She moans again as I stroke my fingers against her stiff little nub, and my mouth leaves hers and finds her neck instead, licking and kissing at the point where I’d sunk my fangs only moments ago.
“Fox,” she murmurs, her fingers sinking into my hair. “Fox, I missed you so much.”
“I know, sweetheart,” I say. “I know.”
“Fox,” she cries out again as my fingers work quickly against her. I can feel the tension in her body already rising high, and I leave her clit and sink my fingers inside her instead.
It’s been so long since I’ve sunk inside her. Has it really only been days? Just days?
“Fox,” she says by my ear, capturing my attention. “I need you inside me. I need you inside me now.”
She’s fumbling at the buckle of my belt, yanking down the zipper, then pulling down her pants and underwear. I lift her in my arms and press her against the wall. It must be rough against her back. It must be uncomfortable. But she doesn’t seem to care. She’s too desperate to have me inside her, helping to guide me that way, crying out when the head of my cock catches in her hole.
“Briony,” I growl as I sink into her and her legs wrap around my waist. “Fuck,” I say. “Fuck, Briony.”
It takes everything I have – every single drop of resolve – not to sink my fangs into her neck as well. But I don’t want that distraction. I don’t want that fake ecstasy. I just want this – the feel of her body against mine, the feel of her walls gripping me tightly, the feel of her wiggling and squirming, desperate for friction, desperate for me.
Desperate for me to fuck her.
But I make her wait. I find her mouth again, and I kiss her – kiss her deep, my tongue plunging right inside her mouth. With one hand supporting her ass, I draw the other up inside her shirt, squeezing at her breasts, flicking my thumb across her nipple.
She’s calling me all sorts of names, frustrated with me now – my impatient little girl, my fiery little one, my perfect little mate.
I draw back. “Sweetheart,” I say, “you have to learn to be patient.”
“No,” she says. “Never.”
I shake my head in disbelief, and then – because she means everything to me, because she’s damn irresistible – I give her exactly what she’s demanding.
I plow into her, thrusting myself deep inside her, and she clings to me desperately, wrapping her limbs around me tightly as if she never wants to let me go. The light in her blood sings all the more vibrantly and seems to envelop us as we both fall away into ecstasy, lost in each other completely.
When we float back down to earth, I place her back down on her feet and whisper in her ear, “You’re perfect. A perfect little mate.”
I lift my hand to stroke a lock of hair away from her cheek, and as I do, she gasps, snatching my arm in her hands and bringing it closer to her face, illuminating my skin with her light magic.
There are the faintest marks painted across my wrists. She traces them with the tip of her thumb.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“You have the fate marks,” she whispers, “they’re similar to the ones that mark Thorne and Beaufort’s wrists.”
Yes, I never doubted it, I always knew, fate has twined us together.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Dray
“What the fuck?!” I snap.
Not only do Beau and Thorne have the marks on their wrists that show fate has bound them to Briony, now the fucking professor does too. Only my wrists remain unmarked and unpainted.
Briony drops into my lap and wraps her arms around my neck, giggling as she does.
“I don’t have them either,” she says, showing me her wrists. I growl, nipping at the delicate skin there and she giggles some more.
“It’s not fair,” I pout.
“You know it doesn’t mean anything. You’re my mate. I don’t need any marks to tell me that.”
