“More,” she whispers against my mouth.
I growl like some kind of animal, and capture her lips again. My hips roll, and I slam into her faster now, and she matches me thrust for thrust, her body moving on pure instinct. The heat between us is unbearable, building and building toward something inevitable.
Her hands slide down my back, and I shudder at the sensation. She tips her head back, giving me access, and I take full advantage, kissing and nipping down the column of her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, inhaling her scent until I’m drunk on it.
“God, Carter, I’ve never—it’s never felt like this before?—”
“Good.” I suck gently at her pulse point, and she arches beneath me with a cry. “You’re mine now.”
We fuck on the sheets, her breathless and needy. She’s radiant in the moonlight—all tousled hair and flushed skin and bright eyes—and I have to pause just to take her in. This impossible, beautiful woman who crashed into my life and turned everything upside down.
Her expression softens. She reaches up, traces her fingers along my jaw, my cheekbone, the curve of my ear. The tenderness of it makes something crack open in my chest.
This isn’t just want. It’s deeper than that. It’s a bone-deep recognition, a certainty that settles in my chest like a key sliding into a lock.
Mine. She’s mine. My fated mate.
The realization puts everything into place. This is why her scent drives me crazy. Why can’t I stop thinking about her, can’t stop writing terrible poetry in the middle of the night, can’t stop positioning myself between her and any threat like my body knows something my brain is just catching up to. The thought of walking away is like physical pain.
Her legs tighten around my waist as I plunge into her over and over. She’s soaked, and I love her this way. She’s clawing at me, crying out my name, and I know she’s building up… Fuck, I am barely holding on myself. And the second I feel her squeezing me, soaking me in the gush of her climax, I lose my control.
I growl, shoving deep into her, and I unleash, unable to hold back even if I tried. I’m hissing, eyes shut, lights blinking behind my eyelids as I pulse into her, filling her, needing every last drop to flood her. The pressure at the base of my cock intensifies, the swelling of the knot already kicking in. Grunting as I pump into her, lost in the pleasure of her tight pussy walls constricting me as I grow inside her, the knot locking me in.
“Oh, shit, is that…?” She gasps.
I flip open my eyes, staring down at her surprise, and realize I am her first knot. Fuck. “Baby,” I groan, still spilling into her. “My cock’s knotting now, claiming you, locking us together. Are you okay?”
She’s flushed, head tipped back against the pillows, and the sound that comes out of her is half moan, half laugh, like she can’t believe her own body.
“Oh my God!” Her breath stutters. Then she starts laughing for real, soft and bright and wrecked. “Why didn’t anyone tell me it feels so amazing and intense and slightly ticklish?”
The laugh shakes her. It shakes me too. Something in my chest gives way, the tightest part unclenching, because it’s her. Even like this, overwhelmed and glowing and undone, she’s still June. Still sharp, still funny, still refusing to be delicate about what she wants.
I laugh with her, and I lower to lie on the bed, turning her with me so we land face-to-face. Our bodies fit in a way that feels inevitable, like we have been trying to find this exact shape since the first day we met. Heat rolls off her in waves. Her hands cling to me, fingers digging into my shoulders.
Her eyes are glassy, but not lost. Present. Hungry. Fixed on my mouth.
I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring her, letting the moment deepen instead of just burn. Her sigh spills into my lips, and she shudders, her whole body reacting as if the kiss travels straight through her. I feel it too, that ripple of connection, that humming pulse under the skin that’s not just desire. It’s closeness. It’s attachment forming in real time, braided together with everything we have been holding back.
Her cheek brushes mine, her breath warm at my jaw.
“I can’t believe you,” she whispers, like it’s an accusation and a compliment at once.
“I’m right here,” I murmur, and I keep my forehead to hers. “I’ve got you.”
June’s lashes flutter. She drags her mouth along the side of my throat, a dazed little kiss that turns into something more deliberate, like she’s following a craving she has finally stopped denying. Her voice is still soft, still roughened by everything she’s feeling.
Then she pauses.
Her gaze lifts, taking me in like she’s suddenly noticing a detail she missed.
“You didn’t bite me,” she says.
The question is so simple, so blunt. I still, watching her face and seeing the surprise there, the curiosity, the aching want underneath it.
My hand slides up her back, firm and steady, keeping her close without pinning her.
“Do you want me to mark you?” I ask.
