Her response is to thread her fingers through my hair and pull me back to her mouth.
I take that as a yes.
The bond flares between us, urging me forward and demanding that I complete what we started at the ceremony. My wolf is howling inside my chest, desperate to mark her, to make sure every creature in this forest knows she belongs to me. But I force myself to slow down, to savor this moment instead of rushing through it.
I want to remember everything. The way she tastes, the sounds she makes, the feel of her body responding to mine.
I lower her back to her feet, and she whimpers at the loss of contact. “Patience,” I tell her.
“I don’t want to be patient.” She reaches for me, but I catch her wrists.
“Too bad.” I spin her around so she’s facing the tree with her palms pressed against the bark. “You’ve been fighting me since the moment we met. Now you’re going to let me take control.”
I hear her breath hitch, feel the spike of arousal through our bond. She likes this—the idea of surrendering, of letting someone else make the decisions for once. Even if she’d never admit it out loud.
I gather her hair in one hand and move it over her shoulder, exposing the back of her neck. The zipper of her dress runs from collar to waist, and I lower it with agonizing slowness. The fabric parts to reveal smooth skin that practically glows in the moonlight.
“Beautiful,” I muse as I trace my fingers down the path of her spine.
She shivers under my touch. “Connor…”
“Shh.” I press a kiss to the back of her neck. “Let me worship you.”
I peel the dress off her shoulders and let it fall to pool at her feet. She’s wearing simple white underwear beneath—nothing fancy, nothing meant to seduce—but the sight of her standing there in just scraps of cotton and moonlight makes my mouth go dry.
I run my hands over her skin, mapping the curves and valleys of her body. She’s soft everywhere I’m hard, smooth where I’m rough. The contrast sends heat spiraling through my veins. When I cup her breasts, she leans back against me with a soft moan that nearly undoes me.
“Turn around,” I command, my voice barely more than a growl.
She obeys, and the trust in that simple action makes something behind my sternum ache. She shouldn’t trust me. Not after everything I’ve done. But she’s looking at me like I’m something worth believing in, and I’ll be damned if I disappoint her now.
I drop to my knees in front of her, and her eyes go wide.
“What are you—”
“Letting you know exactly how much I want this.” I hook my fingers into the waistband of her underwear and drag them down her legs. “How much I want you.”
The scent of her arousal hits me, and my wolf practically howls with satisfaction. She’s already wet for me, already ready, and knowing I did that to her—knowing I’m the one who brought her to this point—fills me with savage pride.
I lean forward and press a kiss to her inner thigh. She jumps, and her hand flies to my shoulder for balance.
I look up at her and request, “Let me taste you, Fern. Let me show you how good this can be.”
She nods, too overwhelmed to speak, and I take that as permission to continue.
I start slow, trailing kisses up her thigh until I reach the apex. Then I lick a long stripe through her folds, and she nearlybuckles. I hold onto her hips to steady her, keeping her in place as I explore her with my mouth.
She tastes like salt and sweetness and something uniquely her. I lose myself in the act, in learning what makes her gasp, what makes her moan. When I find her most sensitive spot and circle it with my tongue, her fingers tighten in my hair almost painfully.
“Oh God,” she whimpers.
I increase the pressure, working her with single-minded focus as I slide two fingers inside her and curl them to find that spot that makes her back arch. Her inner walls clench around me, tight and hot, and I pump my fingers while my tongue continues swiping against her swollen bud.
She’s close. I can feel it in the way her thighs tremble and hear it in the desperate sounds falling from her lips. I double my efforts, determined to push her over the edge, to make her come apart under my mouth.
“Connor, I’m—I’m going to—”
Before she can finish, she shatters with a cry that splits through the clearing. Her body convulses, and her inner walls clamp down on my fingers. I work her through it, drawing out every last tremor until she’s sagging against the tree, barely able to stand.
