Eden
His fingers dig into my thighs hard enough to bruise. I hope they do.
We're still in the yard—halfway between the shed and the cottage—and I don't care. His mouth is on my neck and my legs are locked around his waist and the cold air hits my back but I don't feel it. All I feel is him. The heat of his chest through his shirt. The grip of his hands. The way he's shaking with the effort of not taking me right here in the dirt.
"Inside," I manage.
He doesn't answer. Just walks faster.
The cottage door. His shoulder hits it. It flies open.
He kicks it shut behind us and I hear the lock click—muscle memory, even now—and then we're moving again. Through the kitchen. The living room. The hall.
The bedroom.
He sets me on the edge of the mattress and steps back, breathing hard. His chest heaves. His eyes are black, pupilsblown wide, and he's looking at me the way he's been trying not to look at me for days.
Then he goes still.
"Diesel?" My heart stutters. "What is it?"
I'm terrified he's going to bolt. Going to come to his senses and remember all the reasons he's listed for why this can't happen.
But his eyes don't clear. They only go darker.
"Eden." His voice is rough. Strained. "You've got to be sure about this. Because I'm not built like humans."
I let my gaze travel down his body. The massive chest. The arms that could snap me in half. The bulge straining against his jeans.
"I'm hoping not."
Heat flickers in his expression—surprise, desire, a growl building in his throat. He leans forward, hands bracing on either side of me on the mattress, his face inches from mine. I feel the heat radiating off him. See the war happening behind his eyes.
"I mean it." Each word deliberate. A warning. "Once I start, I won't be able to stop."
I know what he's telling me. That the beast he's kept caged for days is straining at the leash. That if I say yes, he's going to take me apart. That this won't be gentle or careful or human.
I don't care.
I want him to unleash what he's been holding back. I want to see the beast hidden beneath all that self-control. I want to be claimed.
I want to be his.
I hold his gaze. "I'm sure."
His expression shifts. The war ends. The beast wins.
He moves.
His shirt tears—actually tears—as he yanks it over his head. Then his hands are on me, huge and rough, and I'm on my backbefore I can blink. The mattress hits my spine and he's over me, around me, dark green skin and black ink and scars filling my vision.
"Days." The word comes out guttural. Barely human. "Days I've watched you. Wanted you. Kept my fucking hands to myself."
His tusks graze my jaw as his mouth finds my neck. Not gentle. Marking.
"Diesel—"
"No more." His hand fists in my hair, pulls my head back, bares my throat. "You're mine now. Say it."
