Chapter 10 #2
It wasn't the slow, worshipful rhythm of last night. This was primal. This was the Wolf taking what belonged to him.
Thrust. Withdraw. Thrust.
The bed frame banged against the wall. The sound echoed in the room, mixing with the slap of skin against skin and our jagged breathing.
"Wrap your legs around me," he ordered.
I obeyed. I locked my ankles behind his back, pulling him deeper.
"Deeper," I begged. "Leo, please."
"I can't go any deeper," he gritted out, his jaw clenched tight. "I'm hitting your cervix, Maya. If I go any deeper, I'll hurt you."
"I don't care."
"I do."
He grabbed my hands, interlacing our fingers and pinning them to the mattress. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine.
"Look at me," he demanded. "Watch me take you."
I looked. I stared into his eyes as he hammered into me. I saw the struggle there. The man fighting the beast. The love fighting the lust.
"You are mine," he chanted with every thrust. "Mine. Mine. Mine."
"I'm yours," I cried back.
The pressure began to build again. I didn't think it was possible, but the friction, the praise, the sheer weight of him was dragging me back toward the edge.
"That's it," he growled, feeling my muscles clamp around him. "Squeeze me. Milk me. Be a good girl and take it all."
The orgasm hit me like a freight train.
And this time, it took him with me.
Leo let out a roar. He drove into me one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and froze.
His body went rigid. His muscles turned to stone.
And then, I felt it.
A pulsing. A swelling.
He was getting bigger inside me.
Panic flared in his eyes. Real, genuine terror.
"No," he gasped. "No, no, no."
He tried to pull out.
He couldn't.
"Leo?" I whispered, sensing his panic but not understanding it. "What's wrong?"
"I can't..." He strained, trying to withdraw, but his body betrayed him. The base of him was swelling, locking him inside me.
The Knot.
"Fuck!" he yelled, the sound raw and terrified.
He collapsed onto his elbows, keeping his weight off me, but he stopped fighting. He squeezed his eyes shut, his face twisted in agony.
"Don't move," he commanded, his voice shaking. "Maya, do not move. If you move, you'll hurt yourself."
"Leo, you're stuck," I whispered, the realization dawning on me. I had read about this. The biology of wolves. The mating tie.
"I know," he choked out. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. The Wolf... he took over."
"It's okay," I said, reaching up to stroke his sweat-damp hair. "It's okay."
"It's not okay," he snapped, opening his eyes. They were pure, liquid gold. There was no hazel left. "Do you know what this means? This isn't just sex, Maya. This is a biological claim. I am pouring everything I am into you right now. If... if you weren't on birth control..."
"I'm on the pill," I lied.
(I wasn't. I had forgotten to renew the prescription three months ago because I wasn't dating anyone. But looking at the terror in his eyes, I couldn't tell him that. Not now.)
"Are you sure?" he demanded.
"Yes," I whispered. "I'm sure."
He let out a shuddering breath, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. "Thank God."
We lay there, locked together, for what felt like an eternity. Ten minutes? Twenty?
It was the most intimate moment of my life. I could feel every pulse of his release. I could feel the knot slowly, reluctantly subsiding.
He was heavy. He was warm. And he was terrified.
Finally, he was able to pull away.
He rolled off me immediately, putting distance between us. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to me, head in his hands.
"Leo?" I sat up, pulling the sheet over my chest. The air felt cold now.
"That shouldn't have happened," he said, his voice hollow. "I endangered you. I lost control."
"You didn't hurt me."
"I claimed you!" He spun around, and the look on his face broke my heart.
It wasn't anger. It was despair. "Do you understand?
My scent is woven into your DNA now. Every shifter on this campus is going to smell it.
You are walking around with a target on your back that says 'Property of the Alpha'. "
"I don't care what they smell," I said firmly. I crawled across the bed to him. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pressing my chest against his back. "I only care about you."
He stiffened, then slowly relaxed, leaning back into me. He covered my hands with his.
"You have to get ready," he said quietly. "The recital."
"Leo..."
