Chapter 10
Arabella
The darkness of the dorm room wasn't silent. It was heavy, breathing, and alive.
I lay perfectly still under the duvet, staring at the faint outline of the fairy lights that I hadn’t turned off, just dimmed to a low, amber glow.
Beside me, Dante was a furnace. His body heat radiated across the scant inches of space between us, scorching my skin through the thin fabric of my blouse.
We had said goodnight. We had agreed to sleep.
It was a lie.
Neither of us was sleeping. I could feel the tension coming off him in waves. His breathing was too controlled, a rhythmic four-count inhale and exhale that sounded forced. Every few seconds, a muscle in his arm—which was currently draped heavily over his eyes—would twitch.
He was in pain. I knew his knee was throbbing; the ice pack had long since melted into a lukewarm bag of slush on the floor. But it wasn't just the knee.
I could feel him. Not just his body, but his presence. It was a magnetic pull, a static charge that made the hair on my arms stand up. The air in the room smelled thick—pine, woodsmoke, and a sharp, musky scent that I now recognized as arousal.
He was hard. I had felt the rigid length of him pressed against my hip before he’d rolled onto his back to put distance between us.
My own heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Thump. Thump. Thump.
I turned my head on the pillow to look at him.
He took up nearly the entire twin bed. His feet hung off the end. His shoulders spanned the width of the mattress. He was shirtless, his chest a landscape of muscle and shadow, rising and falling with those measured breaths.
"Dante?" I whispered.
He didn't move. He didn't take his arm off his eyes.
"Go to sleep, Arabella," he rasped. His voice sounded like gravel grinding together.
"I can't," I admitted.
"Try harder."
"You're not sleeping either."
He let out a long, ragged sigh and finally lowered his arm. He turned his head to look at me. In the dim amber light, his eyes were pools of shadow, but I caught the glint of gold deep within the irises.
"I can't sleep," he said, his voice tight. "Because I am currently lying in a bed that smells like vanilla, next to the woman I want to devour, while my blood is boiling. It’s an exercise in torture."
"Then stop torturing yourself," I said softly.
He flinched. "We talked about this. You're tired. I'm injured. It’s not the time."
"It's never the time," I countered, shifting onto my side to face him fully. "First I was too fragile. Then it was forbidden. Now it's the injury. There’s always a reason, Dante. A wall you put up to keep me safe."
"Safety matters," he growled.
"I don't feel safe," I whispered. "I feel... on fire."
I reached out. My hand trembled slightly as I placed it on the center of his chest, right over his heart.
It was beating wildly. Fast. Powerful. Like a bird trapped in a cage.
His skin was scalding hot. The texture of him fascinated me—the dusting of dark hair, the hardness of the pectoral muscle, the scars that told stories of violence I could barely comprehend.
"Arabella, don't," he warned, his hand coming up to grip my wrist. He didn't push me away, though. He just held me there, his thumb pressing into my pulse point.
"Why?" I asked. "Because I'll break?"
"Yes."
"I walked through a blizzard for you," I reminded him. "I walked onto the ice to save you. I’m not glass, Dante. I’m flesh and blood. And right now... I need you to touch me."
Something in his eyes fractured. The golden ring expanded, swallowing the brown.
"You have no idea what you're asking for," he whispered. "You think you do. You think it’s going to be romantic. Soft." He laughed humorlessly. "I can't be soft right now. The wolf is too close to the surface. If I start... I won't stop until I've owned you."
"Good," I breathed.
His grip on my wrist tightened to the point of pain. It wasn't unbearable; it was grounding.
"Say that again," he commanded.
"Good," I repeated, moving my body closer until my chest brushed his arm. "Own me, Dante. Ruin me. I don't want to be the Good Girl anymore. I want to be yours."
That was the breaking point.
He moved with a speed that shouldn't have been possible for a man with a swollen knee.
One moment he was lying flat; the next, he had rolled over, caging me beneath him. He braced his weight on his elbows to keep from crushing me, his face inches from mine.
"You're mine," he snarled. "You've been mine since the moment you walked into that basement."
He crashed his mouth down on mine.
There was no hesitation this time. No gentle exploration. It was a claiming. He devoured me, his tongue sweeping into my mouth with a dominance that made my toes curl. He tasted of mint and raw, unadulterated hunger.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down, arching my body into the heat of his. I felt the heavy ridge of his erection press against my stomach through the layers of our clothes, hard as steel.
