Chapter 10
Lydia
There is a moment right before you jump off a cliff where the fear vanishes, replaced by a strange, quiet acceptance of gravity.
I was in that moment.
Lying on the hotel bed in Marquette, watching Michael Holt unbutton his jeans, I knew I was about to fall. I knew the impact would probably shatter me. I knew that giving my body—and inevitably, my heart—to a man who believed he was destined for madness was the most reckless thing I could ever do.
And I didn't care.
Gravity was pulling me toward him, and for the first time in my life, I wasn't grabbing for a handhold. I was diving.
Mikey pushed his jeans down, stepping out of them with a fluid, predatory grace. He wasn't wearing underwear.
I stopped breathing.
He was... magnificent. Terrifyingly so. Thick, heavy, and scarred, just like the rest of him. He stood by the side of the bed, unabashed in his nudity, letting me look. Letting me see the weapon I was inviting into my sanctuary.
"Still sure, Mouse?" he asked, his voice rough with a restraint that was visibly costing him. His hands were clenched at his sides. The veins in his forearms were roped tight.
I sat up on my elbows, the sheet pooling at my waist, leaving my breasts bare to the cool air and his hot gaze.
"I'm sure," I whispered.
"Good."
He moved then. Not frantic, like in the hallway. Intentional.
He climbed onto the bed, crawling over me on hands and knees like a wolf stalking its prey. The mattress dipped under his weight. His amber eyes tracked my face, reading every micro-expression.
He straddled my hips, settling his weight carefully so he wasn't crushing me, but pinning me effectively to the mattress.
His thighs were warm and rough against my bare skin. The heat coming off him was intense, a furnace blast in the chilly room.
"You're shaking," he noted, running a large hand down my side, from my armpit to my hip.
"Anticipation," I managed to say. "Sympathetic nervous system arousal."
"Still the scientist," he chuckled darkly. He leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of my head. "Analyze this, then."
He kissed me.
It started slow. A tasting. A testing of boundaries. His tongue swept against mine, hot and slick. He tasted of peppermint tea and desire.
I moaned, reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down. I wanted the weight. I wanted the pressure.
He groaned into my mouth, deepening the kiss, his hips grinding down against mine.
The friction was electric. Even through the barrier of our skin, I could feel the hardness of him pressing against my center. It was a promise of fullness. A promise of being stretched and filled and claimed.
"Mikey," I gasped, breaking the kiss to suck in air. "Please. Now."
"Not yet," he growled against my jaw. "We have time. No bus. No practice. Just us."
He moved down. He kissed my throat, lingering over the pulse point that was fluttering like a trapped bird.
"Fast," he murmured against my skin. "Your heart is so fast. I love it."
He moved lower. He kissed the valley between my breasts. He circled one nipple with his tongue, teasing it into a hard peak before sucking it into his mouth.
I arched my back, a cry tearing from my throat. My fingers dug into his shoulders, finding the knots of muscle there.
"You like that?" he asked, looking up at me, his mouth wet, his eyes glowing. "You like being tasted?"
"Yes," I sobbed. "Yes, God."
"Good girl."
The praise hit me harder than the touch. It bypassed my brain and went straight to my core, unlocking something primal. I wanted to be good for him. I wanted to please the beast.
He moved lower still. He kissed my stomach. He traced the line of my hip bone with his nose.
Then he reached down and hooked his fingers into the waistband of my jeans.
"Lift up," he commanded.
I lifted my hips. He dragged the denim down, tossing it onto the floor with a careless flick of his wrist.
I was naked. Completely exposed.
I instinctively tried to close my legs, a reflex of modesty.
Mikey put a hand on my knee, gently but firmly pushing it back out.
"Open for me, Lydia," he whispered. "Let me see you."
I opened.
He looked. He stared at me with a reverence that made my chest ache. He looked at the soft curve of my thighs, the darkness between my legs, the dampness that was already glistening there.
"So wet," he groaned. "For me?"
"Only for you," I whispered. "Always for you."
He made a sound—a low, guttural growl that vibrated through the mattress.
He moved down, positioning himself between my legs. He lifted my thighs, draping them over his shoulders.
"Mikey?" I asked, my voice high and thin.
