He pulls out slow, achingly slow, then drives back in hard, punching the air from my lungs. He sets a rhythm that's claiming and possessive, taking what's his.
His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise, anchoring me, holding me exactly where he wants me. The marks bloom under his fingers—the evidence of his possession. I don't care. I want them.
Each thrust hits deeply at the perfect angle. The pleasure builds with every stroke. I can feel him everywhere, consuming me, overwhelming me.
"So fucking perfect." His voice is rough against my ear. "Made for me. Only me."
My nails rake down his back, drawing blood probably, claiming him the same way he's claiming me.
The rhythm builds—harder, faster. Our bodies are slick with sweat. There's the sound of skin meeting skin, the gasping breaths, his name falling from my lips like a prayer.
"Look at me." His voice is demanding and fierce.
I do. I meet that dark gaze and see myself reflected there—wanted, claimed, loved.
"Mine." He says it with every thrust, every claiming touch. "Mine, Neve. Only mine."
"Only yours." I'm gasping and clinging to him. "Only ever yours."
It builds between us, the tension coiling tighter. His name is on my lips. My name is on his. When I shatter, he's right therewith me, holding me through it, anchoring me, keeping me safe even as I fall apart.
After, we're tangled together, our sweat-slicked skin pressed close, our hearts racing. His face is buried in my neck as he breathes hard.
"I love you." He whispers it against my skin. "So fucking much."
"I love you too." My fingers trace patterns on his back, feeling his muscles twitch.
Outside, the wind howls. Danger waits. The hunters are still out there somewhere. But in this moment, wrapped in Magnus's arms, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
Safe. Claimed. Home.
10
MAGNUS
Neve's still asleep when I wake. She's curled against my chest like she belongs there. Like she'll always be there. I killed three men yesterday and she's peaceful. She's trusting and completely at ease in my arms.
The storm broke sometime during the night. Dawn brings clear skies and brutal cold. I have no second thoughts about pulling those triggers yesterday. They came to kill us. I killed them first. It was basic survival.
Neve stirs. Her muscles stretch languid and slow. Her eyes blink open. When she sees me watching her, she smiles. She's soft and unguarded. She's completely open in a way that still catches me off guard.
"Morning," she murmurs, her voice rough from sleep and other activities.
"Morning." I brush the hair back from her face. I trace the line of her jaw. I can't stop touching her. I need the constant confirmation that she's real. That she's here with me.
"How do you feel?"
"Sore." She's direct as always. She shifts and winces slightly. "Worth it though."
Heat coils low in my gut. There are marks on her hips from my hands. Bruises are forming where I gripped too hard. She wanted every second of it. She asked for it. She begged for it.
"We should talk to Zeb." I'm forcing myself to focus when all I want is to keep her in this bed. "Make a plan for getting your evidence out."
"I know." She sits up, the sheet pooling around her waist. Her bare skin is marked with yesterday. "But first, coffee. I can't make decisions without caffeine."
We dress in borrowed clothes from Caryn and Zeb. We head to the main cabin where coffee and bacon already scent the air. Zeb stands at the stove. Caryn sets the table. It's a domestic routine that feels surreal after yesterday's firefight.
Caryn hugs Neve immediately. She checks her over with careful attention. She's someone who knows what it's like to be thrown into this world. Zeb nods at me. There's a silent understanding between men who've walked this path. Who've found women brave enough or reckless enough to walk it with them.
