Epilogue #2
Violet’s breath hitched. A soft, involuntary sound escaped her lips.
Arlo heard it. And from the way his pupils dilated, the way his nostrils flared slightly as he caught her scent, he more than liked it. His gaze darkened, something primal flickering behind his eyes. His shark stirring beneath the surface.
“I can smell how much you want this,” he murmured against her palm, his voice rough with desire.
Heat flooded her cheeks, but she didn’t deny it. Couldn’t deny it when her body was already betraying her, when she could feel the dampness gathering between her thighs.
He stepped in closer, closing the final inches between them, his free hand finding the small of her back. The warmth of him melted into her, surrounded her. He was so big, so solid, so utterly consuming. His scent—salt and sea and something wholly him—made her dolphin croon with satisfaction.
And still, he waited. Giving her the choice. The final decision.
It was Violet who moved first. She lifted onto her toes, her hands fisting in the front of his shirt as she pressed her mouth to his.
Arlo responded instantly. His kiss was slow at first, almost deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second, to taste her thoroughly. His tongue swept across her lower lip, requesting entry, and she opened for him without hesitation.
The first stroke of his tongue against hers sent fire racing through her veins. She moaned into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kiss, and felt his grip tighten at her waist in response.
“Fuck, Violet,” he growled against her lips. “You taste even better every time I touch you.”
Her fingers fisted tighter into his shirt, and whatever control he’d been maintaining snapped like a taut wire.
His hands moved to her hips, gripping firmly, possessively, pulling her flush against him.
She could feel the hard length of his arousal pressing against her stomach, could feel the barely leashed power in his large frame.
The slow burn between them erupted into something more. Something uncontrolled. Something inevitable.
Arlo’s kiss became demanding, unyielding.
His teeth caught her lower lip, tugging gently before his tongue swept in to soothe the sting.
Violet felt herself melt into it, felt the weight of everything between them pour into this moment.
The chase, the danger, the undeniable pull that had been driving them both mad.
He wasn’t just kissing her. He was claiming her. And she claimed him right back.
Her hands slid up his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath the soft cotton of his shirt. When she reached his shoulders, she pushed at the fabric, suddenly desperate to feel his skin against hers.
Arlo understood immediately. He pulled back just long enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it aside carelessly. In the dim light filtering through the windows, his body was a masterpiece of lean muscle and sharp angles, the dark tattoo on his ribs standing out starkly against his skin.
“My turn,” he said, his voice a low rasp that sent shivers down her spine.
His hands found the hem of her blouse, and he paused, those blue-gray eyes searching her face for permission. When she nodded, he lifted the fabric slowly, reverently, pressing kisses to each new inch of skin he revealed.
Her stomach. The underside of her breast. The hollow of her throat.
By the time he pulled the blouse over her head, Violet was trembling with need.
Arlo’s gaze raked over her, taking in the simple black lace of her bra, the rapid rise and fall of her chest. His hands skimmed up her sides, thumbs brushing just under the curve of her breasts.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, and something in his tone made her chest tight with emotion. Not just desire, but wonder.
Then he moved again, one hand sliding up her back to the clasp of her bra while the other gripped her thigh. Before she could even catch her breath, he lifted her, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he pressed her back against the nearest wall.
His body pinned her there, solid and warm and inescapable. The hard ridge of his arousal pressed against her core, separated only by the thin fabric of their remaining clothes, and she gasped at the sensation.
“Arlo,” she breathed, her head falling back against the wall.
He took advantage, his mouth trailing hot, open kisses down the column of her throat. When he reached the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, he lingered, his teeth scraping lightly against her skin.
“I want to mark you here,” he said, his voice rough with need. “Want everyone to know you’re mine.”
The possessiveness in his tone should have annoyed her. Instead, it made her core clench with want.
“Patience,” she managed to tease, though it took considerable effort.
He growled possessively at the challenge, but it didn’t stop him from lavishing attention on the spot, sucking and kissing until she was writhing against him.
