The heat slams into me without warning.
One moment I'm backing away, every rational thought screaming at me to run. The next I'm on my knees in the dead leaves, gasping, slick flooding between my thighs so fast it soaks through my leathers. The bond—weakened as it is—roars back to life, and I feel his rut like it's my own, his desperation and need pouring through the connection until I can't tell where he ends and I begin.
Flash heat. Triggered by his rut, by the bond, by the pregnancy hormones flooding my system.
"Kess—" He's frozen in place, every muscle locked, claws fully extended now and digging into his own palms hard enough that blood drips onto the fallen leaves. "Run. Please. I can't hold back much longer?—"
"I can't." The words come out broken, desperate. My thighs are slick, my core clenching around nothing, my wholebody screaming for him despite everything. "The heat—I can't move?—"
He makes a sound like a dying thing and crosses the distance between us in two strides.
His hands grip my hips and haul me up against him, and the moment our bodies touch, something snaps in both of us. His cock is already hard, pressing hot and insistent against my stomach, and the smell of him—smoke and musk and rut-sweat—floods my senses until I can't think past the need.
I should fight this. Should hate him enough to resist the biology trying to override my brain.
Instead my hands fist in his hair and I drag his mouth down to mine.
The kiss is all teeth and fury. I bite his lip hard enough to split it, taste copper on my tongue, and he growls into my mouth and kisses me harder. His hands are already tearing at my clothes—claws shredding leather, ripping fabric—and I'm doing the same to what's left of his, desperate to get skin against skin.
"I hate you," I gasp when we break apart for air.
"I know." He yanks my leathers down my hips, claws scraping welts into my thighs. "I hate me too."
"This doesn't mean I forgive you."
"I know that too."
This isn't forgiveness. Isn't reconciliation. This is biology and betrayal and two people burning each other down because they don't know how to do anything else.
He spins me around and shoves me against the nearest tree. The bark bites into my palms, my chest, scraping against my nipples through the ruins of my shirt. His hands grip my hips and yank them back, positioning me, and I can feel his cock sliding through the slick coating my thighs, the head nudging against my entrance.
"Do it," I tell him. "Don't be gentle. Don't pretend this is anything but what it is."
He drives into me in one brutal thrust.
Even with the slick from my flash heat, the stretch burns—his cock forcing me open, thick and hard and so deep I feel it in my throat. I cry out, fingers scrabbling against bark, and he doesn't give me time to adjust. Just pulls back and slams in again, setting a punishing rhythm that drives the air from my lungs with every stroke.
"Fuck—" The word tears out of me, half curse and half prayer. He's so deep, hitting something inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyes. "Harder?—"
He gives me harder. His hips snap against my ass with bruising force, the wet slap of flesh on flesh obscene in the quiet forest. One hand fists in my hair and yanks my head back, exposing my throat, and his teeth find the claiming mark and bite down hard enough to make me scream.
"This what you wanted?" His voice is barely human, a growl that vibrates through my bones. "Wanted me to fuck you like the monster I am?"
"Yes—" I shove my hips back to meet his thrusts, taking him deeper. "Yes, fuck, just like that?—"
He releases my hair and his hand slides around to my front, finding my clit and rubbing in rough circles that make my whole body jerk. Too much sensation—his cock pounding into me, his fingers on my clit, the bark scraping my palms raw, the claiming mark throbbing where he bit it.
"I trusted you," I gasp, and I don't know if it's accusation or confession. "I trusted you completely."
"I know." He twists his fingers and I keen, clenching around him. "I'm sorry. Gods, Kess, I'm so fucking sorry."
"Sorry doesn't—ah—doesn't fix this?—"
"I know that too."
He shifts his angle and hits something that turns the world white. I come without warning, orgasm crashing through me, my inner walls clamping down on his cock so hard he groans against my shoulder. But he doesn't stop—keeps fucking me through it, keeps rubbing my clit, keeps driving into me like he's trying to crawl inside my skin.
"Again," he growls. "Give me another one."
