“Shh,” he murmurs. “Let me show you.”
His mouth presses against my knee again, lingering, deliberate, before trailing higher. Each kiss is a warning, a promise, a threat. My thighs tense and waver, torn between running and pulling him closer. His hands grip my hips, holding me still as he climbs the last inches toward my undoing.
When his mouth finally finds me, I cry out, ragged and helpless, my fingers tangling in his hair as my hips betray me, grinding against him. His tongue is relentless, savoring me with the hunger of a man who won’t be denied. Every stroke feels like possession, every low murmur a chain wrapping tighter around my will.
He whispers dark truths against my skin—that I’ll never be free of him now, that I’m his. Fear and craving tangle until I can’t tell which is which, until I’m writhing beneath him, undone by the merciless worship of his mouth.
He devours me like he owns me. Tongue circling, then flattening. Teasing and then driving deep. Every flick is punishment and reward. My hands grip the sheets so hard I might tear them.
I lose all sense of time. Of breath. Of everything but the fire building inside me. The release rips through me without mercy, violent and consuming. My body bows off the bed, thighs clamping around his head as if I could trap him there, hold the storm in place, keep from being emptied out completely. My cry tears free, raw and unrestrained, echoing in the air as tremors roll through me until I’m shaking, spent, undone.
But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause long enough for me to draw breath. His mouth returns, ruthless and hungry, dragging me into another spiral before the first has even ebbed. His tongue is deliberate, tormenting—long, slow licks that split me open before flicking sharp and fast, cruel little jolts that make my spine bow and my fists knot the sheets like lifelines. My thighs quake. My lungs fracture into shallow gasps. His name slips from me, a broken plea, a curse, both, as heat coils low again, sharp and merciless, every nerve bared and claimed beneath his mouth.
The second climax detonates like a fuse catching flame. My vision blurs, muscles locking tight as another strangled moan claws free. I convulse under the relentless pull of him, every shudder wrung from me until I’m left limp and trembling, body boneless against the mattress.
Only then does he lift his head—slow, deliberate, a predator savoring the ruin he’s made. His jaw gleams, his mouth slick with me, his breath hot and heavy with possession. The look in his eyes is darker than midnight, feral and smug, the unshakable gaze of a man who knows the prey he’s claimed will never escape.
He rises slowly, with the deliberate grace of a predator who knows the prey is already his. The tension in the room thickens as he looms over me, gaze locked, chest heaving with the power still simmering under his skin. His fingers brush my lips—not gently, but with a possessive reverence, as if memorizing thecurve of my mouth, as if marking it. My breath catches and follows the path of his touch, drawn out of me like a confession I didn’t mean to give. The heat in his eyes darkens, hunger edged with something almost worshipful, and I tremble under the weight of it.
“This is just the start,” he murmurs, voice rough. “You’re mine now. Body and soul. And if another bastard so much as breathes the same air as you without my permission, I’ll gut him and let the snow drink his last breath. The next time somebody comes near this cabin without my say, I won’t be giving warnings.”
His gaze never leaves mine, and the rasp of his belt sliding free sends a bolt of heat straight through me. The metallic clink echoes like a promise—sharp, deliberate, and darkly erotic. He holds the belt loose in one hand, not as a threat, but a symbol of absolute control waiting to be offered. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t beckon. Just stands there, radiating quiet command, watching to see if I’ll come to him of my own will.
A pulse of something raw pounds through me—need, yes, but also recognition. I see the way he watches me, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll run or fall to my knees. But I don’t move yet. I feel it swirl low in my belly—the aching need to please, the quiet throb of surrender building beneath my skin. I want his hands on me. I want the weight of his control and the sting of his need. And more than anything, I want to give it—freely, fully—because no one’s ever burned through me like this before.
A shiver ripples through me as I push myself upright, limbs trembling, the chill of the sheets clinging to sweat-damp skin. My feet find the floor, unsteady, hesitant, but drawn forward. Each step is deliberate, fueled by something deeper than desire—something primal and unspoken. My pulse thrashes in my throat as I move closer, caught in the magnetic pull of him. Then, with breath caught in my lungs and skin tingling withanticipation, I begin to sink to my knees before him—offering not just my body, but something more intimate. Something raw. Something real.
Not because he told me to. Because I need to. Because something in his eyes—dark, fractured, barely leashed—calls to a part of me I’ve never dared expose. There’s fear, yes, but not of him. Of how badly I want to surrender. Of what it might mean to choose this instead of fight it.