He fumbled with her bra, and then his mouth was on her breast, his tongue circling her nipple before he drew it between his lips.
Violet bit her lip, stifling her cry, her back arching, her hands flying to his hair. The sensation shot straight to her core, and she ground against him, desperate for friction.
“Bed,” she gasped. “Please.”
Arlo lifted his head, his eyes dark with desire and something deeper. “Are you sure?”
In answer, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him with everything she had. When they broke apart, both breathing hard, she whispered, “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
She didn’t remember the journey to her bedroom, only that somehow they made it there, a trail of clothes marking their path.
By the time they tumbled onto her bed, she was naked except for a scrap of black lace, and Arlo was gloriously bare, his body a thing of beauty in the moonlight streaming through her windows.
He knelt between her thighs, his hands skimming up her legs, thumbs brushing dangerously close to where she needed him most.
“You’re so wet for me,” he said, voice thick with appreciation as his fingers found the damp fabric of her panties. “I can smell your arousal, sweetheart. Can feel how much you need this.”
She was beyond embarrassment, beyond anything but the desperate need clawing at her insides. When he hooked his fingers in her panties and slowly dragged them down her legs, she lifted her hips to help him.
And then she was completely bare before him, vulnerable and wanting and utterly his.
Arlo’s gaze was reverent as it moved over her body, and when he looked back at her face, there was something almost tender in his expression.
“I want to taste you,” he said, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee. “Will you let me?”
There was never a question that had needed asking less. She was already nodding, already spreading her legs wider in invitation.
His first touch was tentative, almost gentle, his tongue tracing her slit with maddening slowness. But when she moaned his name, when her hands fisted in the sheets, he grew bolder.
He explored her thoroughly, learning what made her gasp, what made her arch off the bed. When he found her clit and circled it with his tongue, she nearly came apart completely.
“Arlo, please,” she begged, not even sure what she was asking for.
He seemed to know, though. Two fingers slid inside her, stretching and filling her while his mouth worked magic on her clit. The dual sensation was overwhelming, and she could feel her orgasm building, coiling tight in her belly.
“Come for me,” he commanded against her flesh. “Let me hear you.”
And she did, her body arching off the bed as pleasure crashed over her in waves. She cried out his name, her inner walls clenching around his fingers as he worked her through the aftershocks.
When she finally came back to herself, Arlo was kissing his way up her body, his lips warm and gentle against her flushed skin.
“That was...” she started, then trailed off, lacking the words.
“Just the beginning,” he promised, settling between her thighs. The blunt head of his cock pressed against her entrance, and she could feel how hard he was, how much control he was exercising for her sake.
“I need you,” she whispered, her hands running down his back, feeling the play of muscle beneath his skin.
He entered her slowly, carefully, giving her time to adjust to his size. The stretch was exquisite, the feeling of being completely filled by him perfect in a way she’d never experienced before.
When he was fully seated inside her, he paused, his forehead dropping to rest against hers.
“Violet,” he breathed, and her name on his lips sounded like a prayer.
Then he began to move, slow and deep, each thrust deliberate and measured. It was unlike their frantic coupling against the wall in his condo. This was about connection, about claiming each other completely. And she’d never wanted anything more.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, changing the angle, and they both groaned at the increased sensation. The rhythm built gradually, their bodies moving together with an instinctive synchronicity that spoke to the bond forming between them.
“Do you feel it?” Arlo asked, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. “The bond?”
She did. A golden thread connecting them, growing stronger with each thrust, each kiss, each whispered endearment. Her dolphin was singing with joy, recognizing its mate, and she could sense his shark’s satisfaction in return.
“Yes,” she gasped, meeting his thrusts with her own. “I feel it.”
The pace increased, becoming more urgent, more desperate. Arlo’s control was fraying at the edges, and Violet could see it in the way his muscles tensed, in the way his eyes flickered between human and something more primal.
Then Arlo whispered something against her ear that made her breath catch I her throat.
”Do you accept me as your mate?”
“Yes,” she breathed, and then louder, more certain: “Yes, I accept you.”