“Because you’re the enemy.”
“Not anymore.”
The words slam into me like a blow to the solar plexus, knocking the air from my lungs. He’s right. Gods, he’s right. But when did that change? When did I stop seeing him as the man on the other side of the battlefield and start seeing him as… this? As heat in the dark, as steadiness at my side, as the only thing holding me together when everything else is breaking?
My thoughts scatter the instant his mouth claims mine. Soft at first, cautious, like he’s giving me time to decide if this is what I want. Then rougher, hungrier, more demanding, as though some tether inside him has finally snapped.
His lips taste like fire and recklessness, like the kind of danger I’ve been pretending I don’t crave. Like something I’ve wanted longer than I can admit, even to myself.
I tear my mouth from his just long enough to whisper breathlessly, “I keep thinking about what could go wrong tomorrow. What if…” I trail off, not wanting to voice my fears.
His brows knit, his voice low and rough. “You can’t think like that.” He braces himself on one elbow, looming over me, all heat and shadow.
“It’s fact, Marcus.” My chest heaves, the words scratching my throat. “We don’t know what we’re walking into. Tomorrow might be our last day.”
His jaw flexes. “That’s a morbid mindset to go in with.”
“Maybe.” My throat tightens, but I force the words through. “But it’s not what I’m focusing on.”
His eyes darken, the hunger in them peppered with something—dare I say vulnerability? The weight of his gaze pins me down more than his body ever could.
“Then what are you focusing on?” he asks, voice pitched like a challenge, like he already knows the answer and just wants to hear me admit it.
“You.” The word comes out cracked, but the resolve beneath it is iron-clad.
Heat rushes through me as I shift closer, unable to stop myself even if I tried. My knees slide against the mattress, bracketing his hips, and suddenly I’m straddling him, his solid body a furnace beneath me, his eyes blazing up into mine like he’s been needing this as much as I do.
For one breath, doubt eats at me. What the hell am I doing? Enemy. Husband. Mistake. Every warning I’ve clung to hisses in my ear.
But then my wolf surges, snarling past hesitation, and I give in.
Before I can talk myself out of it, my mouth crashes onto his. Fierce, reckless, desperate. Every second of restraint we’ve both suffered snaps all at once.
His response is immediate, like he’s been holding himself back, waiting for me to break first. His hands cradle my face, rough palms shockingly gentle as his thumbs sweep across mycheekbones. The tenderness of it nearly undoes me. It’s too much, too intimate, but then his mouth claims mine harder, hungrier, and I melt into it.
The hard press of his erection against my thigh leaves no doubt, no room for second-guessing. He wants this. Wants me. The realization punches heat low in my belly, making my wolf snarl in satisfaction.
I shift closer, tilting my head, deepening the kiss until I’m drowning in him. My hair falls forward in a wild curtain, cocooning us in our own private world. No eyes, no judgment, no council, no enemies—just Marcus and me, burning. Even though I know no one’s watching, I cling to the illusion, selfish for the secrecy. This moment is ours alone.
The heat of him is maddening. Fire pressed against fire. I kiss him deeper, harder, desperate to drink him in until I can’t tell where his hunger ends and mine begins. My hips move on instinct, grinding against the solid length straining beneath his sweats. The friction sends sparks shooting through me, and my wolf claws at the inside of my chest, urging me to take, to claim, to consume.
He groans into my mouth, the sound raw and needy, vibrating against my lips like it’s been torn straight from his lungs. The kiss breaks for only a heartbeat, just long enough for him to rasp my name—a curse and a prayer tangled together.
“Esmerelda—fuck.”
The way he says it, like I’m both his salvation and his undoing, nearly undoes me too.
I slide down his body, tasting the salt of his skin as my lips trail over his perfect chest, down the taut ridges of his abs. Every inch of him feels wrapped incredibly tight. By the time I reach the waistband of his sweats, his breath is ragged, chest rising and falling as though I’ve already undone him.
He fists the sheets so hard the fabric strains, his jaw locked tight, a muscle ticking as though it’s the only thing keeping him from grabbing me and taking over. That flicker of control, his need to hold back, makes me want to ruin him.
I tug the sweats down, deliberately slow, then I take him into my mouth. Heat, hardness, the sheer weight of him… it fills me, pushes me to my limits, and gods, the taste makes my wolf rumble with satisfaction. I move slowly at first, teasing, savoring, letting him feel every fraction of me surrendering to this.
His hips twitch off the bed despite his death grip on restraint, a guttural curse tearing from his throat. The sound turns into something raw and desperate that might be my name, and it makes me clench with need.
“Esme—stop.” His voice is ragged, strained, like the words are being torn out of him against his will.
I jerk back immediately, lips wet, heart slamming against my ribs. Panic flares hot and sharp in my chest. Did I do something wrong? Push too far? My wolf bristles, ready to bare her teeth at even the thought of rejection, but beneath it is a colder fear I can’t shake.
