I started to move as I fucked her slow, deep, every thrust deliberate. I wanted to brand her from the inside out, make her remember this for the rest of her life. With every stroke, she got louder; the moans turning to pleas, then to screams.
The feel of her wrapped around my cock was like nothing I’d ever felt before. I’d had my dick in my fair share of pussies, but this—this was different. It felt right. Every thrust was heaven. Her scent filled my nose—lemon and flowers, sunshine and happiness. Goddess; this was what it felt like to make love to my mate. I wanted to bite; to knot, to claim, but I refrained. I needed more time. Right now, I’d just feel. I pounded into her over and over; and she raised her hips to meet mine thrust for thrust.
When I sensed her start to break, I reached between us, found her clit, and rubbed it in circles, fast and light. She’d been so close to the edge she almost immediately shattered, body clamping down so hard on my cock I saw stars. She sobbed my name, lost in the pleasure, and I was right behind her. I foolishly hadn’t used a condom, so I pulled out right before and shot ropes of cum from her stomach to her throat. I came so hard it was almost painful. I felt like my entire life had culminated in this moment. Like I’d been chasing something that I’d finally had in my grasp.
I collapsed beside her, grabbing the towel from the nightstand. I carefully cleaned my cum from her belly and chest while she caught her breath.I pulled her close to me and leaned against the headboard and opened the bottle of water I’d set next to the towel. She wanted to protest, but I insisted she drink it all; that her hydration was important after such intense physical activity. After a while, I rolled us onto our sides, keeping her tucked against my chest. I brushed the hair from her face and kissed her eyelids.
“You okay?” I asked, needing to be sure she’d not gone beyond any boundaries she’d wanted.
She opened her eyes, dazed but clear. “Yeah. I’m… so good.”
I smiled, pride and relief mixing in my chest. “That was incredible.”
She kissed me, her affection clear, then tucked her head under my chin. “I like this,” she mumbled. “Being yours.”
I held her tighter. “You were always meant to be, Maverick. Even when we didn’t know it.”
We lay like that, tangled in sheets and sweat, until the world faded out and nothing was left but the quiet, the afterglow, and the promise that tomorrow we’d do it all again—only better.
Tomorrow we’d talk about being mates and what that means. Hell, I only hoped she felt the call of the mate bond the same way I did.
Chapter 11
Brie
When I woke, the world was all haze and slight muscle ache, like I’d run a triathlon in my sleep and finished last in every event. The sun through Gunner’s bedroom window was already up and aiming for my eyes, so I rolled away from it, straight into the dent in the mattress his body had left. The sheets still held the ghost of last night: sweat, heat, a little dried blood where his stubble had abraded my thighs raw. I stretched and immediately regretted it—my ass was still bruised, my thighs sore in ways that told a story without words. My wolf healing made it better than it might have been had I been human. Boy. That said something.
I felt wrecked and reborn. I felt… content.
The first thing I noticed was the emptiness. The space beside me was cooling, his scent fading into cotton and air. I clutched the sheets, half expecting to find a note pinned to my chest saying, “Thanks, but this was a one-time special.” Instead, there was a literal note on the nightstand, written in neat, slanting blue ink:
Church with officers at 7. You looked too perfect to wake. Help yourself to food and coffee. Clothes in the hall.
Be back soon. -FW
I stared at it, the F and W mashed together in the signature like he was trying to economize his handwriting for speed. I ran my finger over the edge of the paper. It felt heavier than it should.
Underneath, there was a pen and a single Advil gel cap, left for me like a communion wafer. I popped it without water and pushed myself upright, letting the blanket fall. My skin was a disaster—fresh bruises mapped out on my thighs, the sweep of my ribs, and yes, that special bullseye on my right cheek. My wolf purred at the sight, smug and possessive.
I wrapped the sheet around myself and padded out of the room, heart hammering for no reason at all. The hallway was painted a warm, lived-in tan, with family photos hung in a lopsided trail leading to the kitchen. The faces in the frames were all Gunner—taller and skinnier at first, then with the stubborn edge to his jaw fully set by college. A high school graduation photo with a brother and sister at his side, both younger, both with that same wild Irish smile. His mother, holding a pie. His father, enormous and craggy, wearing a black hat and a grin you could see from Mars. There were no women, no ex-girlfriends, no ghosts. I checked.
In the kitchen, the light was soft and gold, slanting through the window and glancing off the clean lines of the countertops. The place was tidy but not precious. There was a note on the counter—Aspen’s handwriting, curly and looping:
Eat, or I will know.
Beside it, a white box tied with pretty blue and white twine. Inside the still-warm cinnamon rolls she’d made famous. The smell hit me like a home invasion—sugar, butter, a hint of citrus. The coffee maker held a carafe of still-hot coffee, next to a mug with “World’s Okayest Rancher” on the side.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I tore into a cinnamon roll with my hands, and let the frosting paint my lips. The caffeine sizzled through my system. By the time I finished the first roll, I felt almost human.
I slunk back to Gunner’s room, found the duffel bag in the hall, and dug out the clothes he’d left: a pair of gray joggers, two sizes too big,and a t-shirt with the logo for the Amarillo Livestock Auction stretched across the chest. I held the shirt up to my nose and inhaled. It was pure Gunner—sun, leather, the memory of him holding me down and making me call him Sir. I shivered.
As I got dressed, my wolf started up again, low and insistent:Mate. Mate. Mate.
Last night, I’d let myself believe it was just sex—epic, world-ending, rewrite-the-dictionary sex, but still just sex. Now, the word “mate” was stamped in every cell. My body recognized him before my mind did. The bond pulsed behind my sternum, not just a string but a steel cable, a lifeline and a shackle all at once.
I tried to slow my breathing. This was what I wanted. Right? To be claimed, needed, possessed by someone who made me feel strong and small at the same time. But the finality of it pressed against my ribs, a weight I wasn’t sure I could lift. What if I weren’t enough? What if he saw the cracks and changed his mind? What if being “mate” meant being perfect, and I was still the mess I’d always been?
I tugged the waistband of the joggers up over my hips. They were soft and well-worn. The shirt hung to my mid-thigh. I looked ridiculous. I looked…right.
