted me, and my mouth fell dry.
“Rory—”
“Shh.” His thumb brushed across my lower lip, silencing my protest. “I need you to smell like me.”
He lowered himself over me, and suddenly the tent felt smaller, the air thicker. His breath ghosted across the column of my throat as he found the hollow where my pulse hammered against my skin.
The first touch of his tongue was electric—a slow, deliberate sweep along the side of my neck that made my back arch involuntarily off the ground.
He moved with purpose, mapping every pulse point with methodical precision.
Behind my ear, where his teeth grazed just enough to make me gasp.
The sharp edge of my collarbone, where he lingered with open-mouthed attention that bordered on worship.
Mine, his thoughts whispered into my consciousness, primal and possessive. Mine, mine, mine.
When his mouth found the sensitive hollow of my throat, I lost all semblance of control. He worked the skin there with devastating patience—licking, sucking, claiming—until I was certain he’d branded something permanent into my very DNA.
“There,” he murmured against my skin, his voice brimming with pride. “Now everyone will know you belong to me. And when my scent starts to fade, I’ll mark you all over again. And again.”
The declaration should have terrified me. Instead, it sent molten heat straight to my core, and I pulled him up to crash our lips together, desperate to claim his mouth as thoroughly as he’d claimed my neck.
Rory broke the kiss with a satisfied hum, his hands moving with purpose, gripping my thigh and lifting one of my legs, positioning me exactly where he wanted me “And now I’ll taste my prize properly,” he murmured against my skin, his breath hot on my thigh.
His mouth found the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, then the sharp edge of his teeth scraped against me before his tongue soothed the spot. A completely undignified yelp escaped my throat as he moved higher, his teeth finding the curve of my ass cheek.
None of my previous partners had ever done that before, but then again, none of them had been wolves…
“Christ, Rory—”
His teeth sank deeper, not quite breaking skin but hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to make me forget my own name.
The bite was possessive and the low growl that rumbled from his chest vibrated straight through me.
When he finally released his hold, I could feel the ghost of each tooth, marking me in ways that had nothing to do with bruises.
His tongue found my crease.
Every coherent thought fled my mind. It was intoxicating, intimate beyond anything I’d ever experienced.
He lavished attention on me with the patience of worship, his tongue painting slow, deliberate strokes that had me trembling.
The molten heat of his mouth turned me liquid, my hands clawing at the sleeping bag as if it could anchor me to sanity.
This wasn’t just physical preparation—it was devotion, reverence, something that sent me spinning, dizzy with joy. The way he touched me, like I was something sacred he’d been waiting his whole life to claim.
“Rory,” I manage to choke out, wanting to offer him something.
He hummed against my thigh, then his finger replaced his tongue. He worked slowly into me, an agonisingly gentle intrusion that had me pushing back against him despite myself.
“You’re so tight,” he whispered, pressing deeper. “So perfect.”
I could feel him watching my face, cataloguing every expression as he worked me open. The intimacy of it, the way he seemed to know exactly what I needed before I did, left me breathless.
“I’m ready,” I pleaded. “Give it to me.”
…don’t bloody tempt me…
“Shh,” Rory said, taking another bite out of my thigh, his teeth finding fresh skin to mark. “I’m working.”
The sting of his bite mixed with the thrill of him adding another finger, stretching me wider. My body protested the intrusion even as it craved more. My hands found his hair without thought, fingers tangling in the blond strands and pulling until they were thoroughly mussed.
“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” he murmured against my skin, his voice thick with approval.
His fingers worked me open with maddening patience, each movement deliberate and knowing. When he finally withdrew them, I felt hollow, aching for him to fill me again.
Rory kissed his way up my leg, his mouth hot against my thigh, then my hip. Each press of his lips built anticipation until I could barely breathe.
“Turn around for me, gorgeous,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “On your hands and knees.”
My hands trembled slightly as I braced myself against the sleeping bag, and I fought to keep anxiety from bleeding through our bond. The last thing I wanted was for Rory to sense any hint of nerves and stop.
His hands found my back, stroking long, soothing lines from my shoulders to the curve of my ass. “So bloody gorgeous,” he whispered, his palms warm against my skin.
His fingers traced the curve of my spine, then spread across my ribs, mapping me with the dedication of a cartographer. When his hands moved to my thighs, I couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through me.
The head of his cock nudged against me, and I tensed—couldn’t help it—my breath stuttering as my body fought between want and instinct.
“Easy,” Rory whispered, one hand settling on my hip whilst he used the other to guide himself. “I’ve got you.”
The first push stole the breath from my lungs. My body seized, rejecting the intrusion even as I desperately wanted it. The stretch was intense, nothing like his fingers had been.
“Can’t—” The word escaped before I could stop it, panic creeping up my throat.
Rory immediately stilled, his cock barely inside me. His grip on my hips gentled, becoming a soothing caress.
“I know,” he said, oh-so soothingly. “I know it feels impossible right now. Like you can’t take any more. But you can.”
“I want it,” I told him. “Please don’t stop.”
He pushed in the tiniest bit more, and a whimper slipped out of me.
“Shh, Teddy. You’re doing so good for me. Bear down for me. That’s it.”
The burn was excruciating, like being split open from the inside.
My body fought him, clenching instinctively against the intrusion.
But through our bond, I could feel Rory’s pleasure—the devastating sensation of my tightness around him, the way I gripped him like a vice.
His euphoria flooded through me, drowning out my discomfort until I couldn’t tell where my pain ended and his bliss began.
Rory tightened his grasp on my hips, pushing deeper. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re so tight. I’m almost there. You feel so, so good. There!”
We cried out together as he pushed inside, finally all the way in. It was utterly overwhelming—too much and not enough all at once. My ass burned, stretched beyond what seemed possible, but the satisfaction of being so completely filled was indescribable.
…fuck, he’s perfect. So bloody perfect. Can’t believe he’s letting me have him…
Rory’s thoughts crashed through my mind, pure, undiluted. So many emotions—his wonder at being inside me, his disbelief that I wanted this, wanted him.
He breathed hard above me, his hands caressing my back and hips before one finger traced the stretched rim where we were joined. “Feel that? Feel me inside you?”