"Go shower," he said. He stood up, breaking the contact. He walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside, staring out at the grey dawn. "I'll make coffee. We have a big day."
He was putting the walls back up. I could see it happening in real-time. Brick by brick.
But he couldn't hide from me. Not anymore. I had felt him inside me. I had felt the knot. I knew the truth.
He loved me. And he was terrified that his love was going to destroy me.
I slipped out of bed, grabbing his discarded shirt to cover myself.
"I love you," I whispered to his back.
He didn't turn around. But I saw his hand clench the curtain fabric until his knuckles turned white.
"Go shower, Maya," he rasped.
I turned and walked into the bathroom.
I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was a mess. My lips were bruised. There was a love bite on my neck that no amount of makeup would cover.
And my eyes... they were different. They looked wild.
I placed a hand on my stomach.
I'm on the pill. The lie tasted like ash in my mouth.
I calculated the dates in my head.
Ovulation was three days ago. Or maybe two?
A cold shiver of fear ran down my spine, mixing with the lingering heat of the sex.
I turned on the shower, stepping into the spray, trying to wash away the scent of him and the sudden, terrifying possibility that the game we were playing had just become permanent.
Two Hours Later.
The backstage area of the Conservatory auditorium smelled of dust, nerves, and floor wax.
I stood in the wings, my cello case standing sentinel beside me. I was wearing my black performance dress—sleek, modest, professional. My hair was pulled back in a severe chignon. I had used half a bottle of concealer on my neck.
"You look ready," a voice said behind me.
I turned.
Leo was standing there.
He looked like a stranger. He was wearing a suit—not the disheveled one from last night, but a crisp, tailored navy suit. His hair was combed. His jaw was freshly shaved, though the bruise was still visible.
He looked like the perfect boyfriend. The perfect gentleman.
But when our eyes met, the memory of the dark room and the knot flashed between us like lightning.
"I don't feel ready," I admitted. "My hands are shaking."
"Good," he said. He walked over to me. He didn't care who was watching. He took my hands in his. "Use the shake. Vibrato is just controlled shaking."
"My parents are in the front row," I whispered. "I saw them."
"Don't look at them," Leo commanded. "Look at me."
"Where will you be?"
"Back row," he said. "Center. I'll be the guy looking like he wants to murder anyone who coughs during your solo."
I laughed. A small, breathless sound.
"Leo," I said, squeezing his hands. "Thank you. for everything."
He looked at me. The walls he had built up this morning cracked just a little.
"Play for yourself, Maya," he said intensely. "Play the way you screamed my name."
My face burned. "Leo!"
"I'm serious," he grinned, a flash of the rogue wolf. "Give them hell."
"Miss Sterling?" the stage manager whispered. "You're up."
Leo squeezed my hands one last time, then let go.
"Go," he said.
I picked up my cello. I walked out onto the stage.
The lights were blinding. The applause was polite, tepid.
I sat down. I adjusted the endpin. I took a deep breath.
I looked out into the darkness. I couldn't see the back row, but I knew he was there. I could feel him.
I closed my eyes.
I didn't think about the Dean. I didn't think about my mother.
I thought about the ice. I thought about the bell tower. I thought about the way Leo looked when he lost control.
I put the bow to the string.
And I played.
I didn't play Elgar. I played fire.
I tore into the music, attacking the strings with a violence that made the wood groan. I poured every ounce of fear, lust, and love into the melody. It wasn't perfect. It was raw. It was messy. It was alive.
When I finished the final, jagged chord, silence hung in the room for a full five seconds.
Then, the applause exploded.
It wasn't polite. It was raucous.
I stood up and bowed.
I looked to the front row. My mother looked horrified. My father looked confused.
I looked to the back row.
I saw a tall, dark silhouette standing up.
Leo.
He wasn't clapping. He was just standing there, watching me.
And even from this distance, I could feel the pride radiating off him like heat.
I had done it. I had broken the mold.
But as I walked off stage, clutching my cello, I knew the real performance was just beginning.
Because now, I had everything to lose.