I should pull away. I should go back into my room and close the door and forget I ever saw him like this. Vulnerable. Hurting. But I can’t.
Instead, I lean in, my lips a breath from his ear. “Let me help.”
A shudder rolls through him, violent enough that I feel it where our hands are joined. His free hand rises, hovering for a moment before curling around the back of my neck, his thumb stroking the edge of one of the claiming marks.
The touch sends a bolt of heat straight through me, a gasp tearing from my throat. “Rett?—”
He doesn’t let me finish. His mouth crashes into mine, his tongue sliding against mine like he’s memorizing my taste. Like he’s been starving for this.
I moan into his mouth, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. His grip on my neck tightens, angling my head to deepen the kiss. Every point of contact between us burns, like our skin is trying to meld together.
“You’re killing me,” he growls against my lips, the vibration sending a shiver down my spine.
I nip at his bottom lip, earning a sound that’s more animal than human. His hands slide down, gripping my waist, and then I’m being lifted effortlessly onto his lap. The hard length of him presses against my thigh, and I can’t help it. I roll my hips, testing, teasing.
“Fuck, Zoe—” He groans, his head falling back against the wall, exposing the strong column of his throat.
His hands slip under my sleep shirt, palms skimming my waist, my ribs, higher. I arch into his touch, desperate for more. That’s when he tears his mouth from mine, pressing his forehead to my collarbone, breathing hard. His hands stop moving, gripping my waist like he’s trying to anchor himself.
“Not like this,” he says, his voice raw. “Not against a fucking wall.”
I freeze, the words hitting me like cold water. Is he... rejecting me? After everything?
But when he lifts his head, the look in his eyes makes me swallow hard. It’s not rejection. It’s restraint. And underneath it all, a fierce tenderness that steals my breath.
“Then how?” I ask softly.
A low, guttural sound is torn from his throat, the sound of a man’s control finally, completely shattering.
He’s on his feet in one fluid, powerful motion, scooping me up into his arms as if I weigh nothing. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, my arms around his neck, clinging to him as he carries me.
He doesn’t take me to his room. He carries me back into mine.
He kicks the door shut behind us, the sound echoing in the silent room, and then he’s backing me against it, his mouth crashing down on mine again. This kiss is different. It’s not just hunger; it’s a desperate, frantic search. His tongue tangles with mine, tasting, exploring, claiming.
His hands are everywhere, mapping my body through the thin fabric of my sleep shirt. Up my sides, over my ribs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts, making me arch into him with a whimper.
“Rett,” I breathe, when he finally breaks the kiss to trail a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses down my throat, lingering on the claiming mark he left there. The touch of his lips on the mark sends a bolt of pure, white-hot pleasure straight to my core.
“I know,” he growls against my skin. “I feel it too.”
He carries me the last few feet to the bed and tumbles us onto the mattress, his heavy, muscular body a welcome weight on top of mine.
“Zoe,” he says, his voice thick with an emotion I’m afraid to acknowledge.
I don’t answer with words. I just reach up, my fingers tangling in his hair, and pull his mouth back down to mine.
The kiss changes instantly. The last bit of restraint he was holding on to evaporates, and it becomes a raw, hungry, claiming thing.
Our clothes disappear in a frantic, fumbling mess. My shirt is pulled over my head, his is unbuttoned and cast aside. His hands are on my bare skin, my hands on his, and it’s not enough. It’s not close enough.
His mouth finds my breast, his tongue laving the nipple until it’s a tight, aching peak before he draws it into his mouth, suckling hard. Pleasure rips through me, and I cry out his name, my hips bucking against his.
His hand slides down between my legs, his fingers finding me already slick and ready for him. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans, his fingers dipping inside me, stretching me. “You feel... perfect.”
I am lost. Drowning in sensation. The feel of his skin, the taste of his mouth, the pure, unfiltered cedar and alpha filling my senses.
“More,” I breathe.
