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The head of him popped inside, and I gasped.
The stretch was delicious, a burn that bordered on too much but settled into exactly right. And beneath it, something else. Heat, yes, pulsing and human and him. But also coolness, soothing, spreading through me like shadows given form. As if his other half had magic that could reach into my very core and tell me I was safe, I was wanted, I was his, and soothe the ache of his path. He felt huge. And for a few heartbeats I feared I’d be unable to take it, but he slid in with ease. Slick guiding him as I shoved back, taking more of him, and we both groaned.
“Fuck,” he breathed against my neck, his voice deep as gravel, more beast than man. “Jude—fuck—”
“Yours,” I promised again. “More.”
He sank deep, hands gripping my hips to bury himself to the root.
Slow. Deliberate. Agonizing. I felt every inch, every pulse, every tremor that ran through his body. He flattened me against the rug, spreading my legs wider, grinding his hips into me until my cock was pressed to the soft weave of the bathmat, trapped beneath me while he positioned me like he was arranging something precious, something he wanted to savor from every angle.
Only when I was exactly where he wanted me did his hands leave my skin.
His claws sank into the rug, tearing through the fibers, scraping the tile as he clung to the edges of his humanity. He was braced against the floor instead of me, giving me room, giving me control, even as something ancient and hungry clawed at his edges.
His cock split me wide, his weight driving me into the floor, though he fought not to move, as if giving me time to adjust to this new dynamic size and his shadow beast’s inclusion. Or perhaps he expected me to turn him away or ask him to stop. But I wasn’t about to stop.
“Angel.” His name came out needy. My body clenched around him, pulling him deeper, and he trembled, his whole frame shaking against mine, face buried in the back of my neck, body held perfectly still.
“Love?” I whispered.
He sucked in air like he’d forgotten how. His heartbeat slammed against my back, echoing through every place we touched, as if our very souls could pulse with the connection. I felt our bond, stretched thin over weeks of separation, now pulled taut and singing. It wove itself tighter through our touch, as if the proximity was all we needed.
“Don’t...” His voice sounded strained. “Don’t want to hurt you,” he muttered against my hair, hands ripping the rug to shreds even as he fought for control.
“I trust you.” I gave him back the words he’d gifted me, the ones that had held me together when everything else fell apart. “I want this. I want you.”
“Even if...” He swallowed hard against my neck. “Even if the beast comes out?”
Is that what worried him?
All this time, I’d been terrified of scaring him away. My necromancy, my weird Weaver abilities, I’d been waiting for the moment he’d look at me and see a monster.
But his fear was the mirror of mine.
He was afraid I’d reject him. That he’d let the beast loose and I’d run. That the shadows and claws would be the thing that finally made me leave.
It made sense, when I thought about it. We hadn’t had an easy start. Thrown together, chaos from the very beginning, me fighting the fate bond while he’d already recognized it. I’d been stubborn, scared, and convinced I didn’t deserve anything good.
But somewhere along the way, he’d become my everything.
“I’m not afraid of you, Angel.” The words came out quiet but steady, a truth I’d been holding onto for longer than I wanted to admit.
He shuddered against me; claws still buried in what was left of the rug. Then he slid out, slow, torturous, the drag of it pulling a moan from somewhere deep in my chest. I felt suddenly, achingly empty.
“Please.” The word was a whimper, desperate and wanton. I pushed back against him, searching for contact, for him. “I need you. I love you.”
His breath hitched. Caught. Held.
“I love you, Angel Mao. Every part of you. Even the parts that scare you.”
For one endless second, nothing moved.
Then he flipped me onto my back, looming over me with eyes that burned gold and shadow, face caught somewhere between man and beast, sharp fierceness, glowing eyes, and all Angel’s breathless beauty.
And then he was inside me again, driving home, burying himself to the root in one smooth, desperate thrust. I arched off the rug, a broken sound tearing from my throat, my hands grabbing at his shoulders, his back, anything to hold onto.
He set a rhythm immediately. Hard. Demanding. Perfect.
