Chapter 44
Lyanna
His lips meet mine, and our bond sings between us.
It’s not just a physical connection—I feel his desire, his relief, his absolute certainty that this was worth every battle.
The kiss deepens, and I taste woodsmoke and something wild that belongs only to him.
My fingers thread through his hair, holding him close as our tongues meet in a slow, unhurried exploration.
His satisfaction radiates through me—the way my body arches toward his, seeking more.
His pride in having claimed me, in having fought for us.
And beneath the fierce possession, a gentleness in his touch that catches me off guard.
This warrior who fights like he was born for violence handles me like I’m something precious.
“I can feel you,” I whisper against his mouth, amazed at the depth of connection. “All of you.”
His hands slide down my sides, following the curve of my waist to my hips. “And I can feel you,” he murmurs, voice rough with desire. “Every thought. Every need.”
When he sinks to his knees before me, my breath catches.
This powerful man—wolf, guardian, warrior—kneeling as if in worship.
His amber eyes never leave mine as his fingers find the hem of my dress, slowly drawing it upward.
The cabin air feels cool against my newly exposed skin, raising goosebumps along my thighs.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin just above my knee. His hands move with reverent patience, sliding the fabric higher while his mouth follows, tasting each new inch of revealed skin.
I shiver as pleasure and anticipation coil low in my belly. The dress rises past my hips, and his hands pause, thumbs tracing small circles against my hipbones.
A growl escapes him as he realizes I’m not wearing anything under it. His desire spikes so sharply I gasp.
“You’re trembling,” he says, looking up at me with eyes that glow like embers in the firelight.
“So are you,” I whisper back, feeling the slight tremor in his strong hands.
He smiles then—not the controlled, careful smile I’ve seen him give others, but something raw and honest that transforms his face. My dress whispers over my skin as he continues to remove it, slowly, inch by inch, his breath warm against my stomach as the fabric lifts away.
Impatient now, I reach for the buttons of his shirt, making quick work of them while he shrugs the fabric from his shoulders.
The firelight plays across the hard planes of his chest, the scars that map his history as a warrior.
We fumble with his pants together, urgent and breathless, until nothing separates us.
When his hands cradle my face, those lust-darkened eyes bore into my own, reflecting firelight and unmasked desire. Need crashes between us—raw, primal, unstoppable.
I feel his restraint unraveling, that careful control he maintains dissolving beneath my touch.
I thrust my tongue deeper into his mouth, claiming him as thoroughly as he’s claimed me. A moan escapes him, vibrating against my lips. The sound travels straight through me, igniting a fire in my core and creating a sudden wetness between my legs.
His hand slides between my legs, calloused fingertips exploring with confident purpose. The contrast undoes me—hands rough from weapons and training, yet impossibly gentle against my most sensitive flesh. When he touches my wet center, my hips buck involuntarily.
“You’ve been having naughty thoughts, Ly?” he asks, voice rough with desire. “You’re soaking wet for me.”
The word “yes” catches in my throat, emerging as a desperate moan. I spread my legs wider, pushing forward against his hand, shameless in my need. His satisfaction at my eagerness pulses through our connection—pride in drawing this response from me.
His fingers continue their teasing exploration as he brings his other hand up to cradle my face. The contrast between gentleness and raw desire in his eyes makes my breath catch. I’m lost in amber depths that seem to glow with inner fire.
When both hands move to my throat, I tilt my head back in surrender, moaning the loss of his hand between my legs, but reveling in every touch nonetheless.
His calloused thumbs find that sensitive spot beneath my ears, sending shivers down my spine.
The bond between us pulses with each heartbeat, amplifying every sensation.
Slowly, his hands drift lower, following the curve of my neck to my collarbone, then down to my breasts. I gasp at the sensation of his rough skin against my sensitive nipples. They harden instantly under his touch, begging for more attention.
He obliges, lowering his head to take one peak into his mouth, his tongue circling the hardened bud while his hand attends to the other. Each stroke sends lightning through my body. I thread my fingers through his hair, holding him against me as pleasure builds.
When he releases my breast and begins to kneel before me again, I almost whimper at the loss. But the sight of him—this powerful warrior, this fierce protector—on his knees before me like a supplicant before a goddess steals my breath entirely.
His lips caress my inner thigh with feather-light pressure, each kiss a burning promise.
When his tongue finally slides along my center, my cry echoes through the cabin as pleasure jolts through me like lightning.
I press back against the wall, spreading my legs wider, the solid support the only thing keeping me upright as my fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to me.
