Chapter Nine #2
Arranging himself took effort when every muscle had gone liquid, but Jamie managed it, spreading his legs in invitation. Vulnerability crashed over him—exposed, wanting, trusting—but Sloane’s expression chased away any doubt. He looked at Jamie like he was witnessing something sacred.
The first touch of slick fingers made Jamie’s breath hitch. Sloane worked slowly, one finger tracing Jamie’s entrance, teasing but not penetrating. Just acclimatizing him to the sensation, the promise of what would come.
“Breathe,” Sloane coached, and Jamie realized he’d been holding his breath.
Exhaling shakily, Jamie forced his muscles to relax.
The first finger slipped inside, gentle but insistent.
Not pain, just pressure and a strangeness that his body quickly adapted to.
Sloane worked him carefully, patiently, adding a second finger only when Jamie started rolling his hips, seeking more.
“That’s it,” Sloane praised, fingers curling to find that spot that made Jamie see stars. “So good for me.”
Jamie’s cock leaked against his stomach, neglected, but somehow, that made everything more intense. All his focus narrowed to where Sloane was taking him apart with methodical dedication.
A third finger joined the others, stretching Jamie wider. The burn was good, grounding, preparation for something bigger. Sloane’s free hand stroked Jamie’s thigh, soothing and arousing in equal measure.
Something shifted in Sloane’s expression, becoming raw and exposed. He withdrew his fingers, leaving Jamie empty and wanting. The slick sound of lube made anticipation coil tighter in Jamie’s belly.
“Been thinking about this since that first night,” he rasped out. “Wanted to see you like this, fucked out, desperate for my dick.”
“God, you have no idea,” Jamie gasped. “I’m dying for it.”
He squeezed, kneading Jamie’s cheeks, spreading them apart.
Sloane groaned. “Look at this. Fuck, Jamie, your ass is gorgeous. Bet you’ll take my cock so well.”
Jamie whimpered, desperate. “Please. Want it. Want you.”
Sloane lined up and pushed in, slow, stretching Jamie inch by inch. The burn made Jamie’s toes curl, but Sloane’s hands soothed him, roaming Jamie’s back, caressing his hips, grounding him in his touch.
Sloane went slowly, careful not to hurt.
“God, you’re so fucking tight,” Sloane groaned, sinking deeper.
Jamie gasped, clutching the edge of the bed. His hole ached then clenched around him, greedily sucking him in.
Sloane rocked, feeding Jamie more cock with every thrust, until finally his hips slapped Jamie’s ass and he bottomed out.
He stilled, both of them panting, sweat slick along their spines.
Jamie’s pulse thundered. Sloane’s cock throbbed deep inside, stretching him beyond full.
Sloane drew out then slammed back in. The angle shot fireworks behind Jammie’s eyes. He yelped, but Sloane just groaned, holding Jamie’s hips steady and fucking him deeper.
“Look at you, mate. Taking it like you were made for my dick,” he growled, slamming in again. “So fucking pretty. So hot when you moan.”
Jamie couldn’t stop. Every time Sloane pounded into him, Jamie made another broken sound. The friction, the stretch, the pure fucking need obliterated everything but the drive to come.
Sloane leaned over Jamie’s back, bracketing Jamie with his arms, kissing his neck, biting his ear, fucking him slow and deep.
“You feel amazing,” Sloane whispered, his voice thick. “So good. I wanna make you come just like this.”
Jamie shoved his ass up, greedy for every thrust. Sloane rewarded him by fucking harder, hips snapping against Jamie’s ass, each stroke setting him on fire.
Sloane’s hand slid underneath, found Jamie’s cock, and started stroking. Rough, but perfect. He matched every thrust with a tight pump of his fist.
“Come for me,” he ordered, breath hot against Jamie’s ear. “Want to feel you fuck my hand while I’m inside you.”
His dirty talk pushed Jamie right to the edge.
Sloane’s rhythm faltered, thrusts becoming more erratic. His mouth found that spot on Jamie’s neck again, where shoulder met throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin.
“Jamie,” Sloane groaned, and then his teeth sank in, not violent but claiming.
Pain and pleasure collided, sending Jamie over the edge. His orgasm hit like lightning, his back bowing, his vision whiting out. But through the ecstasy, something else happened.
Their heartbeats, racing separately, suddenly synchronized. The same rhythm, the same pulse, as if they'd become one organism with two bodies. Jamie gasped as something rose from his core—a ribbon of golden mist, visible and impossible, lifting from his skin.
From Sloane, green mist emerged, darker like forest shadows. The two ribbons circled each other, dancing, intertwining in a spiral that made Jamie’s eyes water to watch. Then they shot forward, Sloane’s green diving into Jamie’s torso while Jamie’s gold disappeared into Sloane.
No pain. Just warmth spreading through Jamie’s entire being, filling spaces he hadn't known were empty. He felt Sloane—not just his body but his essence, his soul, everything that made him who he was.
Sloane shuddered above him, cock pulsing as he came, filling Jamie with warmth.
The ribbons solidified their connection, and Jamie understood with crystalline clarity what mates meant. Not just love or chemistry or compatibility. This was souls recognizing their other half, binding in ways that transcended physical reality.
Sloane collapsed against him, careful not to crush but needing contact. Both of them panted, their bodies trembling with aftershocks.
“What was that?” Jamie whispered when speech became possible again.
“Mate bond.” Sloane nuzzled into Jamie’s neck, tongue lapping at the bite mark he’d left. “We're connected now. Permanently.”
Permanently should have terrified Jamie. Instead, peace settled over him like a blanket. This felt right in ways his previous relationships never had. Not possession or control, but partnership. Balance. Home.
“I can feel you,” Jamie said, wonderingly. It wasn’t like reading thoughts but sensing emotions, presence, the steady thrum of Sloane’s existence alongside his own.
The last thing Jamie felt before sleep took him was the green ribbon humming behind his ribs, proof that this was real. That someone had chosen him not to possess but to protect. Not to hurt but to heal.
His wolf. His mate. His.