Chapter 21
He lowered his head, and I met him halfway.
The kiss was nothing like the frantic, desperate clash we’d shared against the counter.
This was slow. Deliberate. A question and an answer all at once.
His lips, surprisingly soft, brushed against mine with a reverence that made my chest ache.
It was gentle and hesitant, and I could feel the sheer force of will it was taking him to keep it that way.
To explore, to taste, without succumbing to the storm brewing between us.
His hands slid from my chest to my waist, pulling me flush against him.
There was no space left for doubt, for pretense.
Only the solid reality of his body against mine, the cool press of his chains, the hard evidence of his desire that he no longer tried to hide.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in the thick, dark hair at the nape of his neck, feeling the subtle shift from human hair to the soft fur that began at the base of his skull.
A low growl rumbled through his chest, a vibration that I felt down to my toes.
His kiss deepened, the careful restraint finally fraying.
His tongue swept against my bottom lip, a silent request that I granted instantly.
He was not like anyone I had ever kissed.
There was a wildness to him, an ancient power that hummed just beneath the surface.
His tongue was long and agile, wrapping around mine in a way that was possessive and utterly intoxicating.
He tasted of winter forests and ancient snow, of dark chocolate and something else, something uniquely him.
I melted against him, giving myself over to the sensation, to the heady knowledge that this was happening. That he was choosing this. Choosing me.
His claws, so carefully controlled, scraped lightly against the fabric of my sweater, a tingling counterpoint to the warmth blooming under my skin.
One of my hands drifted down from his neck, tracing the powerful line of his shoulder, the broad expanse of his chest. I was exploring him, memorizing the landscape of him, the solid muscle beneath the soft fur.
“This is madness, little light,” he murmured against my mouth, but he didn’t pull away.
“The best kind,” I gasped as his lips moved to my jaw, my throat, the sensitive spot behind my ear that made me arch against him with a desperate little moan.
His teeth scraped my skin—not hard enough to break, just enough to make my entire body clench with need. His grip on my hips tightened, pulling me even closer, and I instinctively wrapped one of my legs around his thigh, trying to get closer, to eliminate the last few inches between us.
With a low groan, he hoisted me up, his hands supporting my bottom as I wrapped my other leg around his waist. My short skirt bunched up around my hips, but I was too far gone to care.
I was fused to him, my core pressed against the hard ridge of his arousal.
The sheer size of him, the power coiled in his body, was intoxicating.
I’d never felt so small, so utterly surrounded and possessed.
He carried me to the counter, placing me on it, but keeping me wedged against him. He was everywhere, his scent filling my lungs and his hands branding my skin. I was lost, drowning in sensation, clinging to him as my only point of reality.
“Bastian,” I gasped, my head falling back as he rocked against me, a slow, deliberate movement that sent pleasure spiraling through me.
“Say it again,” he growled, his lips finding that sensitive spot on my neck.
“Bastian,” I obeyed, my fingers digging into the powerful muscles of his shoulders.
He shuddered, a violent, full-body reaction that made me feel powerful. Desired. Irresistible. This ancient, terrifying being was unraveling in my arms, and it was the most exhilarating thing I had ever experienced. I arched against him, my body silently begging for more, for everything.
His hands left my waist, and I whimpered at the loss, but they were only moving to get rid of the barrier between us.
With a deft, controlled movement, he hooked a claw into the neckline of my sweater and tugged.
The sound of rending fabric echoed in the quiet shop, but it was a distant, unimportant noise.
The cool air hit my skin, followed immediately by the heat of his palm as he cupped my breast through the thin lace of my bra.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, his thumb stroking over my nipple, making it pebble into a tight, aching point. “Like a single star in an endless winter night.”
His words were poetry and fire, and they unraveled me completely.
I was no longer thinking, only feeling. Feeling the heat of his hands, the pressure of his body, the possessive sweep of his tongue as he claimed my mouth again.
His chains rattled, a soft, percussive beat underscoring the frantic rhythm of my heart.
This was it. The culmination of every charged glance, every accidental touch, every suppressed desire.