My knees touch the floor, slow and deliberate, the hardwood cool beneath my skin. I lift my gaze, and Zeb freezes—just for a second. His jaw clenches, the sinew twitching as if it’s the only thing keeping him from unraveling. That barely-there crack in his restraint steals my breath. This isn’t just submission—it’s a vow. A silent offering I’ve never made for anyone else, wrapped in trust, daring, and heat. And he knows it.
His breath stutters—sharp, shallow—like he’s trying to cage something dangerous before it breaks loose.
I reach for him, hands trembling with anticipation as I ease his cock free—velvety heat, rigid and pulsing, the swollen tip already slick. I wrap my fingers around him, feeling the weight, the tension, the raw need humming beneath his skin. When I look up, his gaze is locked on mine—wild, desperate, and hungry—like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to the edge of something brutal and consuming.
"I want to," I say. "Please, I want to."
He growls—a primal, guttural sound that vibrates through me. His fingers tangle tight in my hair, not yanking, but directing with unspoken command. I take him into my mouth, slowly, savoring the heat, the weight, the way he pulses against my tongue.
I swirl my tongue around him, teasing and coaxing with deliberate slowness, until his fingers tighten in my hair and his hips give a helpless, involuntary jerk. The sound he makes—raw, jagged, half a growl—is so filthy and undone it punches straight through my core, leaving my thighs trembling and my breath snagging in my throat. The tension between us is electric, white-hot, vibrating with a hunger that threatens to incinerate restraint. Every pulse of him on my tongue deepens the ache building low and relentless inside me.
When he pulls me off him, I’m wrecked—gasping, trembling, saliva slicking the corner of my lips as I blink up at him, dazed and raw. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t ask. Just lifts me, strong arms threading under my limp limbs, and lays me down like he’s staking a claim. The bed gives beneath my weight, and then he’s on me—looming, hot and heavy, his breath ragged against my ear. The moment his body covers mine, a flush rolls over my skin, equal parts reverence and possessive heat. My thighs fall open, invitation or instinct, I don’t know. But he growls—low and satisfied—like my submission just answered a question he didn’t dare ask.
"I'm not sure if I can handle this," he whispers, his voice deep and husky in my ear. "Not because I’m angry—but because the need I have for you is more like a hunger that burns like sin. Because holding back feels like bleeding out one slow drop at a time."
He positions himself at my entrance, and with a forceful, scorching push, he's inside me—stretching me beyond what I believed possible. As he fills me to the brim, it's sheer perfection. No part of me is left untouched. He starts slowly, deliberately, allowing me to experience every contour and pulsation. Then he increases the intensity. It becomes rougher; wilder. Soon, I find myself digging my nails into his firm back and crying his name into the darkness.
Our bodies slide together in a fevered tangle, skin slick with sweat and need. Every inch of him presses into me with maddening precision—his muscles hard, his breath harsh, hisdesire unmistakable. The heat between us builds like a forge, scorching and consuming, until the only thing left is the desperate grind of our hips and the wild, unrelenting hunger to be closer still.
My fingers rake down his back, chasing the shudder that rolls through him, and when his mouth captures mine, it’s not sweet—it’s claiming, dark and full of fire. The air around us is laced with the scent of our passionate union. My legs wrap tightly around his slender waist, my heels pressing firmly against his lower back. He makes love to me, driving himself so deep into me it feels like he’s etched there, and I willingly submit to his ownership.
He bites my shoulder, his tongue tracing the impression left by his teeth sinking into my delicate skin. A guttural cry escapes from deep within me.
He secures my wrists against the damp mattress, gripping them firmly while his hips continue to drive unyieldingly. The sensations intertwining—pain and pleasure—have become indistinguishable, blending together like an all-consuming wave that threatens to engulf us both.
An overwhelming climax tears through me like a supernova, ripping a scream from my throat and blanketing my vision in white-hot sparks. My lungs seize, my pulse ricochets through every nerve ending, and a rush of molten heat floods me so violently I swear the world tilts off its axis. I’m weightless—suspended between agony and euphoria—as stars explode behind my eyes and my breath vanishes into nothing but raw sensation.
Zeb reaches his peak not long after, releasing a deep growl as he spills himself inside me with a shudder, the tremor rolling through both our bodies. He remains motionless, his breaths ragged against my neck and the rhythm of his heart pounding against my chest.
