"I know." I touch his face, feeling the roughness of stubble, the heat of his skin. "That's why."
He stares at me for a long moment, something raw and vulnerable in his eyes. Then his mouth finds mine, and this kiss is different from the others. Not desperate or questioning. This is claiming. Possessive. His hands slide into my hair, tilting my head back so he can deepen the kiss, and I open for him without hesitation.
I'm still dressed—still wearing the clothes I put on this morning in another lifetime. He makes quick work of them, his hands surprisingly gentle despite the violence they're capable of. My shirt falls away. My pants. Until I'm standing in just my bra and underwear, and he's looking at me like I'm something precious.
"I never get tired of looking at you," he murmurs, his hands skimming up my sides, leaving heat in their wake. “You’re perfect.”
"So are you."
He laughs, a rough sound. "I'm a goddamn mess."
"You're mine."
The word comes out without thinking, but I mean it. Possessive and absolute. The same way he claimed me and Elena earlier.
Something flares in his eyes. "Say that again."
"You're mine, Lupo." I reach up, unhooking my bra and letting it fall. "Whatever you were before. Whoever you are doesn’t matter. Now, you're mine."
He makes a sound low in his throat and pulls me against him. Skin to skin. The towel is gone—I don't even remember him losing it—and the feel of him, hard and wanting against me, makes my breath catch.
His mouth moves to my neck, my shoulder, the curve of my breast. When his lips close around my nipple, I gasp, my hands fisting in his hair. He sucks gently at first, then harder, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. The sensation shoots straight between my legs.
"Lupo—"
"Tell me what you need." His voice is muffled against my skin, his other hand kneading my other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. "Tell me what you want."
"You. Only you. Everything."
He lifts his head, his eyes almost black with desire. Then he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my underwear and slowly, deliberately, pulls them down. His hands trail down my legs as he does, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
I step out of them, and now I'm completely bare before him. Vulnerable. Exposed.
But I don't feel afraid.
His hands map every inch of me. Memorizing me. The curve of my waist. The flare of my hips. The soft skin of my inner thighs. When his fingers slide between my legs, finding me already wet and ready, we both groan.
"God, Isabella." He circles slowly, his fingers exploring, learning what makes me gasp. "You're so wet. So ready for me."
I can't form words. Can only hold onto his shoulders and let him work me higher, the pleasure building with each stroke. He slides two fingers inside me, curling them, finding that spot that makes my knees buckle.
"I've got you," he murmurs, his other arm around my waist, holding me up as I tremble against him.
When I'm on the edge, my breath coming in short gasps, he stops.
"Not yet." He picks me up—just lifts me like I weigh nothing—and lays me on the bed. "I want to taste you first."
Heat floods through me. "Lupo, you don't have to—"
"I want to." He settles between my legs, his hands spreading my thighs wider. His breath is hot against my most intimate place. "I always want to. I dream of tasting you."
Then his mouth is on me, and I forget how to breathe.
He's not gentle. Not tentative. He devours me like a starving man, his tongue working me with deliberate, skilled strokes. He alternates between broad, flat licks and focused attention on my clit, building me up, pulling me back, driving me higher until I'm writhing beneath him.
I try to stay quiet with Elena down the hall but it's impossible. Small sounds escape me—whimpers and gasps and his name, over and over. He makes an approving noise against me, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through my body.
When his fingers join his mouth, sliding inside me while his tongue works my clit, I shatter.
