"Promises, promises."
He carries me the last few steps, drops me in the center of the nest—pillows and blankets caving beneath my weight, cocooning me in pack scent, in memory, in safety. Aidric is on me instantly, looming above, caging me in so tightly I think the air leaves my lungs.
His kiss is different now—hungry, yes, but no longer fighting. It's claiming. It's control. I open for him without thinking, tongue meeting his, and the taste of him—smoke and salt and pure Alpha—drowns every remaining doubt.
I arch against him, desperate to feel his bare skin on mine, every inch. Need is a living, relentless thing in my core, a fire that blots out reason.
He works down my body, kissing and biting and leaving red trails all the way. Neck, collarbone, the curve of a breast. He mouths over my nipple, teeth tugging just enough to make me buck. Then lower, nipping at my ribs, my belly, every mark a brand I want to keep.
My thighs try to close, instinctively, but he catches them, pushing wide, and there's no more hiding. I'm exposed—soaked, needy, scent flooding the air with vanilla and wildflower and a sugar-hungry ache.
He groans like the sight alone could kill him. "Fuck, Wendy. You have no idea."
"I do," I gasp, voice gone shredded and small. "I do, please, please?—"
He laughs, settling between my legs, hands bracing just above my knees, holding me open.
"Want me to eat you out in your own nest? Thought you were in charge here."
"Shut up," I try to snap, but it's barely a whimper. "Do something."
He doesn't hesitate. His mouth is hot, tongue flattening against my clit, stroking slowly to start, just enough to make me writhe. Then he licks lower, groaning at how soaked I am, and fucks me with his tongue.
I can't control the sounds. I'm moaning, keening, fingers buried in his hair, hips rolling against his face. He lets me, grinds his jaw to up the pressure, lets me use him like a toy.
Aidric brings his fingers up—God, they're thick—and slides two inside without pause. My body seizes, every nerve ending screaming relief and more, more, more.
I don't know when I started begging. Maybe from the start.
I'm babbling now, every word tumbling into the next. "Please, please, Aidric, I need it, need you, god—please fuck me, don't stop, please?—"
He works me open, tongue and fingers finding some perfect rhythm, each twist and curl making another orgasm build, crest, break. It doesn't end. Doesn't stop. I'm shaking, spasming, so slick I can't imagine how he'll ever fit?—
But I want him to. I want him to break me.
I want to be absolutely ruined, filled, claimed and marked and helpless to resist.
I pull his hair, trying to drag him up so I can see his face, but he just grins into my thighs, growls, and returns to devouring me.
The world contracts to Aidric's mouth, the slick heat between my legs, the burn of my own skin, the thunder of my heart.
All thought. All resistance. All pretense of pride—obliterated.
I'm his.
And when he finally rises up, face slick, pupils blown, he holds himself just above me—cock at my entrance, just waiting.
"Say it," he demands, voice harsh with need. "Tell me what you want."
I don't hesitate. Don't care what dignity is left.
"Fill me," I sob. "Knot me. Make me yours."
He grins, savage, and leans in for one last, ruinous kiss—tongue still tasting of me, of what I've become in his hands.
And then—finally, finally—he pushes inside.
The first thrust steals my breath—thick, brutal, splitting me open in the best way, every inch a collision of raw want and satisfaction. He doesn't start gently. Doesn't bother with sweet words or lingering touches. Just grabs my hips and fucks into me, hard and hungry, like he's waited his whole life for this one moment.