"Shh," he said. "I'm going to taste you, Mouse. I'm going to make you come apart."
He lowered his head.
When his tongue touched me, I saw stars. Literally. White bursts of light behind my eyelids.
It was overwhelming. He was skilled—devastatingly so. He knew exactly where to touch, how much pressure to use. He licked, he sucked, he swirled.
"Mikey! Mikey!" I chanted his name like a prayer. My hips bucked, seeking more friction.
He held me down, his large hands gripping my hips, keeping me anchored while he devoured me.
"That's it," he murmured against me, the vibration sending fresh waves of pleasure through my nerves. "Let go. Give it to me."
The pressure built. It coiled tight in my belly, a spring winding up, tighter and tighter.
"I'm close," I gasped. "I'm close!"
"Come for me," he ordered. "Come on my tongue, good girl."
I shattered.
It wasn't a wave; it was an explosion. My body seized, my back arching off the mattress, a scream ripping from my throat that he muffled with his hand.
I pulsed against him, over and over, while he drank me in, refusing to stop until the last tremor had faded.
I fell back against the pillows, gasping, limp, destroyed.
He crawled back up my body, his face slick with my release. He looked feral. He looked satisfied.
He kissed me, tasting myself on his lips. It was dirty and intimate and perfect.
"You taste sweet," he whispered. "Like honey."
He rested his forehead against mine, our breathing syncing up.
"My turn?" he asked, his voice thick.
I reached down between us, wrapping my hand around him. He was rock hard, velvety smooth, and leaking pre-come.
"Please," I whispered. "I need you inside me."
He pulled back, looking into my eyes. The playfulness was gone. The hunger was stark.
"Lydia," he said seriously. "I don't have... I didn't bring protection. I wasn't planning on this."
I froze.
No condom.
I was on the pill. I took it religiously every morning at 7 AM. I knew my cycle. I knew the risks.
But with a shifter?
"I'm on the pill," I said. "I'm safe."
Mikey hesitated. "Shifter swimmers are... aggressive. The pill isn't always enough."
"It's the middle of my cycle," I lied. It was actually Day 14. Ovulation. But in that moment, filled with lust and love and the desperate need to feel him, I rationalized it. It'll be fine. One time won't hurt.
"I trust you," I said. "I want you. Skin to skin."
Mikey closed his eyes, a shudder running through him. "Are you sure? Because once I'm in... I might not be able to pull out. The knotting instinct... it's strong tonight."
"Knot me," I whispered. The words felt illicit, heavy. "Fill me up."
His eyes snapped open. The gold was back, brighter than ever.
"Fuck," he swore.
He reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube. He squeezed a generous amount onto his hand and slicked himself up, then reached down to prep me, making sure I was ready for his size.
"Relax," he coached, inserting one finger, then two. "Make room for me, baby."
I whimpered, opening wider.
He positioned himself at my entrance. The head of him pressed against me, stretching me.
"Look at me," he commanded.
I looked at him.
"I'm claiming you, Lydia," he said, his voice a vow. "Right now. You're mine. No going back."
"I'm yours," I sobbed.
He pushed in.
Slowly. Inch by inch. Stretching me. Filling me completely.
It was intense. It burned, but in a good way. A fullness that bordered on pain but tipped into pleasure.
When he was fully sheathed, hilt deep, he stopped.
We both gasped.
The sensation of being joined was overwhelming. It wasn't just physical. It felt like a circuit completing. Like two halves of a soul finally snapping together.
"You fit," he groaned, his eyes rolling back. "Perfect fit."
He started to move.
Slow at first. Long, deep strokes that hit my cervix and made my toes curl.
"Mikey," I breathed. "Mikey, please."
"I know," he grunted. "I know."
He picked up the pace. The bed frame creaked. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room.
He pounded into me, relentless, powerful. Every thrust drove me deeper into the mattress. Every thrust claimed a piece of my soul.
"Look at you," he panted, looking down at where we were joined. "Taking all of me. Taking the monster."
"You're not a monster," I gasped, reaching up to rake my nails down his back. "You're a man. My man."
Something in him snapped at that.
He roared, a guttural sound, and increased the speed.
"Mine," he growled. "Mine. Mine. Mine."
