Chapter 10
Maya
The darkness was heavy, smelling of cedar, musk, and the distinct, metallic tang of sex.
I woke up slowly, surfacing from the deepest sleep of my life not because of a noise, but because of the heat.
It was suffocating in the best possible way.
I was pinned. A heavy arm, dense with muscle and dusted with dark hair, was draped over my waist, effectively bolting me to the mattress. A leg was thrown over my shins.
I was trapped in a cage of limbs and linen, and for the first time in twenty-one years, I didn't want to find the key.
I lay there in the silence of the Wolf’s Den, blinking into the shadows.
My body felt... different. Remade. There was a dull, stretching ache between my legs—a physical reminder of the barrier we had shattered hours ago.
My skin felt sensitive, abraded by the friction of his sheets and his stubble. My lips were swollen.
I turned my head on the pillow, wincing slightly as my hair caught under his shoulder.
Leo.
He was asleep, face down in the pillow next to me.
In the moonlight filtering through the cracks in the heavy velvet curtains, he looked less like the terrifying Captain of the Timber Wolves and more like a fallen statue.
His breathing was deep and slow, a rhythmic whoosh that vibrated through the mattress.
The bruise on his side—the angry purple souvenir from the game—looked darker in the shadows, a stark contrast to the pale skin of his back.
I reached out. My hand hovered over the tattoo on his shoulder—the ink-black forest that hid his pack mark.
I shouldn't touch him. I should slide out from under his arm, find my clothes (wherever they had landed in the frenzy), and sneak back to my dorm before the sun came up.
That was the script. That was what the Good Girl would do.
She would treat this as a mistake, a lapse in judgment induced by adrenaline and fear.
But I wasn't that girl anymore.
I touched him.
I ran my fingertips lightly down the valley of his spine. His skin was furnace-hot. Even in sleep, he radiated a temperature that bordered on feverish—the shifter metabolism burning through the night.
He stirred immediately.
He didn't wake up like a human, groggy and disoriented. He woke up like a weapon coming online.
His muscles coiled instantly under my hand. His head snapped up. His eyes, heavily shadowed but alert, locked onto mine. For a split second, they were glowing that eerie, predatory gold before fading back to hazel.
"Maya," he rasped. His voice was a wreck—gravel and sleep.
"Hi," I whispered.
He exhaled, the tension draining out of his shoulders as he realized where he was. And who I was. He dropped his forehead back onto the pillow, turning his face toward me.
"You're still here," he murmured, sounding almost surprised.
"You told me not to leave."
"I tell people a lot of things," he said, his eyes drifting shut again. "They don't usually listen."
"I listen."
He cracked one eye open. A slow, lazy smirk spread across his lips—the kind of smile that made my toes curl. "Yeah. You do. You're very... obedient."
The word hung in the air between us. Obedient.
Yesterday, that word would have made me bristle. It would have reminded me of my mother, of the metronome, of the endless rules. But coming from him? Wrapped in that dark, smoky voice? It felt like a caress. It felt like a compliment.
I shifted, turning on my side to face him. The movement caused the sheet to slip down, exposing my chest. I felt the cool air hit my skin, followed immediately by the heat of his gaze dropping to track the movement.
"How are the ribs?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite the way he was looking at me.
"Fine," he lied. He reached out, his large hand cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing my lower lip. "How are you? I was... rough."
"You were perfect," I said honestly.
"I was starving," he corrected. "There's a difference."
His thumb pressed down on my lip, tugging it open. He watched the movement, fascinated. "You're swollen."
"Battle scars," I teased softly.
He didn't laugh. His expression darkened. The playful sleepiness vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense hunger. He moved his hand from my face to my throat, wrapping his fingers around the column of my neck. He didn't squeeze, but the weight of his grip was a reminder of his power.
"I marked you," he whispered, his eyes tracing the red abrasions on my neck where his stubble had burned me. "Everyone who looks at you today is going to know."
"Let them know."
He searched my face, looking for fear. When he didn't find it, a low growl rumbled in his chest.
" Come here."
He didn't wait for me to move. He gripped my waist and hauled me across the few inches of space separating us. My bare skin collided with his. The friction sent a shockwave through my system that made me gasp.
I was suddenly straddling his lap, my knees on either side of his hips. The position pressed the most sensitive part of me directly against the hard ridge of his morning erection.
"Leo," I breathed, my hands landing on his shoulders to steady myself.
