His tongue explores me with deliberate precision, and I taste myself on his consciousness—honey-sweet with a musky edge that makes him growl against my sensitive flesh. His hunger burns through our connection; he’s barely restraining himself from claiming me completely.
“God, Callum,” I gasp, feeling him smile against me.
When one finger slides inside me, I arch forward, wanting more. He adds a second, stretching me perfectly while his tongue focuses on that sensitive bundle of nerves. The dual sensation makes me moan his name again, louder this time.
His teasing is exquisite torture—circling, barely touching where I need him most, then withdrawing just as pleasurebuilds. I feel his satisfaction at my frustration, the power he takes in drawing this out.
“Please,” I beg, all good girl manners forgotten as I thrust my hips toward his mouth and hold his head where I want it most. “No more teasing.”
His amber eyes flash up at me, wild with desire, and I feel his wolf rising—demanding he take what’s his. Finally, mercifully, he presses his tongue firmly against my clit while curling his fingers inside me, finding that perfect spot that makes my vision blur.
My first climax crashes over me without warning. I scream his name, my fingers tightening in his hair as waves of pleasure pulse through me. Before I can recover, he intensifies his movements, determined to draw more from me.
The second orgasm builds impossibly fast, stronger than the first. My legs tremble violently, my back arching off the wall. His free hand clamps against my waist, pinning me upright as my knees threaten to buckle. Every muscle in my body tightens, releases, tightens again—wave after wave crashing through me until I can’t tell where one peak ends, the next begins. Only his iron grip and the solid wall behind me keep me from sliding to the floor.
I gasp as waves of pleasure gradually subside, my body still trembling. Callum rises to his feet with fluid grace, his strong arms lifting me as if I weigh nothing. His primal satisfaction at carrying me to bed mingles with tender care.
“Please,” I whisper as he positions himself between my legs, his hardness pressing against my entrance. “I need you now.”
He begins to push inside, and I’m flooded with dual sensation—my body stretching to accommodate him and simultaneously the pressure of being gripped by wet heat. His moan reverberates through both our bodies as he fights to go slowly, to let me adjust.
“So tight,” he breathes, restraint burning through him like live coals.
Each inch forward is a revelation—being filled while experiencing what it feels like to fill. The double perspective is overwhelming, disorienting, exquisite.
When he’s fully seated inside me, our bond pulses with shared pleasure. I can’t tell where my sensations end and his begin.
“Move,” I urge, lifting my hips to take him deeper. He responds instantly, withdrawing slightly before pushing forward again. Each thrust drags against my most sensitive spots, building pressure that threatens to shatter me.
He shifts his angle, and I cry out as the base of his shaft rubs against my still-sensitive clit with each movement. My orgasm builds rapidly, my inner muscles clenching around him, drawing a growl from deep in his chest.
I arch back as my climax crashes through me in waves. But what takes my breath away is how it amplifies—I’m not just feeling my own pleasure. I’m experiencing his raw, primal response to my body clenching around him, which triggers deeper contractions from me, which intensifies his sensation, creating a circuit of pleasure that threatens to consume us both.
“Callum,” I gasp, overwhelmed. “I can feel ... everything.”
His jaw clenches with effort, sweat beading along his spine. His wolf claws beneath his skin, demanding he finish, claim, mark. Yet still he denies himself, focused entirely on my pleasure.
“You don’t have to—“ I begin, but my words dissolve into a moan as he shifts angle, hitting a spot that sends lightning through my veins.
“I’m not done with you yet,” he growls, voice rough with restraint.
The pressure builds again impossibly fast as he continues his steady rhythm. My nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crescentmarks he’ll wear tomorrow. Tonight, I want my passion written on his skin.
His breathing grows ragged as my inner muscles begin to flutter again, tightening around him. Each pulse tests his control, each clench threatening to push him over the edge he’s determined to resist.
“Let go,” I whisper, awed by his self-control but desperate to feel him surrender completely. “I want to feel you.” But I know he won’t. He’s waiting. Waiting for the marking.
I feel his wolf rising—demanding to claim, to mark, to make me irrevocably theirs. His control slips with each thrust, his own release building as my inner walls flutter around him.
With strength that surprises even me, I plant my hands against his chest and push up, flipping our positions so that I’m straddling him. His back hits the mattress with a soft thud, and the sudden reversal pulls a primal growl from his throat—part surprise, part approval.
His amber eyes gleam up at me, his hands gripping my hips as I settle my weight over him, his length still buried deep inside me.
Chapter 45
Callum
The sudden shift in positions jolts through me like lightning, the sight of Lyanna above me igniting something primal and fierce. My wolf surges forward, not with dominance but with raw, unfiltered desire.
