“Yes,” she answers instantly.
Good.
I lean down and kiss her again, hard enough to steal the breath from her lungs, then take a leather gag and press it to her lips. She opens for it without hesitation. I fasten it snug, my thumb stroking her cheek once after.
“You’re beautiful like this,” I tell her.
Her eyes shine.
I kneel between her legs and drag my claws down the inside of her thighs, not cutting—never cutting—just enough pressure to make her shiver violently. Her hips buck helplessly against the ropes.
I lick her.
Slow. Broad. Deliberate.
She cries out around the gag, head thrashing against the pelts as I feast on her, tongue and teeth and lips working her until her body is shaking. I bring her to the edge, hold her there, back off just enough to deny her release.
Again.
And again.
By the time I finally sheath myself inside her, she’s already wrecked—slick, trembling, begging incoherently behind the gag.
I take her hard.
No gentle entry. No patience left. I slam into her, hips snapping forward, driving the breath from her lungs. She screams, body bowing off the bed, ropes straining.
I set a brutal rhythm—deep, punishing thrusts that leave no space between us. Every impact echoes through the room, flesh slapping flesh, her moans turning ragged and broken.
I watch her face as I fuck her.
Every twitch. Every tear. Every moment her eyes roll back as pleasure overwhelms her.
She comes around my cock with a sob that shatters something inside me.
I don’t slow.
I drive her through it, through another peak, and another, until her body goes slack and her voice is gone. When I finally follow her over the edge, I bury myself to the hilt and roar, spilling everything I am into her.
I lean down, press my mouth to her ear.
“You are the blood in my bones,” I whisper.
“You are the song in my soul.”
She breaks.
I free her from the ropes and pull her against me, her body limp and trusting in my arms. Later—much later—I carry her out beneath the open sky.
The stars wheel overhead.
I throw my head back and howl.
A Reaper mating call.
The valley answers.
Ayla sleeps curled against my chest, breathing slow and deep.