He broke the kiss to bury his face in my neck, inhaling deeply. He bit the sensitive cord of muscle there—hard.
I cried out, a sharp intake of breath that turned into a moan.
"You taste like mine," he growled against my skin, his hand moving down to grip my hip. "You smell like mine."
He sat back, straddling my hips, keeping his weight off his bad leg. He looked down at me, his chest heaving, his hair wild.
"Take it off," he ordered. He pointed to my skirt. "I want to see you."
My hands were shaking as I reached for the zipper. I felt clumsy, exposed, but the heat in his gaze burned away the shame. I shimmied the skirt down my hips. He helped me, yanking the fabric away and tossing it onto the floor.
Then the blouse. Then the panties.
Within seconds, I was naked.
I lay there on the pale sheets, illuminated by the fairy lights, completely bare to him. I instinctively moved to cover myself, my hands fluttering toward my breasts and the apex of my thighs.
"No," he said sharply. He reached out and grabbed my wrists, pinning them to the mattress above my head with one hand. His grip was a shackle.
"Look at you," he breathed, his gaze raking over me like a physical touch. "So pale. So soft. You look like moonlight."
He lowered his head, trailing hot, wet kisses down the center of my chest, over my stomach. His stubble grazed my skin, sending shivers radiating through my nerves.
"Dante," I whimpered, thrashing slightly against his hold. "Please."
"Please what?" he teased, blowing cool air onto my navel. "Please stop? Please go?"
"Please touch me," I begged. "Everywhere."
He released my wrists and sat up. He reached for the waistband of his boxer briefs.
My breath caught in my throat. This was it. The mystery. The danger.
He pushed the fabric down.
I stared. I couldn't help it.
He was... massive. Thick, veined, and terrifyingly large. The head was broad, the shaft scarred slightly. It looked like a weapon. It looked like something that shouldn't fit inside a human body.
My eyes widened. A primal spike of fear shot through me.
"Dante..." I whispered.
He saw the fear. He paused, his expression turning tortured.
"I know," he rasped. "I'm too big. I told you."
He started to pull the boxers back up.
"No!" I scrambled up, reaching out to stop his hand. "No. Don't hide it."
"Arabella, look at the physics," he said grimly. "I will tear you apart."
"You won't," I said, my voice trembling but certain. "We'll go slow. You said... you said you have restraint."
"I'm losing it," he admitted, sweat beading on his forehead. "Being this close to you... smelling your fear mixed with your arousal... it's making the wolf crazy. He wants to knot you."
Knot.
I knew the term from the textbooks. The biological locking mechanism. The base of the shaft swelling to lock the female in place for breeding.
The thought should have terrified me.
Instead, a liquid heat pooled low in my belly, heavy and aching.
"Do it," I whispered.
He stared at me, shocked. "What?"
"Knot me," I said. "Fill me. I want to feel everything."
He groaned, a sound of pure agony and delight.
"You are going to be the death of me," he muttered.
He reached for the nightstand, fumbling for his wallet. He pulled out a foil packet.
"At least we're being safe about one thing," he grunted, tearing it open with his teeth.
He sheathed himself, his movements jerky with restraint. Then he moved between my legs.
He didn't just shove in. He positioned himself, the broad head of his cock pressing against my entrance. It felt huge. Impossible.
"Look at me," he commanded.
I looked up into his eyes. They were glowing fiercely now, almost entirely amber.
"I'm going to stretch you," he warned, his voice low and hypnotic. "It's going to hurt at first. You need to tell me if it's too much. You have the power here, Arabella. You say stop, I stop. Even if it kills me."
"I trust you," I said.
He pushed forward. Just an inch.
I gasped, my back arching off the mattress. The stretch was intense. A burning sensation that filled me completely.
"Breathe," he coached, leaning down to kiss my forehead, his sweat dripping onto my skin. "Good girl. Relax for me."
He withdrew slightly, then pushed again. Deeper this time.
"Oh god," I moaned, clutching his shoulders. "Dante."
"I know, baby. I know. You're so tight," he groaned, his jaw clenched. "So perfect."
He established a slow, agonizing rhythm. Push. Retreat. Push. Retreat.
With every stroke, he claimed a little more territory. He was patient, sweating and shaking with the effort of holding back his immense strength. He watched my face, reading every micro-expression, ensuring I was with him.
And then, he hit the barrier.
My innocence.
He stopped. He rested his forehead against mine.
