Chapter 21 #2
Wrecker’s body was a furnace behind me, one arm a steel cable around my ribs, his hand cupped under my breast. His heartbeat pounded through my spine.
He was always warm, but this morning he was molten, radiating through the layers of my borrowed t-shirt.
There was another pressure, urgent and familiar, pressing against the small of my back.
It took my bleary brain a second to realize it was his cock, rock hard and twitching against me, insistent as a metronome.
For a minute, I just lay there, breathing in the scent of him—soap and oranges and that raw, animal note that meant home.
My body flushed awake in stages: first a low hum in my chest, then a fluttering in my gut, and finally a pulse of heat between my legs.
It had been too long, and my wolf was out of patience.
The memory of how he filled me, the burn and bliss of it, hit me all at once.
I tried to shift, but he only tightened his grip, pinning me in place.
I turned in his arms his deep breath telling me he was still sleeping soundly.
I reached inside his sleep pants and tenderly ran my fingers over his erection, watching his face.
His eyebrows furrowed as he gave a small moan that made me even wetter than before.
Gently, I traced my fingertips across his balls, then back up the length of his cock, a grin on my face.
“Morning, Wren,” as his eyes slowly opened.
“Morning,” I managed, as I gripped him a little harder.
His hand reached out and grasped my wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make his point. “Hmm, a little bird thinks she’s in charge of something this morning. She could not be more mistaken.”
He wrapped his hand around mine and rocked his hips, eyes never leaving mine. “Fuck, that’s a nice way to wake up. You sure you’re up for this? We can wait. Let you heal.”
I twisted in his grip, finally managing to roll onto my back. He loomed over me, eyes gone storm-gray, wild but worried.
“I’m not fragile,” I said, reaching down to grip him again. He was huge in my hand, hot and heavy and already leaking. I stroked him once, twice, just to watch his eyes close.
When he opened them, he was smiling. “You trying to top me?”
I squeezed, hard enough to make his whole body flex. “Maybe.”
He growled, deep and hungry. “That’s not how this works, little bird.”
He pushed the t-shirt up and over my head, baring my skin. He paused at every bruise, every healing cut, tracing them with a thumb. The way he looked at me made me feel less like a victim and more like a miracle.
He spread my legs with a knee, settling between them. The heat of him was torture, so close, but not enough. His mouth went to my collarbone, sucking a line of fire down to my breast. He circled my nipple with his tongue, then bit down, gentle but possessive.
I arched into him, desperate. “Please,” I said, not sure if I meant for him to fuck me or just never stop touching me.
He slid his hand down, fingers skimming my ribs, my belly, then lower. He slipped two fingers into my panties, found me already soaked and aching. He circled my clit, feather-light, then slipped inside with maddening patience.
“You’re so wet,” he murmured, watching my face. “You are a needy little thing aren’t you?”
I nodded, unable to trust my voice.
“So am I, baby.”
He pulled back, making me whimper, then slid my panties down my legs and tossed them aside.
He spread me open, studied me like a work of art, then lowered his mouth to my pussy.
The first lick was slow, exploratory. The second was a punch of electricity straight to my core.
He worked me with his tongue, alternating soft laps with sharp, insistent flicks.
When I bucked against his face, he held me down, growling into my skin.
“Fucking fuck, Wren. You taste like happiness.”
I came fast, the pleasure blinding, white noise in my brain. But he didn’t stop. He kept eating me, relentless, until I was shaking, begging him to let up.
He finally surfaced, chin slick with me, eyes blazing.
“I love how you taste,” he said, voice gone ragged.
He lined himself up at my entrance, the head of his cock nudging my pussy. He hovered, teasing, waiting for me to say something.
I reached for him, wrapped my arms around his neck. “Claim me,” I said. “Now.”
He didn’t hesitate. He thrust into me in one slow, agonizing stroke, filling me until I couldn’t breathe. The stretch was brutal, but perfect. He gave me a second to adjust, then started to move—slow at first, then harder, deeper. Every thrust hit the spot inside me that was made just for him.
I wrapped my legs around him, my heels digging into his ass cheeks.
He bent his head to my throat, breathing me in. “You ready to be mine forever?” he asked, voice trembling.
“Yes. Yes, Eli, please—”
He fucked me harder, each stroke building the pressure.
When I was right on the edge, he struck—his teeth breaking the skin of my shoulder, pain and pleasure braided together.
I screamed, body clamping down on him. I felt the rush of his release, the knot at the base of his cock swelling, locking us together.
The euphoria was otherworldly, a tidal wave that erased everything but the feeling of him, inside and out.
He kept biting deeper, drinking in my soul. I felt the mate bond snap into place—a tether, a lifeline, electric and eternal. Every nerve sang with the knowledge that I was his, now and forever.
He pulled back, blood on his lips, eyes black with satisfaction.
“Will you return the claim, little bird?” he whispered, voice a dare.
My own fangs descended, sharp and eager. I dragged him down and bit into his shoulder, tasting the copper of his blood, the raw wildness of his wolf. He shuddered, nearly collapsing on top of me as the bond went both ways, sealing us together in body and mind.
My second orgasm ripped through me, violent and pure. I screamed into his flesh, nails digging bloody crescents into his back.
When the world came back, I was floating. He was still inside me, still pulsing, his knot keeping us locked tight. I licked the wound on his shoulder, then kissed it, dizzy with the taste of him.
He rolled us onto our sides, careful not to break the seal. He stroked my hair, kissing my forehead.
“I love you,” he said. “More than my own life.”
I clung to him, shaking. “Don’t ever let go.”
“Never,” he promised.
We lay there, tangled and messy, the room bright with morning light. I closed my eyes, the echo of the bond humming through every cell. For the first time in my life, I felt whole.
He cleaned me up with a damp washcloth, tucking me under the covers. I drifted off, his scent all around me, the mark on my shoulder throbbing with a sweet ache.
I dreamed of the lemon tree again. My mother watched from the window, smiling.
This time, I knew I was home.