Chapter 17 - Mac #3
He bent his head, his mouth finding the strong column of Melvin’s throat. He licked the salt from his skin, tasted the heat. His teeth grazed the tendon, the pulse pounding wildly beneath his lips. A low, possessive rumble started in his chest, a sound that was more animal than man.
Melvin went utterly still beneath him, his breath catching. He understood. His hands slid from Mac’s face to his shoulders, gripping hard, an anchor. “Do it,” he whispered, the words a raw surrender. “I’m yours. Claim me.”
The permission shattered the last of Mac’s restraint. He drove into Melvin once, a deep, grounding thrust that seated him completely, and opened his mouth.
He didn’t bite hard. It was not a wound, but a seal.
His teeth pressed into the junction of Melvin’s shoulder and neck, a firm, unyielding pressure that broke the skin just enough.
The taste of copper bloomed on his tongue, rich and vital, mingling with the scent of amber.
A jolt, like a completed circuit, arced through him, through them both.
Melvin arched under him, a choked, guttural sound escaping his lips, his body clamping down on Mac’s cock in a series of frantic, pulsing clenches.
Mac held the bite, his world narrowing to the feel of skin between his teeth, the taste of Melvin’s blood, the overwhelming rightness screaming through every nerve. The mark was set. It was done. A wave of pure, possessive satisfaction, deeper than any orgasm, rolled through him. Mine.
He released his jaw slowly, laving the small, stinging marks with his tongue. He lifted his head, looking down at his work. The twin punctures stood out against Melvin’s skin, dark and purposeful. A primal badge. His.
Melvin was trembling, his eyes squeezed shut, tears caught in his lashes. His body was pliant, utterly open, still rhythmically clutching around Mac’s length. The sight undid him.
“Open your eyes,” Mac said, his voice wrecked.
Melvin’s eyes opened. They were shattered, full of a vulnerable, awe-struck wonder. He reached up, his fingers tracing Mac’s lips, smearing a faint trace of his own blood there. A silent, profound recognition passed between them, thicker than any vow.
Mac felt it then, not as a thought but as a certainty, something settling into place between them with the quiet permanence of bone.
The bond deepened and locked, no longer only instinct or promise but something alive and unbreakable.
He could feel Melvin in a way he never had before, emotion brushing against his own like a second pulse, close and unmistakable.
They were mates.
The bond settled between them, and then the need surged back, sharper now, more urgent.
Mac began to move again, his thrusts turning frantic, losing their measured control.
The claiming had unleashed something wild in them both.
Melvin met him thrust for thrust, his heels digging into the small of Mac’s back, his cries becoming incoherent pleas.
Mac could feel the tight, hot coil in his gut winding to its breaking point.
The swell at his base was more pronounced now, a thick, insistent pressure with every inward drive.
He slid a hand between them, wrapping his fingers around Melvin’s leaking cock.
He stroked him in time with his thrusts, his grip firm, his thumb smearing precome over the slick head.
“Come for me,” Mac commanded, his breath hot against the mark on Melvin’s neck.
“Come with me inside you. Now.”
The order, the friction, the overwhelming fullness tipped him over.
Melvin shattered with a raw, broken shout, his body bowing off the bed.
Heat spilled over Mac’s fist, stripes of white painting his own stomach and chest. The convulsions that ripped through Melvin milked Mac’s cock, the tight, rhythmic clenching dragging him over the edge right after.
His own release tore through him, a blinding, white-hot surge.
He drove deep one last time, as deep as he could go, and held there, pulsing into the clenching heat.
Pleasure, so intense it bordered on pain, radiated from his core, leaving him shuddering and breathless, his forehead dropped to Melvin’s sweat-damp shoulder.
For a while there was only the sound of their harsh, slowing breaths and the distant pulse of the city. Mac, still buried inside, felt the gradual softening clutch of Melvin’s body around him. He was heavy and spent, utterly wrecked.
He finally withdrew, moving with care.
The loss of connection was a physical ache. He collapsed onto his side, pulling Melvin with him, tucking him back against his chest. His hand came up, his fingers gently tracing the fresh marks on Melvin’s shoulder. In the dim light from the window, they looked dark, definitive.
Melvin was silent, his breathing gradually evening out. He shifted, wincing slightly, then settled more firmly into Mac’s embrace. His hand found Mac’s where it rested on his chest, their fingers lacing together.
