Something primal and possessive roars through me at making her come apart like this. My mate. My miracle.
When the tremors finally subside, I move back up her body, settling beside her on the bed. My heart still races from making her come apart. Her face is flushed, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. I could stop here, content with having worshipped every inch of her.
But then Lyanna’s hands are reaching for me, wrapping around my length with surprising confidence. The contact makes me hiss through my teeth, my hips jerking involuntarily.
“I need more,” she whispers, her grip firm and sure. “I need to feel you inside me, Callum.”
My wolf surges forward at her words. She pulls me down on top of her with surprising strength, her legs parting to cradle my hips. The heat of her against me is almost overwhelming.
I hesitate, suddenly aware of how delicate she seems beneath me. My larger frame covers hers completely, and though I know she’s stronger than she appears—she’s the strongest woman I know—I can’t help but worry.
“I won’t break,” she says, reading my concern with unsettling accuracy. Her hands slide down my back, nails scraping lightly. “I promise.”
I position myself at her entrance, where she’s still wet and swollen from her release. The first gentle press forward makes us both gasp. She’s impossibly tight around just the head of my cock, and I force myself to go slow, watching her face for any sign of discomfort.
Her lips part on a silent breath, her pupils dilating further.
“More,” she urges, her hands gripping my shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
I push forward another inch, feeling her body yield to me. The sensation is exquisite torture—tight heat enveloping me with each careful movement. Sweat beads at my temples from the effort of holding back. I’ve never felt anything like this—like my entire existence is narrowing down to this single point of connection.
Her eyes are blown wide with desire, forest green nearly swallowed by black. They stay locked on mine as I work my way deeper, her body accepting me inch by inch.
“You feel ...” I struggle for words, my usual bluntness failing me. “Like heaven. Like everything.”
She responds in her native tongue; the fae language making the ward lights flicker around us. When I’m finally fully inside her, I have to stop moving entirely. The sensation is overwhelming—not just physically, but something deeper. My wolf is howling with satisfaction, with recognition.
Mine. Ours. Home.
I look down at her beneath me, her luminescent skin flushed with desire, her eyes—those fathomless forest eyes—gazing up at me with equal parts vulnerability and fierce desire. Her chest rises and falls rapidly against mine, our hearts beating in sync.
This is heaven. This is everything.
“You’re everything,” I whisper, the words escaping before I can filter them.
I begin to move—slow, careful thrusts that have us both gasping. Her body yields to mine, tight heat gripping me with each movement. Every nerve ending feels electrified, hyperaware of the smallest details—the catch in her breath, the slight arch of her back, the way her fingers dig into my shoulders, the silk of her inner thighs against my hips.
“Callum,” she breathes, my name in her voice shooting straight to my cock.
I set a steady rhythm, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. There’s none—only pleasure and wonder that mirror what I’m feeling. Her luminescence seems to intensify with her arousal, a subtle glow emanating from beneath her skin that makes her look otherworldly in the ward light.
“You feel ...” I struggle to find words adequate for this sensation. The drag of her walls against my length, the wet heat surrounding me, the way she clenches when I hit a particular angle. “Fucking perfect. Like you were made for me.”
My pace increases as restraint begins to crumble. Her nails score lines down my back that I’ll wear proudly. The scent of us together—her sweetness mixing with my cedar and leather—creates something new, something that feels like home.
“Mine,” I growl, my wolf surging forward as I drive into her. The possessive word tears from my throat without permission. “My mate.”
“Yours,” she gasps, her accent thickening with emotion. “And you’re mine.”
The declaration hits me harder than any physical sensation. I reach between us, my fingers finding where we’re joined, circling that sensitive bundle of nerves. Her reaction is immediate—back arching, inner walls clenching around me like a vise.
“Let go,” I urge, feeling my own control slipping with every thrust. Pressure builds at the base of my spine, in my balls, everywhere we’re connected. “I’ve got you.”
She shatters beautifully, crying out in that ancient fae language. The ward stones flare bright around us, responding to the magic in her voice. The sight of her coming apart beneath me—combined with the exquisite grip of her body milking my cock—sends me over the edge. My release hits like a thunderclap, pleasure spiking through every nerve as I pour myself into her, my forehead pressed to hers, our breath mingling in the space between us.
For one perfect moment, I can’t tell where I end, and she begins. The mate bond pulses between us, bright and undeniable—a connection beyond magic or politics or duty.
As we come down together, still joined, still breathing as one, I know with absolute certainty: I would fight the world to keep this. To keep her.