"Shh," he commanded. "Don't talk. Just feel."
He sat up, wincing slightly as his ribs protested, but ignoring it. He leaned back against the headboard, bringing me with him.
In the dim light, he looked like a pagan god. His hair was messy, falling over his forehead. His chest was broad and scarred. And he was looking at me like I was the only water in a desert.
"You have a recital today," he said, his hands running up and down my back, tracing my spine.
"I know."
"You should be sleeping. You should be mentally preparing."
"I am preparing," I whispered. I rolled my hips forward, grinding against him. "I'm getting out of my head."
His pupils blew wide. He hissed a breath through his teeth, his hands tightening on my hips to stop me.
"Careful," he warned. "The Wolf is close to the surface, Maya. Waking up with you... smelling you like this... my control is hanging by a thread."
"Cut the thread," I challenged.
It was reckless. It was dangerous. I was provoking an apex predator in his own den. But after last night—after feeling the sheer, overwhelming power of his possession—I was addicted. I didn't want the gentle teacher. I wanted the monster.
Leo stared at me. He saw the challenge.
"You think you're ready for that?" he asked softly. "You think because I let you set the pace last night that you know what I'm capable of?"
"Show me."
He moved so fast I didn't even process it.
One second I was sitting upright; the next, he had flipped us. I was on my back, pressed deep into the mattress, and he was looming over me, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand.
"Rule number one," he growled, his face inches from mine. "When you provoke the beast, you don't get to decide how he bites."
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. "Okay."
"Okay?" He laughed darkly. "You have no idea what you just agreed to."
He lowered his head. He didn't kiss me. He buried his face in the crook of my neck and inhaled deeply, loudly. He snuffled against my skin, his nose cold, his breath hot.
"You smell like sex," he murmured against my skin. "My sex. It's the best thing I've ever smelled."
He bit me.
Not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to hurt. A sharp, stinging nip right on the sensitive tendon of my neck.
I cried out, arching my back. "Leo!"
"Quiet," he ordered. He let go of my wrists, but I didn't move them. I gripped the sheets, anchoring myself.
He moved down. He kissed his way down my chest, licking the skin, claiming every inch. When he reached my breasts, he didn't tease. He used his teeth, scraping lightly over the sensitive nub, making me whimper.
"You like that?" he asked, looking up at me through his lashes. "You like being bitten?"
"Yes," I sobbed. "Yes, please."
"Good girl."
The praise hit me harder than the teeth. My hips bucked involuntarily.
He moved lower. His hands splayed over my stomach, holding me down. He parted my legs with his shoulders, settling between my thighs.
"Look at me," he commanded.
I lifted my head, straining to see him in the dark.
He was looking right at me as he lowered his head between my legs.
The first touch of his tongue was electric.
I screamed. I couldn't help it. The sensation was too intense, too direct.
"Leo, wait—"
"No waiting," he mumbled against me. "You wanted this. Take it."
He didn't give me a chance to adjust. He devoured me. His tongue was broad and relentless, flickering with a speed and precision that felt superhuman. He found the bundle of nerves and attacked it.
I was thrashing. I was clutching the sheets, my head throwing back, my heels digging into the mattress.
"Leo, please, it's too much," I gasped.
He didn't stop. He grabbed my hips, lifting me higher, locking me against his mouth. He hummed against me—a deep, vibrating purr that travelled straight through my clitoris and into my spine.
"Come for me," he ordered, his voice muffled. "Do it. Now."
I fell apart.
It wasn't a choice. His command bypassed my brain and went straight to my nervous system. I shattered. Waves of pleasure crashed over me, so intense I saw stars behind my eyelids. I was sobbing, calling his name, completely undone.
He kept going. He drank every drop of my pleasure, not stopping until I was limp and trembling against the sheets.
He crawled back up my body. He was breathing hard, his face flushed, his eyes wild.
"Better?" he asked, smirking.
I couldn't speak. I just nodded weakly.
"Good," he said. "Because now it's my turn."
He didn't ask. He didn't fumble. He positioned himself between my legs, the head of him pressing against my entrance. He was wet with my own fluids.
He pushed inside. One smooth, heavy thrust that filled me completely.
I gasped, my eyes flying open. He felt bigger than last night. Harder.
"You're so tight," he groaned, his head falling back, the cords of his neck straining. "God, Maya. You fit me like a glove."
He began to move.