Annabella #2
His hand found the button of my jeans, and I lifted my hips. He dragged the denim down and off, underwear with it, and the cool air on my bare skin lasted exactly one second before his palm slid up my inner thigh and his fingers found me.
“Fuck, Annabella.” His forehead dropped to my shoulder and something tore out of him; not a groan, something rawer. “You’re soaking.”
One finger slid inside me and my back arched off the mattress.
I grabbed his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
He curled his finger—found a spot that made my vision blur—and added a second.
His thumb pressed against me, tight, relentless circles that matched the rhythm of his fingers, and I couldn’t think anymore.
Through the bond he could feel exactly what worked, every spike of pleasure feeding back to him, and he used it. Adjusting his angle. His pressure. His pace. Playing my body like he’d had years to learn it instead of minutes.
“Sam—” My voice sounded wrecked. “I need—”
“I know.” His fingers drove deeper, his thumb worked harder.
Magic surged under my skin, light racing across my breasts, my stomach, down to where his hand moved between my legs.
He shuddered when it hit him. A full-body tremor. “Your magic—Fucking hell, Annabella—"
“I can’t control it—”
“Then don’t.”
The magic and his fingers and the bond all fed into each other, a spiraling loop that wound tighter with every stroke, every circle of his thumb, every groan he made against my neck.
Heat built low and sharp, my thighs trembling, my hands fisting the sheets, my body clenching around his fingers with every thrust. I was right there, right on the edge, hanging by a thread.
“That’s it. That’s my good girl,” he murmured into my throat, and his fingers curled and his thumb pressed hard and—
The orgasm ripped through me in rolling waves that lit up my entire body. I cried out and my magic pulsed outward, wrapping us both in heat.
He held me through it. His hand slowing but not stopping, drawing out every aftershock until I was boneless and gasping.
I’d barely caught my breath when I reached for his belt. Yanked the buckle open. Shoved his jeans down and wrapped my hand around him before the boxers were even off.
He swore, sharp, guttural, and his hips drove forward into my grip. He was big, so big I blinked. My core clenched at the thought of him inside me.
Yum!
“Sam,” I whispered as I rolled my thumb on the tip of his cock. It was thick and hard and hot, and the sound he made when I stroked him, slow and firm, was something I wanted to hear every day for the rest of my life.
“Annabella…” Strained. Almost a warning. “If you keep—”
“What?” I stroked again. Watched his jaw clench. Felt his whole body shudder through the bond. “This?”
“I need to be inside you.” His voice was barely his own. “Now.”
“Then get these off.”
He kicked free of everything, and then he was bare above me and I could feel the length of him against my thigh—hot and hard and right there—and something in my chest went tight. Not fear. Something closer to the feeling before a Shift; the edge between what you are and what you’re about to become.
“Sam.” I held his face so he had to look at me. “I haven’t done this before.”
He went still.
“I know,” he said. No performance, no big deal. Just I know. He kissed me—quick and fierce—then shifted his weight, settling between my thighs, and the press of him against me, nothing between us, made every nerve in my body light up.
“Eyes on me, Moonbeam.”
I met his eyes. Steady and fierce and absolutely certain.
“Go,” I said.
He pushed into me. Slow. Controlled. And the stretch of it—oh. Full and tight and right on the edge of too much, and my body clenched around him before I could stop it. He froze. Held there. His arms shaking with the effort of staying still.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I breathed through it. My wolf settled inside me, a warm anchor, and the mate bond brushed against my mind; steady, reassuring, his. “Give me a second.”
“I’ll be right here.”
Something about the way he said it—easy and certain, with just enough humour to remind me this was Sam—loosened the last knot of tension in my body. I shifted my hips experimentally and we both groaned.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Move.”
He withdrew and pushed forward again, slow and careful, and this time the stretch gave way to heat. Deep, spreading heat radiating out from where we were joined. I wrapped my legs around him, shifting the angle, and he made a choked sound against my neck.
“If you do that,” he said, “this is going to be embarrassingly short.”
“Then we’ll just do it again.”
He laughed and started to move properly. Long, rolling thrusts that built a rhythm between us, each one pushing deeper. I could feel every inch of him, the drag of him pulling out, the slow stretch of him pushing back in, and on every stroke he hit a spot inside me that sent sparks up my spine.
“You feel incredible,” he groaned into my neck. “Annabella, you’re so tight around me…I can feel you clenching every time I—”
“Don’t stop.” My nails raked down his back. He swore and thrust harder. I did it again, deliberately, and felt his control slip. The leashed hunger I’d sensed through the bond bleeding into his body. His hips.
“Harder,” I said, because I wanted to feel it. All of him. Not the careful version.
He braced himself. Changed the angle. Drove into me deep enough that I cried out. “You like it.”
“Yes—”
His restraint collapsed.
He set a pace that was devastating—deep, urgent, claiming—each thrust hitting exactly right, the weight of him pinning me to the mattress in a way that felt less like being held down and more like being anchored. I couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except hold on and feel him taking me apart.
“Right there…don’t stop…right there—”
“I’m not stopping.” His voice was raw. “I’m never fucking stopping.”
Magic surged again. Not flickering—blazing. Light poured off my skin, wrapping around him like living threads, sinking in. He shuddered, swore, drove deeper.
“Your magic—” Barely recognizable. “Annabella—”
I knew what was happening this time. Felt it building, and instead of fighting it, I opened every door I had.
He swore. Another thrust so deep I felt it in my spine, and the bond between us blew wide open.
His pleasure crashed into mine, mine into his.
My witch side and my wolf side—for the first time in my life—working in perfect concert.
Magic fuelling the bond. The bond fuelling the heat. The heat fuelling the magic.
His hand slid between our bodies, his thumb finding me, pressing in circles while he thrust, and the dual sensation, him inside me and his fingers working me at the same time, was so intense I couldn’t breathe.
“Let go, Moonbeam.” His mouth was at my ear, his voice rough and certain and stripped down to something that sounded like worship. “I’ve got you. Let go.”
Everything inside me pulled tight as a bowstring, my magic, my body, the bond, all of it cresting at once. He drove deep, his thumb pressed hard, and I broke.
The orgasm tore through me in waves that clenched my entire body around him and sent magic spiralling outward until the room was filled with trembling light.
I screamed, actually screamed, and I felt Sam’s control shatter.
His pleasure crashed through me as he came with a ragged groan, driving deep one last time and holding there, his whole body shaking, fingers gripping the sheets hard enough to tear.
And then the mate bond locked into place.
Not snapped—locked. Like a key turning in a lock that had been waiting years for the right fit. A deep, resonant click somewhere behind my breastbone, and then—
Everything.
His heartbeat inside my ribcage, as real as my own.
His emotions pouring into me: relief so vast it was almost grief, and underneath it a love so raw and absolute it terrified me.
And my own feelings rushing back to him: trust I hadn’t known I was capable of, and a fierce, snarling protectiveness that had nothing to do with my wolf and everything to do with the man who was holding me like I was the only real thing in the world.
Mine, my wolf said. Ours.
Yes, I agreed, because there was no point in fighting it anymore. Ours.