I came fast, the pleasure blinding, white noise in my brain. But he didn’t stop. He kept eating me, relentless, until I was shaking, begging him to let up.
He finally surfaced, chin slick with me, eyes blazing.
“I love how you taste,” he said, voice gone ragged.
He lined himself up at my entrance, the head of his cock nudging my pussy. He hovered, teasing, waiting for me to say something.
I reached for him, wrapped my arms around his neck. “Claim me,” I said. “Now.”
He didn’t hesitate. He thrust into me in one slow, agonizing stroke, filling me until I couldn’t breathe. The stretch was brutal, but perfect. He gave me a second to adjust, then started to move—slow at first, then harder, deeper. Every thrust hit the spot inside me that was made just for him.
I wrapped my legs around him, my heels digging into his ass cheeks.
He bent his head to my throat, breathing me in. “You ready to be mine forever?” he asked, voice trembling.
“Yes. Yes, Eli, please—”
He fucked me harder, each stroke building the pressure. When I was right on the edge, he struck—his teeth breaking the skin of my shoulder, pain and pleasure braided together. I screamed, body clamping down on him. I felt the rush of his release, the knot at the base of his cock swelling, locking us together. The euphoria was otherworldly, a tidal wave that erased everything but the feeling of him, inside and out.
He kept biting deeper, drinking in my soul. I felt the mate bond snap into place—a tether, a lifeline, electric and eternal. Every nerve sang with the knowledge that I was his, now and forever.
He pulled back, blood on his lips, eyes black with satisfaction.
“Will you return the claim, little bird?” he whispered, voice a dare.
My own fangs descended, sharp and eager. I dragged him down and bit into his shoulder, tasting the copper of his blood, the raw wildness of his wolf. He shuddered, nearly collapsing on top of me as the bond went both ways, sealing us together in body and mind.
My second orgasm ripped through me, violent and pure. I screamed into his flesh, nails digging bloody crescents into his back.
When the world came back, I was floating. He was still inside me, still pulsing, his knot keeping us locked tight. I licked the wound on his shoulder, then kissed it, dizzy with the taste of him.
He rolled us onto our sides, careful not to break the seal. He stroked my hair, kissing my forehead.
“I love you,” he said. “More than my own life.”
I clung to him, shaking. “Don’t ever let go.”
“Never,” he promised.
We lay there, tangled and messy, the room bright with morning light. I closed my eyes, the echo of the bond humming through every cell. For the first time in my life, I felt whole.
He cleaned me up with a damp washcloth, tucking me under the covers. I drifted off, his scent all around me, the mark on my shoulder throbbing with a sweet ache.
I dreamed of the lemon tree again. My mother watched from the window, smiling.
This time, I knew I was home.
Chapter 22
Wrecker
The new Iron Valor clubhouse rose from the ashy footprint of the old in just days. That’s all it took when you had teams of crews from around the state, fueled by Bronc’s bottomless bank account. They had worked nonstop around the clock with the kind of determination and drive that only dedicated and skilled wolf packs could muster.
I did my own walk-through the night before the meeting. The windows were mirrored, triple-glazed; the fire doors weighed more than most cars. Bronc went overboard, insisting on vault-style steel for the secure rooms, electromagnetic locks on every corridor. I personally wrote the code for the RFID system, mapped the IR cameras, patched the motion-sensor feeds through three offshore proxies. Above the roofline, silent quadcopters patrolled a preset route, night vision and heat sig trained on the empty prairie. Every few feet, I found a new hiding place for an old pain—brushed my hand along the wall and felt a ghost pulse where the blood could have been. The clubhouse was a fortress, but it wasn’t home. Not for me, thankfully.
On move-in day, the place was buzzing with prospects, wives, and kids hauling new furniture and fixtures everywhere. The guys who took up residence all had new bedroom furniture and linens. The women spent time with Juliet, adding dishes to the kitchen and bar area. It was important to her that the place felt like a homeand not a bunker. Bronc was fine with it being a bunker. He agreed to compromise and let Juliet have her way.
Bronc called a meeting that morning. Not the usual war council, but the kind where some big players dialed in from their own offices or bunkers to measure their dicks over a Teams call. It was a show. That’s how he wanted it. Our guys gathered around the new large conference table with Bronc sitting at the head. Arsenal, Doc, Gunner and Papa all sat quietly to watch the show on the large screens mounted on the walls.