“Bastian,” I gasped, breaking the kiss, my lungs burning for air that wasn’t thick with him. “Please.”
“Please what, little light?” His amber eyes glowed with an intensity that should have been frightening but was only intoxicating. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you.”
The words were a surrender, a final, fatalistic acceptance of the inevitable. I was lost. I was found. I was his.
A triumphant, predatory smile spread across his face, and with a growl of pure, unadulterated need, he ripped the delicate lace of my bra.
My breasts spilled into his waiting hands, and he lowered his head, capturing a nipple in his mouth.
The sharp, shocking pull of his lips, the scrape of teeth against sensitive skin—it was a lightning strike of pure sensation that shot through my entire body, making me cry out.
My fingers tangled in the soft fur of his shoulders, holding on as he worshipped me with a single-minded focus that was both worship and devouring.
His other hand kneaded my other breast, thumb and claw working in tandem to drive me absolutely wild with need.
He released my nipple with a soft pop, his tongue tracing a wet, hot path to my other breast, giving it the same devastating attention.
His chains jingled, a soft, sinister music that seemed to urge me on.
I was lost in a haze of sensation, my world shrinking to the feel of his mouth on me, the solid reality of him between my thighs.
I was grinding against him, shamelessly seeking friction, desperate for more. More pressure, more heat, more of him.
“Bastian,” I gasped, my head falling back against the cool glass of the display case behind me. “Please.”
He stilled, lifting his head to look at me.
His amber eyes were almost completely red now, burning with a hunger so raw and untamed it stole my breath.
The sight of him—his hair a mess from my hands, his lips swollen from my kisses, his expression a mask of pure, predatory possession—was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
“You asked me what I wanted,” I said, my voice a ragged whisper. “I want you. All of you. Right here.”
His laugh was soft and disbelieving. “You are either the bravest person I have encountered in centuries, or the most reckless.”
“Can’t I be both?”
“You can be anything you choose.” He kissed me again, softer this time, almost gentle. “But choose with full knowledge. Choose understanding what you are binding yourself to.”
“I do understand. I choose you.”
The words hung in the air between us, simple and honest and absolutely terrifying.
His eyes flared so bright I had to squint. The bond pulsed—hard enough that I felt it in my chest, in my bones, in every cell of my body.
“Noelle,” he said carefully, “do you comprehend what you just said?”
“That I choose you? Yeah, pretty straightforward.”
“In my culture, that phrase—spoken with intent, in proximity, while touching—is binding. Literally binding. It creates ties that do not easily sever.”
I blinked. “Oh.”
“Oh.” He watched me closely, looking for panic. “Do you wish to retract it?”
Did I? Did I want to take back words that apparently carried magical weight, that created connections I hadn’t fully understood?
No, I realized. I don’t want to take it back. I meant it.
“I choose you,” I said again, deliberately. “With intent. While definitely touching. Is that clear enough?”
His breath caught. “You are certain?”
“Completely.”
“Even knowing it binds us? That I will not let you go easily once claimed?”
“Even knowing that. Especially knowing that.” I smiled, feeling reckless and certain and absolutely sure this was right. “I know exactly what I’m choosing.”
I reached down, my hand tracing the line of his chains, lower, lower, until I was cupping the heavy, hard length of him through the dark leather of his pants. He jerked in my grasp, a full-body shudder wracking him. “Now stop being so careful.”
His control snapped.
With a guttural growl that was pure possessive instinct, he grabbed my wrist, stilling my movements. His other hand fumbled with the laces and then he was free.
He was glorious, hard and thick and weeping for me. He was bigger than any human man, the fur of his inner thighs a dark, soft shadow against the rigid, flushed skin. My own arousal, hot and slick, pooled between my legs, a desperate, silent plea.
He stepped forward, nudging my knees apart with his own. The blunt head of him pushed against the damp fabric of my panties, and I cried out, arching my hips, trying to take him in.
“So impatient,” he rasped, but the approval in his voice was unmistakable. “So eager to be claimed.”