“I won’t hurt you,” he said, almost a promise, hips snapping forward again. “But I’m not holding back either. You want this. I can feel it.”
“Yes,” I breathed, voice wrecked, legs tightening around him. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. He fucked me hard now, passion driving every movement, the bed creaking beneath us, the sound of skin on skin filling the quiet room. But even as he drove into me, there was care in it—his hands steady, his mouth finding mine between thrusts, kissing me deep and slow like he needed the connection as much as the friction.
“Stay with me,” he whispered, forehead pressed to mine. “I’ve got you.”
I nodded, lost to the rhythm, to the way he moved inside me like he knew my body by heart. Every thrust pushed me higher, pleasure coiling tight and hot, and when he finally bit down on my shoulder and groaned my name, I knew we were both exactly where we needed to be—hard and deep and utterly, beautifully present.
Michael’s thrusts grew rougher, more urgent, the heat in the room thickening as he chased his own edge. I clung to him, nails scraping down his back, gasping his name with every deep, perfect stroke. He buried his face in my neck, hips snapping forward, body shaking as the pleasure built between us—hot, desperate, inevitable.
I felt him tense, a raw sound ripped from his throat, and then he pressed as deep as he could, cock pulsing, spilling inside me. The heat of it set off something wild—mine, claimed, safe. He groaned my name, voice breaking, hips jerking as he emptied himself, and for a moment we just held on, both of us trembling in the aftermath.
He didn’t pull out, not right away. He stayed close, panting, forehead pressed to mine, and I stroked his hair, letting my legs fall open, feeling him softening inside me, his come warm and thick where I needed it most. The moment was quiet, tender, but the hunger between us hadn’t faded.
Michael finally slid out, breathless and still hungry, and pressed kisses down my stomach, moving lower, spreading my thighs wider. His mouth found my cock, still aching, still desperate for release. He licked a stripe from base to tip, humming at the taste, then took me deep, lips and tongue working in slow, greedy pulls.
I shuddered, hips jerking up into his mouth, hands finding his hair, holding him close. He sucked me with single-minded devotion, his tongue swirling over the head, down the shaft, drawing every sound out of me. The wet heat of his mouth, the rough edge of his stubble against my thighs, the way his eyes watched me while he worked—all of it built until I was trembling, the pleasure wound tight, ready to break.
“Michael—” I warned, voice shaky, “I’m close?—”
He didn’t stop. If anything, he sucked harder, letting me fuck up into his mouth, taking every desperate thrust, every broken gasp. I came with a ragged moan, spilling across his tongue, cum streaking his lips, his cheeks, his jaw. He swallowed what he could, let the rest drip down his chin, groaning at the taste.
I pulled him up, breathless and dizzy, and kissed him hard, tasting myself on his tongue, licking the mess from his lips, his face. We kissed until we were both laughing, sticky and sated, bodies tangled and hearts racing, the world outside gone silent.
When we finally broke apart, Michael pressed his forehead to mine, both of us grinning like fools. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then licked my cheek, playful and filthy and impossibly sweet.
“That’s one way to survive,” he whispered, voice hoarse, fond.
I kissed him again, softer this time, hands in his hair. “Yeah,” I agreed, holding him close. “The only way that matters.”
After, we lay tangled in sheets, breathing hard, and I couldn't bring myself to let go.
“I love you,” I said roughly. “In case that wasn't clear.”
“It was clear.” His hand found mine. “I love you too. Even when you're being an overprotective Alpha asshole.”
“Especially then.”
He laughed, soft and tired, and the sound made something in my chest unclench.
We stayed like that as his breathing evened out, as sleep started pulling at him. But before he could slip under, I tightened my arms around him.
“Move in with me,” I said quietly.
Michael's eyes opened, found mine in the moonlight. “What?”
“Here. The pack house. Move in with me.” The words came out rough. “I can't go through that again. Can't spend hours driving back wondering if you're going to survive. If you're here, under the same roof?—”
“Daniel.” His hand found my face. “You want me to live in the pack house. With you. Where everyone can see what we are to each other.”
“They already know. The whole pack knows.” I caught his hand, pressed a kiss to his palm. “I'm calling it not wanting to sleep alone anymore. Not wanting to wake up and wonder where you are. I'm calling it being so fucking terrified of losing you that I need you close enough to hear your heartbeat while I sleep.”
Something in his expression softened, and I saw the moment he understood. This wasn't about convenience. This was about the terror that came from nearly losing someone.
“What about my house?” he asked quietly. “It's still full of Anna's things?—”
“Keep it. Whatever you need to do. But sleep here. Let me know you're safe.”