No words came. The quiet between them now was different.
It was no longer the quiet of things unsaid, but the deep, resonant quiet of a truth finally settled into bone.
Mac pressed his lips to the mark once more, a silent vow against warm skin, and closed his eyes. The wolf in him was finally at peace.
“They mean you’re mine,” Mac whispered into the quiet, his lips brushing the tender skin of the fresh marks. “Now and after. Everywhere.”
Melvin shivered against him. He brought their laced fingers to his mouth, kissing Mac’s knuckles. The gesture was so tender it made Mac’s throat tight.
The room was cooling. Sweat dried on their skin, leaving a faint salt tackiness. The scent of them, sex, amber, the iron tang of blood, hung heavy in the stale air. Mac breathed it in. He’d never smelled anything more right.
Melvin shifted, turning in the circle of Mac’s arms until they were face to face on the pillow.
In the weak light from the window, his eyes were dark pools, soft and sated.
He reached up, his thumb tracing the line of Mac’s jaw.
“I know what they mean,” he said, his voice husky from shouting. “I felt it.”
Mac caught his wrist, turning it to press a kiss to the pulse point. The beat was steady and strong beneath his hand. “Good,” he murmured.
He expected the peace to hold. But as the minutes stretched, a new restlessness began to stir in his gut.
The claiming had satisfied the wolf’s deepest need, but it had also stoked a different kind of hunger.
The visual of Melvin, marked and spent beneath him, was a brand on his mind.
The physical memory of being inside him was an ache that hadn’t faded, just changed shape.
His hand, which had been resting on the small of Melvin’s back, began to move. A slow, possessive sweep up the knobs of his spine, then down over the curve of his ass. The skin there was warm, smooth. He cupped the swell of it, his fingers pressing gently. A reminder.
Melvin’s breath hitched. He didn’t pull away. He pressed closer, his leg sliding between Mac’s. The brush of his thigh against Mac’s softening cock sent a low, electric jolt through him.
“Again?” Melvin murmured, his question a warm puff against Mac’s mouth.
Mac didn’t answer with words. He answered by dipping his head and capturing Melvin’s lips in a deep, languid kiss. It was nothing like the frantic hunger from before. This was slow and thorough, a quiet rediscovery between them.
He tasted the echo of his own release, the unique flavor of Melvin, the faint, metallic reminder of the mark. He drank it all in.
His hand continued its exploration, kneading the firm muscle of Melvin’s ass, then drifting lower. He traced the crease where thigh met cheek, a feather-light touch. Melvin shuddered, a soft moan vibrating into Mac’s mouth.
Mac broke the kiss, breathing hard. He looked down between their bodies.
In the dimness, he could see the glisten of come on Melvin’s stomach, the faint tremble in his thighs.
The evidence of their joining was a powerful aphrodisiac.
His own cock, which had begun to soften, stirred against Melvin’s hip, thickening with a renewed, deliberate interest.
“You’re sore,” Mac stated, his voice a low rumble. His fingers brushed lower, just ghosting over Melvin’s entrance. It was swollen and sensitive. He could feel the slight give, the memory of his own invasion.
“Yes,” Melvin breathed. He wasn’t complaining. It was a confession.
“Want me to stop?” Mac’s fingers stilled, a silent offer of control.
Melvin’s answer was to hook his leg higher over Mac’s hip, opening himself. The movement was an unmistakable invitation. “Want you,” he corrected, his eyes holding Mac’s. “Any way you’ll have me.”
The raw trust in those words went straight to Mac’s core.
He shifted, rolling Melvin gently onto his back.
He loomed over him, taking in the sight: the dark marks on his shoulder, the sheen on his chest, the willing surrender in his posture.
Mac settled between his thighs, which fell open for him without hesitation.
He didn’t rush. He bent and licked a stripe up Melvin’s sternum, cleaning a streak of drying cum. The salt and musk burst on his tongue. He did it again, slower, then moved to a nipple, sucking it into his mouth until it was a hard peak. Melvin arched, his hands coming up to tangle in Mac’s hair.
Mac kissed his way down the tense plane of Melvin’s stomach. He nuzzled the dark trail of hair, breathing in the concentrated scent of him. His own arousal was a thick, heavy ache now, his cock fully hard and leaking against the sheets. He ignored it. This was for Melvin.