He pulls back just an inch.
I look into his eyes.
The amber is gone. The pupil is gone.
His eyes are solid, molten gold. Two burning coins of pure instinct.
The beast has taken the wheel.
27
MIRANDA
Jax’s mouth devours mine, tasting of iron and the blood I just fed him. There is no technique, no hesitation. It is pure, unadulterated hunger. The man who cooked me steak and wrapped my ankle is gone; the creature holding me now is pure instinct, burning hot enough to blister skin.
He grips my waist, his fingers digging into my flesh with bruising force. He lifts me. I weigh nothing to him. He slams me back down onto the rough wood of the fishing table, the impact jarring my spine, rattling the jars sitting on the shelves.
"Mine," he snarls against my throat, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin over my pulse. The sound vibrates through my entire skeleton. "Mine to claim. Mine to keep."
"Show me," I challenge, breathless. My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him into the cradle of my hips.
I am burning. The fire isn't just in the room; it’s in my marrow. My skin feels too tight for my body. Every nerve ending is stripped bare, firing rapidly, demanding friction, demanding weight.
He doesn't wait. He doesn't prep. He is driven by a biological imperative that overrides everything else. He shoves my thighswider, his hands rough and calloused against my inner legs, pinning me open.
I look down.
He is terrifying. Thick, veined, and glistening with arousal. The head is swollen, dark purple, weeping pre-come that smells of musk and cedar. The dimensions don't make sense. The physics of it seems impossible.
"Jax," I gasp, my hips bucking involuntarily. I’m so wet, so ready. It feels like I’ve been waiting for him my whole life.
He drives forward.
He enters me in one long, devastating thrust.
It feels like being impaled by a hot iron; despite this, my pussy creams, as if begging him for more. He stretches me to the limit of my elasticity, filling every millimeter of space until I feel full to the point of bursting. The friction burns, a sharp, tearing sensation that instantly transmutes into a blinding flare of pleasure.
I scream. It’s a ragged, torn sound.
"Take it," he growls, his eyes squeezed shut, his face a mask of savage ecstasy. Sweat drips from his brow, landing on my chest. "Take all of it, Mate. Make room for me."
He withdraws almost completely, the loss of fullness an ache, and slams back in. The table legs screech across the floorboards.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
The sound of his hips meeting mine is wet and loud.
It’s too much. It’s overwhelming. But my body... my body adapts. My hips snap up to meet him, matching his rhythm, demanding more violence.
I am not merely a vessel. I am the fuel.
I sit up, grabbing his shoulders. My nails—myclaws—dig into his skin. I rake them down his chest, drawing fresh lines of red over the grey, dying flesh of the silver wound.
"Does the Wolf like it?" I hiss into his ear, biting the lobe hard enough to draw blood. "Does he like what I am? Does he like fucking a monster?"
"He loves it," Jax roars, his hips snapping forward, grinding against my clit with ruthless precision. "He wants to consume you. He wants to bury himself so deep you never get him out."
"Then eat," I order. "Feed."
