I suck in air and he pushes inside, slow and steady and completely overwhelming.
The stretch burns in the best way, my body struggling to accommodate him. He pauses halfway, giving me time to adjust. His forehead drops to mine, his breathing harsh, and I realize this is costing him too. The control. The restraint.
"More," I whisper.
He groans and sinks deeper, filling me completely, and for a moment we just stay like that, locked together, breathing each other's air.
Then he starts to move.
The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, each thrust calculated to hit that perfect spot inside me causing my toes to curl. But I can feel him holding back, keeping himself in check, and I do not want that. I want all of him.
"Harder," I demand.
His hips snap forward and I gasp, pleasure spiking through me like lightning, white-hot and all-consuming. The sound that tears from my throat is raw, unfiltered, and his answering growl vibrates through his chest into mine.
"Like that?" he asks, voice rough as gravel, and I feel the rumble of it against my sternum when we're pressed together. His breath is hot against my temple, and there's something almost predatory in the way he's watching me, waiting for confirmation, for permission to unleash what I can feel him holding back.
"Yes. More. Please, Kruk, I need—" The words dissolve into a moan as he moves again, deeper this time, and my fingers scrabble against the muscles of his shoulders, trying to find purchase, trying to anchor myself to something solid because I feel like I'm coming apart. My thighs tremble where they're wrapped around his waist, and I can feel the cool metal of his gold-capped tusks brush my cheek as he buries his face against my neck. His earthy and clean scent mixed with sweat and the faint hint of whatever soap he uses, fills my lungs, and I breathe him in like he's oxygen and I've been drowning.
He silences me with a kiss and gives me what I asked for, driving into me with a force that makes the headboard slam against the wall. The bed creaks in protest but holds. I wrap my legs around his waist, trying to pull him deeper, trying to get closer even though there is no space left between us.
"Mine," he growls against my neck, the word vibrating through me like a physical thing, primal and possessive. His teeth graze the sensitive skin just below my ear, not quite biting but close enough that I feel the threat of it, the promise. "Say it."
My breath catches, and for a moment I can't find the words, can't find anything except the sensation of him surrounding me, filling me, claiming me in every possible way. Then it spills out of me, half-moan, half-confession, the truth I've been dancing around since the moment he walked into my life and decided I was his to protect.
"Yours," I gasp, my voice breaking on the word. "Yours, I'm yours."
Something shifts in him. The restraint shatters. He pulls out almost completely and slams back in, setting a punishing pace that makes me forget my own name. His hand wraps around my wrists, pinning them to the mattress above my head. The complete surrender of it sends me spiraling.
"Come for me," he commands. "Now."
And I do, because apparently my body takes orders from him now, clenching around him as the second orgasm rips through me. I hear him snarl something in Orcish, feel him pulse inside me as he follows me over the edge, and then we are just two people collapsing into each other, breathing hard, covered in sweat.
He rolls us carefully, keeping me tucked against his chest, and presses a kiss to my temple.
"My mate," he murmurs, the word thick with meaning I do not fully understand but feel in my bones anyway.
"Your mate," I agree, too boneless to argue.
We lie there in the afterglow, tangled together on the heart-shaped bed. For the first time all weekend I feel completely, perfectly calm.
And despite everything, despite Derek and the lies and the impending disaster, I smile.
Because for the first time in my life, I'm not facing chaos alone.
CHAPTER 12
KRUK
Iwake with Colletta sprawled across my chest, one leg hooked over mine, her curls tickling my jaw. The morning light slants through the gauze curtains, turning everything soft and gold, but my mind is already three moves ahead.
Derek. The threat. The wedding.
I catalogue the tactical situation while Colletta sleeps. Derek possesses information that could damage the mission. More importantly, he possesses information that could hurther, could embarrass her in front of her family, could turn what should be a joyful day into a battlefield where she bleeds.
Unacceptable.
I extract myself carefully from the tangle of limbs and sheets, watching her face for signs of waking. She makes a small noise of protest but rolls into the warm spot I left behind, hugging a pillow to her chest. Something in my rib cage twists at the sight.
