Chapter 021 Marked
Mark me.
The words tumbled out of Quinn's mouth, hanging in the air between them like a glitch in the code she couldn't undo. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she didn't back down. She tilted her head, baring the curve of her neck, the spot where shoulder met throat. Vulnerable. Exposed. But this was Julian. Her wolf.
He froze above her, every muscle locking up. Those golden eyes—his wolf's eyes—flared brighter, pupils blown wide. "What?"
"The mating bite." She held his gaze, refusing to blink. "I want it. Now. Right here in this bed."
"Kitten..." His voice scraped out hoarse, rough like gravel under tires. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. "You don't have to—"
"I know." She cut him off, firm. No room for doubt. "I want to. Unless... you want some pack ceremony? I can look up traditions, protocols—"
"Fuck protocol."
His mouth slammed into hers, all that pent-up hunger exploding. She gasped into the kiss, tasting pine and rain and him, as his body pinned her back into the pillows. Heavy. Solid. Covering her completely. This wasn't the careful Julian from before. This was the wolf unchained, desperate, claiming what was his.
He broke away just long enough to growl against her throat, lips dragging fire along her skin toward that perfect spot. "You sure? Once I do it, no going back. You're mine. Completely. Until one of us is dead."
"That's the point." She arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders.
"Kitten..."
"I'm sure." She fisted his dark hair, holding him there, right where she needed him. "Never been surer. Give me something that won't crash or get patched. Something real."
His breath hitched against her pulse point. She felt his teeth—sharper now, wolf-sharp—graze her skin. Then he pulled back, eyes wicked gold.
"Not yet. Not like this."
"Why the hell not?" Frustration spiked through her, hot and needy.
That grin. Pure wolf. "Gonna prepare you first. Then mark you where everyone can see."
He rolled off, ripping the sheets away in one yank. Her shirt sailed across the room. Pants next. Then his claws—actual claws—snagged her underwear's waistband. Gone. Shredded.
"You're hard on my underwear," she muttered, half-laughing, half-breathless.
"Stop wearing it." He stretched out beside her, all rippling muscle and tanned skin glowing in the afternoon light slanting through the penthouse windows. "Gets in my way. Now... I play."
His fingers ghosted over her bare skin, light as code scrolling a screen. Patterns. Teasing circles around her nipple, skipping the peak. She shivered, arched. Already aching.
"Julian..."
"Not yet." Low chuckle. He watched her squirm, that gleam in his eyes pure predator.
He kept it up until she quivered, then dropped his head, tongue swirling her other nipple. Tight. Aching. Perfect. Teeth scraped her collarbone—not breaking skin, but the sting shot straight to her core.
"So responsive," he murmured, breath hot. "Could map this body for hours."
His hand drifted lower. Hip. Thigh. Inner thigh. Stopping short. She whimpered—actual whimper—hips bucking for more.
"Patience, kitten."
"Screw patience." She was a live wire, sparking.
He laughed, husky rumble against her skin, then slid down. Tongue on her inner thigh. Close. So close. She grabbed his hair, trying to direct. He shook her off, smirking.
"Please." Ragged whisper.
"I'll give it." He kissed her ankle, deliberate. "Trust me?"
She stared at him. Muscles flexing under skin, power leashed tight. Holding back. For her. The trust hit her like a system reboot—clean, total.
"I'm letting a werewolf bite me. Trust's kinda default now."
"Smartass." Stubble rasped her calf, knee, behind it. Delicious friction. "But seriously. Trust I won't hurt you. Wolf's on a short leash."
"I trust you." Soft. True. He was fighting himself for her pleasure. Intoxicating.
Eyes flashed. "Both, then. Beg. Come."
His mouth sealed over her. She cried out—sharp, broken. Slow lick from entrance to clit. Tasting. Worshipping. Teeth grazing thighs. Finger sliding in. Then two. Crooking. Hitting that spot while his tongue circled.
Lost. Building storm. Hips frantic.
"Julian—please—"
He sucked her clit. World white-hot. Shattered. Convulsing. Waves crashing, leaving her gasping, shaking.
No time to recover. He flipped her—hands and knees. Behind her.
"Fuck, beautiful," growl rough. "Pink. Wet. Open."
One thrust—deep, filling. She cried out, stretching. Full. Complete. He paused, letting her adjust, then moved. Punishing rhythm. Bruising grip on hips. Power barely contained. Terrifying. Thrilling.
"You're mine." Barely human. "All mine."
Forward, chest to her back. Teeth on nape. Fire. His base swelled—knot growing, locking. She shoved back, chasing.
"Now," she sobbed, sheets twisting in fists. "Mark me now."
Teeth sank in—neck-shoulder junction. Piercing pain. Then heat flooding, bond snapping taut. Like circuits fusing. She screamed, orgasm ripping harder, deeper.
His cry hoarse as knot pulsed, spilling hot inside. Locked. His.
He collapsed—weight on forearms, careful. Still joined. She panted, bite stinging sweet. Cherished. Owned.
Tongue lapped the mark. Cleaning. Soothing. Erotic. Hips twitched.
"Keep that up," he groaned, "knot stays forever."
"Bad?" Aftershocks trembling her.
"Greedy kitten." Fingers found her clit—swollen, sensitive. Circling. Perfect pressure. Knot throbbing inside. Maddening.
"Beautiful," against her shoulder. "Flushed. Needy. Mine."
Words plus friction—another peak. Smaller, sharper. Boneless.
Finally, he slipped free. She whined—empty. Missed him already. He chuckled, low satisfied rumble, pulled her close. Covers over them.
"Miss it too." Kiss to her hair. She snuggled in. "How you feel?"
"Marked." Whisper. "Very, very happy."
Gentle kiss to forehead. Reverent. "I love you, Quinn."
"I love you too, you big, bossy wolf."
Twenty-two years. Foster homes. Group home drop-off at eight. Building walls of code and career, utility as armor. Searching for belonging.
Not a place. Him.
Never letting go.