"Last chance," he whispered. "Once I break this... there's no going back. You're marked. You're mine."
"I was never anyone else's," I whispered back. I lifted my hips, pressing against him. "Break it."
He let out a guttural roar and thrust his hips forward.
A sharp, tearing pain ripped through me. I cried out, digging my nails into his back.
He froze immediately, burying his face in my neck, murmuring frantic apologies.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, shhh..."
But the pain faded quickly, replaced by a feeling of fullness that was overwhelming. He was deep. So deep he touched my soul.
"Are you okay?" he asked, pulling back to look at me.
I blinked away the tears in my eyes. "Yes. Don't stop."
He began to move again.
And this time, it wasn't pain. It was friction. It was heat. It was pleasure building like a storm front.
"That's it," he growled, seeing the change in my expression. "Take it all. Take every inch."
He picked up the pace. The bed creaked rhythmically. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small room.
I was lost in the sensation. The sheer size of him stretched me, filled me, consumed me. Every thrust hit a spot deep inside that made my vision blur.
"Dante!" I screamed, forgetting the quiet hours, forgetting the neighbors.
"My name," he praised, grabbing my hand and interlacing our fingers, pinning them to the bed again. "Scream my name. Let them hear."
He was pounding into me now. The restraint was slipping. The Alpha was taking over. His thrusts were harder, deeper, more animalistic.
"I'm close," he warned, his voice strained. "Arabella, I can't... the knot..."
I felt it. A pressure building at the entrance, a swelling that made the stretch even more impossible.
"Let go," I told him. "Let go, Dante!"
He slammed into me one final time, burying himself to the hilt.
His body went rigid. He threw his head back, a roar tearing from his throat that was purely wolf.
And then I felt it. The knot snapped into place.
It was a sensation of being locked. Of being sealed. He swelled inside me, stretching me to my absolute limit, filling every void.
The pleasure was blinding. It triggered my own release.
My body convulsed around him, clamping down on the knot. I shattered.
I saw stars. I heard rushing water. I felt myself fly apart and put back together in the shape of him.
He rode out his climax, his body shuddering violently against mine, pouring himself into me (protected by the latex, but the instinct was there). He collapsed on top of me, his weight heavy and crushing and perfect.
We lay there for a long time. Locked together. Literally.
The knot kept him inside me. We couldn't separate even if we wanted to.
I stroked his damp hair, listening to his heart thunder against my chest. My legs were wrapped around his waist, trembling.
"You okay?" he mumbled into the pillow next to my ear. He sounded wrecked.
"I think I'm ruined," I whispered, a smile touching my lips.
He lifted his head. He looked at me with an intensity that terrified me. The amber in his eyes was slowly fading back to brown, but the possessiveness remained.
"Yeah," he said hoarsely. "You are. You're ruined for anyone else. Because if another man tries to touch you after this... I'll kill him."
It should have been a threat. It sounded like a promise.
"I don't want anyone else," I said.
We lay in silence as the knot slowly subsided. It took twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of forced intimacy. Twenty minutes of him holding me, kissing my face, whispering "Good girl" and "So beautiful" against my skin.
When he finally pulled out, the loss was physical. I felt empty. Cold.
He rolled off me, wincing as he moved his bad knee. He disposed of the condom and cleaned us up with a towel from my desk, his movements surprisingly gentle for a man who had just ravaged me.
He pulled the duvet up over us, tucking it around my shoulders.
He pulled me back against his chest, his arm wrapping around my waist like a steel band.
"Arabella?"
"Hmm?" I was drifting, floating on a cloud of endorphins.
"You realize what just happened," he said. His voice was serious. "The bond. I felt it snap. Did you?"
I opened my eyes.
The bond. The fated mate connection.
I had felt it. A tug in my chest. A sense of rightness.
"I felt it," I whispered.
"This changes everything," he said, staring at the ceiling. "The Pack. Your father. The school. We just declared war on all of them."
"I don't care," I said, snuggling closer to his warmth.
"I do," he said. "Because now I have something to lose."
He kissed the top of my head.
"Sleep now, sweetheart. You're going to need your strength."
I closed my eyes, letting the darkness take me. But just before I fell asleep, a thought drifted through my mind, cold and sharp as an icicle.
I love him.
I loved the monster. I loved the architect. I loved the broken boy with the scar.
And my father was going to try to destroy him for it.
I tightened my grip on Dante’s arm. Let him try. I was a Wolf’s mate now. And I was learning how to bite back.