Chapter 6, Thorne
The morning light filtered through the heavy velvet drapes, painting the room in shades of pale gold and shadow.
Thorne woke before the sun was fully up, his body still humming with the afterglow of the night before.
He lay on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, and looked down at the woman beside him.
Aria was still asleep. Her head was pillowed on his arm, her auburn hair spread out across his chest like a tangled web.
She looked peaceful, her breathing slow and even, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks.
Thorne watched her, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw.
It was a strange sensation, this focus. Usually, he woke up, satisfied his needs, and moved on to the day’s business.
The women were just vessels, tools for his pack’s survival.
But Aria was different. She was a puzzle he couldn’t solve.
His wolf stirred in his chest, restless and possessive. It didn’t want her to sleep. It wanted to wake her, to mark her, to remind her who she belonged to. Thorne felt the same pull. He sat up slowly, pulling his arm away, and Aria stirred, groaning softly as she woke.
“No,” she mumbled, her voice husky and thick with sleep.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out, his hand moving slowly, deliberately, over her skin.
He started at her neck, his fingers trailing down the sensitive column of her throat, moving lower to the curve of her shoulder.
He watched her face, seeing the confusion in her eyes as she tried to wake up, the way her breath hitched as his touch became more deliberate.
He moved lower still, his hand sliding between her legs.
She gasped, her body arching off the mattress, but he held her down with his other hand.
He didn’t rush. He touched her with a slow, agonizing precision, his fingers working her with a familiarity that made her shiver.
She was still sensitive from the night before, and it didn’t take long for the haze of sleep to lift and be replaced by a deep, aching need.
She cried out as the pleasure built, her back bowing off the bed, her fingers digging into his forearm.
Thorne watched her face, the way her eyes rolled back, the way her lips parted in a silent scream.
He wanted to see her fall apart. He wanted to see her lose control.
When she finally came, her body clamping down on his hand, he leaned down and captured her mouth in a hard, bruising kiss.
He pulled his hand away, leaving her gasping for air.
“Good morning,” he murmured against her lips. He didn’t give her time to recover. He rolled her onto her stomach, his body covering hers. She tried to scramble away, her legs kicking, but he pinned her easily, his weight pressing her into the mattress.
“Not again,” she protested, her voice trembling with frustration.
He ignored her, entering her from behind, the angle deep and possessive.
She gasped, her body stretching to accommodate him, and she tried to turn her head, to look at him.
He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, and forced her to stay where he wanted her.
She fought him, her nails scratching at the sheets, but her struggles only seemed to excite him. His wolf loved the resistance. It made the claiming feel more real, more intense. It was a challenge to be conquered, and he intended to win.
“You are mine, Aria,” he growled, his voice a low rumble in her ear.
She cried out as he thrust into her, hard and fast.
She was still sore, but her body was responding to him, opening up to him, accepting him.
He moved with a fierce rhythm, his wolf rising to the surface, demanding total submission.
He wanted her to come this time. He wanted to feel her walls clenching around him as he spilled inside her.
He thrust harder, faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
He felt the coil of tension building in his own body, the familiar pressure of release.
He looked down at her back, the way her muscles trembled, and he knew she was close.
He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back, and she cried out, her body arching. He thrust one last time, deep and hard, and released, his seed filling her. He felt her body convulse around him, her inner muscles milking him, and she came with a shudder, her body collapsing beneath him.
He pulled out and collapsed onto the bed beside her, his chest heaving.
He looked at her, his eyes dark with satisfaction.
She was his. He had marked her, and no one would ever take her away.
He stood up and walked to the wardrobe, pulling out a simple black silk dress.
It was plain, devoid of frills, but it was elegant, and it hid her body from prying eyes. He handed it to her.
“Get dressed,” he commanded. She stared at him, her eyes filled with defiance.
“I don’t want to wear that,” she said, her voice flat.
“Do it,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl.
“Or I will dress you myself.” She scrambled out of bed and pulled the dress on, her movements stiff and resentful.
Thorne watched her, his eyes raking over her body, appreciating the way the silk clung to her curves.
She looked beautiful, even when she as angry.
He walked over to the small table where he had left his things earlier.
He picked up the leather collar he had brought for her the night before.
It was simple, but strong, and it bore the sigil of the Shadowfang pack, a snarling wolf’s head, etched in silver.
He fastened it around her neck, the leather tight against her skin.
“This is yours now,” he said, his thumb rubbing the leather.
“You will wear it until we get back to my territory. Then I will put a permanent one on you. One that cannot be removed.”
Aria touched the collar, her fingers tracing the cold metal.
She looked up at him, her eyes full of fear and resentment.
“I hate you,” she whispered. Thorne smiled, a cold satisfied smile.
“I know,” he said. “But you will learn.” He grabbed her hand, his grip firm and possessive.
“Come,” he said, “we have a long journey ahead.” He led her out of the room, the sound of his boots echoing in the hall, the sound of her soft footsteps following close behind. She was his, and nothing was going to change that.