His tongue explores me with deliberate precision, and I taste myself on his consciousness—honey-sweet with a musky edge that makes him growl against my sensitive flesh. His hunger burns through our connection; he’s barely restraining himself from claiming me completely.
“God, Callum,” I gasp, feeling him smile against me.
When one finger slides inside me, I arch forward, wanting more. He adds a second, stretching me perfectly while his tongue focuses on that sensitive bundle of nerves. The dual sensation makes me moan his name again, louder this time.
His teasing is exquisite torture—circling, barely touching where I need him most, then withdrawing just as pleasure builds. I feel his satisfaction at my frustration, the power he takes in drawing this out.
“Please,” I beg, all good girl manners forgotten as I thrust my hips toward his mouth and hold his head where I want it most. “No more teasing.”
His amber eyes flash up at me, wild with desire, and I feel his wolf rising—demanding he take what’s his. Finally, mercifully, he presses his tongue firmly against my clit while curling his fingers inside me, finding that perfect spot that makes my vision blur.
My first climax crashes over me without warning. I scream his name, my fingers tightening in his hair as waves of pleasure pulse through me. Before I can recover, he intensifies his movements, determined to draw more from me.
The second orgasm builds impossibly fast, stronger than the first. My legs tremble violently, my back arching off the wall.
His free hand clamps against my waist, pinning me upright as my knees threaten to buckle.
Every muscle in my body tightens, releases, tightens again—wave after wave crashing through me until I can’t tell where one peak ends, the next begins.
Only his iron grip and the solid wall behind me keep me from sliding to the floor.
I gasp as waves of pleasure gradually subside, my body still trembling. Callum rises to his feet with fluid grace, his strong arms lifting me as if I weigh nothing. His primal satisfaction at carrying me to bed mingles with tender care.
“Please,” I whisper as he positions himself between my legs, his hardness pressing against my entrance. “I need you now.”
He begins to push inside, and I’m flooded with dual sensation—my body stretching to accommodate him and simultaneously the pressure of being gripped by wet heat. His moan reverberates through both our bodies as he fights to go slowly, to let me adjust.
“So tight,” he breathes, restraint burning through him like live coals.
Each inch forward is a revelation—being filled while experiencing what it feels like to fill. The double perspective is overwhelming, disorienting, exquisite.
When he’s fully seated inside me, our bond pulses with shared pleasure. I can’t tell where my sensations end and his begin.
“Move,” I urge, lifting my hips to take him deeper. He responds instantly, withdrawing slightly before pushing forward again. Each thrust drags against my most sensitive spots, building pressure that threatens to shatter me.
He shifts his angle, and I cry out as the base of his shaft rubs against my still-sensitive clit with each movement. My orgasm builds rapidly, my inner muscles clenching around him, drawing a growl from deep in his chest.
I arch back as my climax crashes through me in waves.
But what takes my breath away is how it amplifies—I’m not just feeling my own pleasure.
I’m experiencing his raw, primal response to my body clenching around him, which triggers deeper contractions from me, which intensifies his sensation, creating a circuit of pleasure that threatens to consume us both.
“Callum,” I gasp, overwhelmed. “I can feel ... everything.”
His jaw clenches with effort, sweat beading along his spine. His wolf claws beneath his skin, demanding he finish, claim, mark. Yet still he denies himself, focused entirely on my pleasure.
“You don’t have to—“ I begin, but my words dissolve into a moan as he shifts angle, hitting a spot that sends lightning through my veins.
“I’m not done with you yet,” he growls, voice rough with restraint.
The pressure builds again impossibly fast as he continues his steady rhythm. My nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent marks he’ll wear tomorrow. Tonight, I want my passion written on his skin.
His breathing grows ragged as my inner muscles begin to flutter again, tightening around him. Each pulse tests his control, each clench threatening to push him over the edge he’s determined to resist.
“Let go,” I whisper, awed by his self-control but desperate to feel him surrender completely. “I want to feel you.” But I know he won’t. He’s waiting. Waiting for the marking.
I feel his wolf rising—demanding to claim, to mark, to make me irrevocably theirs. His control slips with each thrust, his own release building as my inner walls flutter around him.
With strength that surprises even me, I plant my hands against his chest and push up, flipping our positions so that I’m straddling him. His back hits the mattress with a soft thud, and the sudden reversal pulls a primal growl from his throat—part surprise, part approval.
His amber eyes gleam up at me, his hands gripping my hips as I settle my weight over him, his length still buried deep inside me.