He kissed a path down Melvin’s throat, over his chest. He took a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, then harder when Melvin arched off the bed with a sharp gasp. He mapped the familiar terrainof his body with his tongue, the ridge of a rib, the dip of his navel, the scar low on his hip from a training accident years ago. He worshiped every inch, his wolf needing to scent-mark, to taste, to memorize.
Melvin’s hands were in his hair, not guiding, just holding on. His breathing was ragged. “Mac… please.”
The plea went straight to Mac’s core. He nuzzled the coarse hair at the base of Melvin’s cock, breathing him in. Musk, salt, and that undeniable amber-and-honey combination. It was the most intoxicating thing he and his wolf had ever known. He didn’t take him in his mouth. Not yet. He turned his head, pressing his cheek against the hot, velvety skin of Melvin’s inner thigh. He felt the muscle tremble under his touch.
“Tell me you’re mine,” Mac said, his voice a low growl. He looked up the length of Melvin’s body, meeting his blown-dark eyes.
Melvin didn’t blink.
“Yours.”
“Say it again.”
Melvin’s fingers tightened in his hair, steady and sure.
“I’m yours… You are my Alpha.”
The words landed between them with a quiet finality that felt older than either of them.
Mac went still.
Something deep in him answered before thought could catch up, the wolf rising hard and certain at the sound of it.
Melvin held his gaze. “Always have been.”
The truth of it, spoken so plainly, shattered the last of Mac’s control. He moved up Melvin’s body in a fluid surge, covering himcompletely. Skin to skin, heat to heat. The feel of Melvin beneath him, solid and strong but yielding to him, felt like everything.
He settled between Melvin’s thighs, the hard length of his cock pressing against Melvin’s, a slick, hot slide that made them both gasp.
Mac buried his face in the curve of Melvin’s neck, inhaling deeply. The scent was everywhere now, in his lungs, on his tongue, under his skin. It quieted the wolf’s restless pacing and replaced it with a single thought he wasn’t ready to trust: Melvin might be his Mate.
He rocked his hips, a slow, grinding rhythm that built friction where they were joined. The wetness between them, his pre-come, Melvin’s, eased the slide. The sound was obscene, wet and intimate in the quiet room. Melvin’s legs came up, bracketing Mac’s hips, his heels digging into the backs of Mac’s thighs, pulling him closer, deeper into the cradle of his body.
“Look at me,” Mac rasped.
Melvin’s eyes opened. They were hazy with pleasure, but clear with intent. He reached up, his hand curling around the back of Mac’s neck, holding his gaze. In that moment the connection felt absolute. In that look, Mac saw the same future he’d imagined by the river. A life built. Together.
Mac shifted, his hand sliding down between their sweat-slick bodies. He found Melvin’s entrance, already soft and yielding. He was hot, impossibly so, but tight. Mac pressed a single finger against him, just the tip, applying a steady, inexorable pressure. Melvin’s breath hitched, his body opening, accepting. The stretch was sharp, a burning fullness that made Melvin throw his head back with a ragged moan. Mac stilled, his finger buried to the knuckle, feeling the frantic, fluttering clench around him. It was too much, too fast. He was noslouch, and the wolf in him, the alpha bloodline, meant he was built to claim. To fill. Melvin would need more.
He withdrew slowly, the loss of that heat a small agony. “Easy,” Mac murmured against his throat, the word more growl than speech. “We’ll go easy.”
He reached for the bottle on the nightstand, the cap coming off with a soft click. He poured slick onto his fingers, the sound obscenely loud. He warmed it between his palms, his eyes never leaving Melvin’s face.
“Look at me.”
Melvin did. His eyes were dark, pupils swallowing the brown, his lips parted on panting breaths. There was trust there, and a wild kind of hunger. Mac coated his fingers thoroughly, the cool gel turning warm against his skin.
He returned his hand between Melvin’s thighs, his touch deliberate. One finger again, slick and slow, pressing in. Melvin gasped, his body arching, but this time the tension was different. It was a welcome, not a resistance. Mac worked him open with a patient, circling rhythm, feeling the tight ring of muscle gradually soften, give way, become pliant. He crooked his finger, searching, and Melvin jolted, a broken cry tearing from his lips.
“There?” Mac asked, his voice rough.
Melvin could only nod, his hips pushing down against Mac’s hand. Mac pressed the spot again, a firm, relentless pressure, and watched pleasure unravel him. Melvin’s cock lay thick and leaking against his stomach, a bead of moisture welling at the tip. The scent of him, of amber and pure male arousal, flooded the room, flooded Mac’s senses. Inside, his wolf paced, eager, but the man held firm.
He added a second finger. The stretch was profound. Melvin cried out, his nails digging into Mac’s biceps, his head thrashing on the pillow. “Fuck, Mac…”
“I know,” Mac soothed, stilling, letting him adjust. He felt the incredible heat, the tight clutch of Melvin’s body around his fingers. He scissored them gently, stretching him wider. The slide was wet, slick with lube and Melvin’s own yielding. Mac bent, capturing Melvin’s mouth in a deep, consuming kiss, swallowing his moans. He worked him open until the resistance faded, until Melvin was pushing back against his hand, his body moving in a desperate, rocking rhythm.
Only then did Mac add a third. The stretch was overwhelming. Melvin went rigid, a strangled sound caught in his throat, his eyes flying open. Mac held him there, full to the knuckles, not moving. “Breathe,” he commanded, his own breath coming in harsh pants. “Just breathe through it, baby. Take it for me.”
