Full Moon #4
He takes me hard. There's no other word for it.
His hand moves to my hip and tilts me, and he drives into me deep and fast, and I cry out and wrap my legs around him and take all of it.
The careful man is gone. What's left is all hunger, all need, fifteen years of wanting and refusing and holding back, and he pours it into me with every stroke.
His breathing is ragged. His grip on my hip is hard enough to bruise and I don't want him to let go.
His thumb finds my clit and works it in hard circles while he drives into me, and the two rhythms tangle until I can't tell where I end and he begins.
"That's it," he says, and his voice has gone rough in a way that makes my whole body clench. "Take all of it. You can take it."
"Yes. God, yes."
He reaches between us, and I'm already so close that it hits me like a wall, like the cold did, like something I didn't know I was holding until it let go. I feel myself come apart around him, and he watches me do it, his eyes on my face, the gold still flickering in the grey like embers.
"Megan." His voice breaks on my name. "I can't stop. I can't hold it anymore."
"Don't. Don't stop." I pull his face down to mine and hold his gaze. "I want you to claim me, Dean. I want you to..."
He bites me. Not a nip, not a tease. His teeth sink into the curve of my shoulder, hard enough to break skin, hard enough to mark, and the sting lights me up from the inside, turns everything sharp and bright.
I cry out and my body clenches around him, and he makes a sound against my skin that is not human at all.
It's a growl, low and possessive, and I feel it in my teeth.
"You asked for this," he says, and his voice has changed. It's rougher, darker, the words coming from somewhere deeper in his chest. "You asked for it. Don't you dare pretend you're sorry now."
"I'm not sorry. Do it again."
He does. His mouth finds the other side of my shoulder and he bites there too, a matching mark, and I gasp and arch into him, and he rolls us so I'm on top, his hands on my hips, driving me down onto him at an angle that makes me see stars.
He sits up, pulling me against his chest, my back to his front, and I feel him everywhere, his arm banded across my ribs, his other hand flat on my stomach, his teeth at my throat.
He's buried so deep I can't tell where I end and he begins.
His mouth works the tendon of my neck, teeth grazing my pulse, and I feel the rumble of his growl through my whole body.
"I can smell you," he says against my throat. "I can smell how much you want this. How long you've wanted it. Say it. Tell me what you want."
"Claim me." The words come out of me like they've been waiting for years. "Mark me. I'm yours. Claim me, Dean."
Something in him lets go. I feel it happen, the last of his control dissolving, and he takes me like he's been holding back for a decade and the dam is gone.
His arm locks across my ribs, holding me against him, and he drives up into me hard and fast, and his teeth find my throat, not biting, just holding, just claiming the skin over my pulse, and the sound I make is not a word.
"That's it," he growls. "Take it. Take all of it. You're going to come on my cock and I'm going to feel every second of it."
I'm already there. The edge has been building since his teeth first broke skin, and now it's everything, my whole body tightening like a fist, and I feel him feel it, feel the way he swears against my neck and drives deeper.
"Megan." His voice cracks on my name. "Look at me."
I turn my head, and his eyes are gold. Fully gold. Burning in the moonlight, and there's nothing human in them, and it should terrify me. It doesn't. It's him. It's everything he's spent fifteen years hiding, and he's giving it to me because I asked.
"Come for me," he says. "Now."
I do. I come apart on him, clenching around him, my head thrown back against his shoulder, and I feel his teeth sink into the meat of my shoulder one final time, hard, a claim that's going to leave a mark for weeks, and he comes with a sound that's half groan and half howl, buried inside me, his whole body shuddering against mine.
Mine. The word comes out of him like he can't stop it, a growl against my skin, and it undoes me.
I come again, or maybe I never stopped, and I feel him follow me over, and for a long moment neither of us breathes.
His mouth is still on my shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against my skin, and I can feel his heart slamming against my back, fast and hard, like he's just run a race.
Then his grip loosens, and he lifts his head, and I see his eyes.
Grey-green again. Human again. And full of a kind of horror I've never seen on anyone's face.
"Did I hurt you." It's not a question. He's already reaching for the mark, his thumb running over the teeth prints, and his hand is shaking. "I'm sorry. I couldn't... I should have stopped."