He pounds into me, his control snapping. He moves with a blur of speed, hitting a spot deep inside that makes my vision blur. The pleasure builds, a tidal wave rising, higher and higher, curling over my head.
"Jax! I’m close! I’m so close!"
"Let go," he commands, his hand working between us, rubbing fast and hard against my slick center. "Come for me, Miranda. Come for your Alpha. Give me everything."
I shatter.
My body clenches around him, milking him in violent, rhythmic spasms. I scream his name, the sound tearing from my throat as the orgasm rips through me, blinding and absolute.
Jax roars. He drives into me one last time, burying himself to the root, grinding his pelvis against mine.
I feel the change instantly.
The base of him swells. It expands rapidly, stretching me beyond the limit, locking him inside. The sensation of the knot engaging is a heavy, profound fullness that borders on pain but lands in pure ecstasy.
Locked.
He pours himself into me. It’s hot, heavy, and endless. I feel every pulse of his release, shooting deep into my womb, filling me with his heat, his life.
We collapse against each other, breathless, tangled in the sheets. The knot holds us fused, a physical anchor in the aftermath of the storm.
He kisses the sweat from my forehead. He holds me like I’m the most precious thing in the universe, his heavy breaths sawing against my ear.
"My mate," he whispers, kissing my temple, my cheek, my mouth. "My wife."
An hour later, the knot has released, but we are still tangled together.
The room is quiet again, save for the clock and the distant sounds of the celebration dying down outside. The moonlight paints stripes across the bed.
I am lying on my back, exhausted and boneless. Jax is lying beside me, propped up on one elbow, his other hand resting heavily on my stomach.
His thumb traces lazy circles on my skin.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask, my voice sleepy. "Regretting the 'no plumbing' clause of our contract?"
He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my side. "I’m thinking about the nursery."
I blink, turning my head to look at him. "The nursery? That’s... projecting a bit far into the future, isn't it? We’ve been married for three hours."
"The east wing has good light," he muses, ignoring me. "Morning sun. Good for... growth."
"Jax," I smile, covering his hand with mine. "We have time. The clock is ticking, but it’s a long mainspring."
He goes still.
His hand stops moving on my stomach.
He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, his ears twitching. He’s listening. Not to the swamp. Not to the clock.
He’s listening to me.
His expression shifts. The lazy contentment vanishes, replaced by a look of profound, awe-struck wonder. The gold in his eyes flares bright.
"Jax?" I ask, feeling a sudden flutter in my chest. "What is it? Is something wrong with the perimeter?"
He looks at me. He looks at my stomach. Then he looks back at my eyes.
A grin spreads across his face—wolfish, proud, and impossibly tender.
