He notices.
“Inside,” he growls. “Now. I’m not claiming you out here.”
Claiming me.
I don’t know what he means by that, but I sense I want it, more than anything.
He spins me, guiding me toward the cabin with his hands on my hips, his breath hot against my ear as he mutters things that go straight between my legs.
The momentthe door slams behind us, he yanks my jacket off, tosses it across the room. My shirt goes next. He’s not gentle — he’s frantic, feral, like he’s seconds from losing control.
“Bedroom?” I whisper.
“No. Here.”
Before I can answer, he scoops me up, carrying me past the fireplace and straight onto the big sheepskin thrown over the rug. He sets me down hard enough that the breath leaves my lungs in a gasp.
He strips fast—shirt ripped off, belt undone, jeans shoved down his legs. His cock springs out, thick and flushed, already leaking precum.
“Holt—”
“You told me you want my cubs,” he says, voice low and shaking. “You have no idea what that does to me.”
He hooks his fingers in my jeans and drags them down, underwear ripped off in one sharp tug. My legs fly open automatically. He kneels between them, his hands gripping my thighs so tightly I feel the tremor in his fingers.
He’s barely holding his bear back.
He drags me down toward him.
“I need to taste my mate,” he mutters.
He bends and buries his mouth between my legs. No teasing. No warm-up. His tongue drives deep, stroking hard and fast, like he’s determined to make me come before he even gets inside me.
My hand slams against the rug.
“Holt—!”
He growls into my pussy and sucks on my clit, rough and deliberate. The shock of it rips straight through me. My hips buck. My thighs clamp around his head. He doesn’t slow — he holds me open and feasts like he’s starving.
The orgasm hits like a lightning strike. My nails dig into his scalp as I shake through it, every muscle pulled tight while his tongue keeps working me, dragging out every pulse.
When my body finally slumps back, he rises over me. His pupils are blown, eyes almost entirely gold.
“You ready?” he asks, voice gravel-rough.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Claim me.”
He lifts my hips, aligning us, and thrusts inside in one long stroke. The angle is unreal—deep and intense—and I cry out, grabbing his shoulders for balance.
He sets a pace that’s fierce and relentless, his hips snapping forward with raw power. The rug bunches under my back. The firelight flickers across his chest, casting shadows over his muscles as he moves above me.
“I’m going to mark you,” he rasps.
He tilts my head back to expose the place he wants.
“Right here. My teeth. My claim.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Do it. I want it.”
