Chapter 25 Esmerelda
ESMERELDA
The door barely clicks shut before Marcus grabs me and shoves me back against it. His mouth crashes into mine, hot and desperate, like he’s been holding it in for hours and finally snapped.
For a second, I freeze, caught off guard by the sheer force of him. But then the relief overwhelms me, and my hands fly into his hair. I drag him closer, kiss him harder, matching him beat for beat. The taste of him is fire and adrenaline and everything I shouldn’t want right now, but gods, I do.
It pours out of me like a dam breaking. The fear, the rage, the exhaustion, all bleed into the press of my mouth against his.
His stubble scrapes my skin, his breath tangles with mine, and I can’t get close enough.
My chest aches with the need to crawl inside him, to know for certain he’s here, alive, solid, and not another body I’ve had to bury in my mind.
Every nerve in me sparks like it’s been waiting for this moment, like my body knew long before my head that I’d cave. My wolf howls her approval, clawing at the inside of my ribs, urging me to claim him, to mark him, to forget everything else.
And still, some stubborn part of me whispers that this is wrong.
That kissing Marcus should feel like betrayal.
That my family, my pride, every vow I’ve ever made should stand between us.
But right now? None of that matters. Right now, the only thing that matters is the heat of his mouth and the way he kisses me like I’m providing the air in his lungs.
He breaks away just long enough to look at me, his dark gaze burning into me.
Then he kisses me again. Not just my mouth, but my cheek, my temple, the corner of my lips, even the bruises on my jaw.
Each touch feels like he’s memorizing me, branding me.
It’s too tender, too much. It almost hurts more than his aggression.
The softness cuts deeper than teeth ever could.
I can take violence, can handle anger, can fight claw for claw.
But this? Him kissing every mark like he wishes he could erase them?
It unravels me. My throat tightens, and I hate that it makes me want to cry when I’ve held it together through blood and battle.
I want to shove him away, tell him not to look at me like that. To not make this more than it is. Instead, I clutch him tighter, nails digging into his shoulders, because, I need this. I need him.
“Are you okay?” he rasps, his voice wrecked.
I nod. “You?”
He doesn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, he hooks his hands under my thighs and hoists me up.
My legs lock around his waist automatically, my body betraying me by pressing against his.
Heat flares as I grind against him, shameless, desperate for the friction.
His groan vibrates straight through me, low and guttural, and my wolf howls in satisfaction.
The sound ignites something reckless inside me, a hunger I can’t smother.
I roll my hips harder, chasing the drag of his cock against me through the thin layers between us.
The sensation sends sparks racing up my spine, curling low in my belly.
His grip tightens, fingers digging into my thighs like he’s seconds from losing control.
Gods, I should stop. I should push him away, tell him this is insanity after the night we’ve had. But I don’t. I can’t. All I want is more. More of his heat, more of the wild edge in his voice when he groans my name, more of the way he holds me like I’m the only thing tethering him to the world.
He stumbles toward the bed, his mouth never leaving mine, each kiss messier, more frantic than the last. And when my back finally hits the mattress, the weight of him covering me, pinning me, it feels less like surrender and more like survival.
The sound of fabric tearing fills the room a heartbeat later as he rips my shirt apart.
My gasp stutters out of me—half shock, half want—heat spiking all the way through me like a live wire.
The ruined fabric hangs loose off my shoulders, and for a second I feel like I should be caught between outrage at the audacity and thrill at how badly he wants me. But I settle for the thrill.
I scoot back across the mattress, the air cool against newly bared skin, my pulse hammering so loud it feels like he must hear it.
Each retreating step isn’t surrender, it’s invitation.
Giving him room, giving him permission without a single word.
My body speaks for me, arching, aching, daring him to follow.
The sheets bunch under my palms as I move, rough against my skin, grounding me even as everything else spins out of control.
My wolf thrums just beneath the surface, restless, greedy, urging me to bare my throat, to offer more.
I tilt my chin, chest rising and falling too fast, and catch the flash in his eyes, the way he reads my every motion like I’ve already said the words out loud.
It’s dangerous, handing him this much power, laying myself open. But, fuck, I want him to take it.
His eyes track every movement like a predator watching prey, but we’re both predators tonight. Both hunting. Chasing.