The pressure built again. Faster this time. Harder.
"I'm going to come," he warned, his voice strained. "Lydia, I can't... I can't stop."
"Don't stop!" I cried. "Give it to me! All of it!"
He thrust hard, burying himself to the hilt.
And then he swelled.
Inside me.
The knot.
It wasn't painful, but it was shocking. The base of him expanded, locking him inside me. We were tied together. Bound by biology.
"Mikey!" I screamed as the sensation triggered a second climax, harder than the first.
He threw his head back and roared, pouring himself into me. I felt the warmth of his release flooding me, filling me, coating my womb.
We rode out the waves together, locked in a timeless embrace, shaking, sweating, crying out in the dark.
The comedown was slow.
Mikey collapsed on top of me, his weight heavy and comforting. He buried his face in my neck, his breathing ragged.
We stayed like that for a long time. The knot kept us joined, forcing us to remain intimate even after the act was over.
It was... peaceful.
I ran my hands over his sweaty back, tracing the runes again.
"Mikey?" I whispered.
"Mmm?" He sounded half-asleep.
"Are you okay?"
He lifted his head. He looked exhausted, but the darkness in his eyes was gone. The fear was gone.
"I've never felt better," he admitted. He kissed my nose. "You?"
"I feel... lighter."
"Good."
The knot began to subside after about ten minutes. He carefully withdrew, cleaning us up with a towel from the bathroom, treating me with a tenderness that made my heart melt all over again.
He pulled the duvet over us, tucking me into his side. I rested my head on his chest, listening to his heart. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Slow. Steady.
"Lydia," he said quietly into the darkness.
"Yeah?"
"About what you said in the hallway. At the arena."
I froze. I'm loving you.
"I was emotional," I said quickly. "Adrenaline. Stress. You don't have to—"
"I love you too," he interrupted.
I stopped breathing. I pushed myself up to look at him.
He was looking at the ceiling, but his hand was gripping my hip tightly.
"I didn't want to say it," he confessed. "Because I'm scared. I'm scared that loving you makes me vulnerable. I'm scared that I'm going to hurt you. I'm scared that I'm not enough."
He turned his head to look at me. His amber eyes were clear. Honest.
"But I do," he whispered. "I love you. You're the only thing that makes the noise stop. You're the only thing that makes me want to be better."
Tears welled in my eyes. "Mikey..."
"I'm going to figure out the money," he promised. "I'm going to get drafted. I'm going to take care of my dad. And I'm going to take care of you."
He reached up and wiped a tear from my cheek.
"Just... don't give up on me, okay? Even when I'm difficult. Even when the Wolf gets loud."
"Never," I vowed. "I'm in this. All the way."
He smiled. A real, soft smile that reached his eyes.
"Come here."
I lay back down. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me so close we were practically one person.
"Sleep, Mouse," he murmured. "I've got you."
I closed my eyes. I felt safe. I felt loved.
But as I drifted off, a tiny, nagging thought pricked at the back of my mind.
Day 14. Ovulation.
I pushed it away. It was fine. It was one time. The universe wouldn't be that cruel.
I snuggled closer to Mikey, listening to his heartbeat, and let the darkness take me.
Mikey
I watched her sleep.
Her breath puffed softly against my chest. Her hand was curled around my bicep. She looked peaceful.
I felt a fierce, overwhelming surge of protectiveness.
She was mine. I had claimed her. I had knotted her.
I knew I shouldn't have done it. I knew the risks. Shifter fertility was high during the rut—or even pre-rut. And she said she was on the pill, but...
I put a hand on her stomach. Flat. Soft.
Please, I prayed to whatever gods listened to monsters. Let her be safe. Let me be enough.
But deep down, in the place where the Wolf lived, I felt a smug satisfaction.
Mine. Ours. Pup.
I shoved the thought down. No. Not now. We weren't ready. I was broke. I was unstable.
But as I closed my eyes, I couldn't help the image that flashed in my mind.
A little girl with curly dark hair and amber eyes, holding a hockey stick.
I groaned softly and pulled Lydia tighter.
I was in so much trouble.
But for the first time in my life, I didn't want to run away. I wanted to stay and fight.
For her. For us. For whatever came next.