His eyes track every movement I make, hungry, relentless.
When he covers me again, it’s like the air gets knocked out of me.
The weight of him, the heat, the sheer force of his presence…
it’s overwhelming in the best and worst way.
His relief pours off him in waves, raw and unguarded, crashing into me until it’s impossible not to feel it too.
We’re alive. Against all odds, every plan that should’ve gone wrong, every chance we had to die tonight, we’re still here.
The reality of it slams into me as hard as his body does, and I clutch at him, needing the contact, needing the proof.
Because if I let go, if I put even an inch of space between us, I’ll start thinking about all the ways this could have ended differently.
And I can’t. Not tonight. Tonight, I need this. I need him.
Our mouths crash together again, and this time I don’t think. I don’t care. I hold onto him like he’s the only thing anchoring me to the world. Maybe he is.
This isn’t love. It can’t be. It’s survival. It’s the rush of battle still screaming in our blood. That’s what I tell myself, over and over, even as my nails rake down his back, even as my wolf rises to meet his, wild and unashamed.
We’re predators. We’re survivors. And right now, that’s all I need us to be.
His weight presses me into the mattress, all heat and muscle and sharp edges. His mouth devours mine, relentless now, no hesitation left. I meet him just as hard, pulling at his hair, dragging him closer, because I don’t want an inch of space between us.
Every clash of lips, every scrape of teeth, feels like proof—we made it, we’re alive, we’re here.
His chest grinds against mine, crushing the air out of my lungs, but I don’t care.
I want the pressure, the intensity, the certainty of him pinning me to this bed.
My nails dig into his scalp, tugging at the thick strands, and the growl it drags from his throat vibrates straight into my chest.
I arch up, desperate to fuse us together, to burn the memory of tonight into skin and bone. There’s no thought of tomorrow, no strategy, no plan. Just this, his weight, his heat, the raw need ripping through me.
He tears at what’s left of my clothes, fabric giving way beneath his hands, the sound of it sending a thrill straight to my core.
My nails rake down his back, not deep enough to draw blood but enough to make him shudder and snap his hips harder against mine.
His teeth graze my jaw, my throat, biting down just enough to blur the line between pain and pleasure.
I gasp, clinging tighter, meeting him with the same reckless edge.
My wolf surges under my skin, wild and unashamed, and for once I don’t fight it.
I bare myself to him—body, hunger, everything—because right now we’re not enemies, not reluctant allies.
We’re predators feeding off a fire that’s burning us alive.
He groans into my mouth, the sound more animal than human, and it makes my pulse spike. My wolf claws at me from the inside, urging me to bite, to claim, to let go of every shred of restraint I’ve been clinging to.
He thrusts against me, the hard length of him grinding against my core, and I cry out, my body arching into his. Sitting back, he unbuttons his black jeans and takes them off. Next, he reaches behind his head and tugs his shirt off. It shouldn’t be so damn hot, but it is.
I gasp. The sound barely escapes before his teeth find my shoulder, biting down—not enough to break skin, but enough to claim.
The sharp sting sends heat rocketing straight through me.
My wolf surges up, and before I can second-guess, I bite back, sinking my teeth into the curve of his neck.
He growls, low and feral, hips slamming into mine like the fight just shifted into bed.
He grips my hips hard enough to bruise as he drives into me, rough and unrelenting. Each thrust knocks the breath from my lungs, my body shattering against his over and over. And gods, I love it. I love the rawness, the abandon, the way he looks at me like I’m the only thing that exists.
This isn’t love. It can’t be. It’s adrenaline, survival, two wolves burning off the chaos of the night the only way we know how. That’s what I tell myself, even as my body opens for him, even as I scream his name when my climax rips through me, violent and consuming.
He follows me over the edge, groaning into my neck as his release spills deep inside me. Our bodies convulse together, teeth and claws and sweat and heat until there’s nothing left but trembling exhaustion.
When it’s over, when the frenzy fades, I expect him to roll away, to put distance between us. Instead, he stays. His chest heaves against mine, his arms wrap tight around me, and he holds me like he never wants to let go.
Gods help me, I’m glad. I don’t want to move either.
This isn’t love, I remind myself again. Just survival. Just two predators finding comfort in the dark.
But the steady beat of his heart under my cheek feels dangerously like something more.