Page 57 of Claimed By the Wolf Prince
I strip her clothes off with hands that aren't gentle. The fabric tears where it catches, and neither of us cares. Her body underneath is flushed from throat to thighs, her skin burning under my palms, and the slick between her legs has soaked through everything she was wearing and is now coating my fingers, my wrists, the insides of her thighs in a slippery heat that makes my cock jerk against her ass.
I bend her forward over the bed and push inside her in one long stroke, and the sound we both make fills the room with a raw, animal honesty that has nothing to do with tenderness or strategy. She's so wet and so swollen that the entry is frictionless, her body opening around me with a desperate, clenching heat that pulls me deep and holds me there.
"More," she says, and the word is barely a word, more breath than voice, and her hips push back against mine with a demand that matches the omega imperative pounding through her bloodstream. "Harder. Stop holding back."
I stop holding back.
The pace is fast and deep and driven by a biological engine that has been building across the entire arc of our historytogether. Every thrust seats me fully inside her, and every withdrawal pulls a sound from her that is raw and wrecked, the pleasure-pain of an omega in heat being filled by her compatible alpha. The slick makes everything obscenely wet, the sound of our bodies connecting a rhythmic, liquid percussion that fills the room alongside her moans and my groans and the creak of the bed frame under the force of our movement.
Her omega biology does things I haven't felt in the previous encounters. Her body clenches in waves that ripple along my cock from base to tip, the internal muscles working in a pattern designed to milk a knot she doesn't have yet, and the sensation is so intense that I have to lock my jaw and breathe through it to keep from finishing before the biology is ready.
She reaches back and grabs my wrist, pulls my hand to her throat, presses my fingers against the bonding site just left of the hollow. The demand is clear. She wants my hand there while I'm inside her, the claiming and the fucking simultaneous, and the possessive fury that surges through me at the feel of her pulse hammering under my fingers is enough to darken the edges of my vision.
The first wave crests fast and brutal. She comes with my hand on the bonding site and my cock buried deep and her face pressed into the furs, and the clench of her orgasm triggers mine with a force that rips a groan from the bottom of my chest. I spill inside her, hot and thick, and my release inside my omega produces a cascade of pheromones that soaks the room in a scent so dense it's almost visible.
The wave passes. We collapse together on the bed, both of us breathing hard, both of us slick with sweat and her arousal and the aftermath of a release that barely took the edge off the heat building underneath.
"That was the appetizer," Revna says into the fur, her voice muffled and rough, humor surfacing through the wreckage theway it always does with her. "The main course is going to be worse, isn't it?"
"Signe said the waves intensify."
"Of course they do." She rolls onto her back and looks up at me, and the flush on her face is beautiful and wrecked and already rebuilding toward the next crest. "Tell me something. Between waves. While I can still form sentences."
"What do you want to know?"
"When did you stop following orders and start making decisions for yourself?"
The question cuts to the bone of everything I've been since Stellan put her in my custody. I lie beside her, my hand on her stomach, feeling the heat build under her skin as the next wave gathers.
"I stopped doing this for Stellan a long time ago," I say, and the admission comes out quiet, dropped into the space between us like a stone into still water. The words are simple. The cost of them is everything I've built my identity around. The man who served, who followed, who held the world together for an alpha who never asked what it cost. That man would never have unlocked the door. Would never have withheld the designation. Would never have stood in his alpha's study and saidI wantlike the wanting was its own justification.
Revna turns her head on the fur and looks at me, and her eyes are lucid and steady and reading me with the thoroughness she brings to every assessment that matters.
"I know," she says, and the two words are quiet and unsurprised, the response of a woman who has been watching a man choose her over his duty across every unlocked door and every withheld report and every night he pressed his palm to the wall instead of walking away.
Then the second wave hits, and her back arches off the bed and the lucid interval collapses into biology.
The second wave is longer, deeper, and more demanding than the first. The heat strips the remaining civilized layer from both of us and leaves the wolves underneath.
She bites my shoulder hard enough to bruise, then my chest, then the tendon of my neck, her teeth marking territory on my body the way my hands have been marking it on hers. I pin her wrists above her head and drive into her face to face this time, her back against the furs, her thighs spread wide around my hips. The angle is deeper than the first wave's position, and the sound she makes when I bottom out is guttural, desperate, an omega whose heat is intensifying with each cycle.
Her body is hotter inside than it was minutes ago, wetter, the slick coating my cock and running down between her ass and the furs in a quantity that turns every thrust into a slippery, obscene glide. The omega biology is in full crisis, her internal muscles gripping me in rolling contractions that pull me deeper with each stroke, her body demanding more contact, more depth, more of the alpha whose pheromones are saturating the air she breathes.
I give her more. I give her everything the restraint held back across every encounter that came before this one. My hips snap against hers with a force that drives the breath from her lungs in percussive gasps, and the pace is relentless, primal, driven by the alpha imperative running at a volume that drowns out every rational process.
Mine.The word pounds through my bloodstream with each thrust.Mine. Mine. Mine.Not a thought. An imperative. A biological fact that the knot is about to make irreversible.
She wraps her legs around my hips and pulls me deeper with a strength the heat amplifies, and I release her wrists because the omega clawing at my back is not a woman who needs to be held down. She rakes her nails across my shoulders and the pain is fuel. Her fingers dig into muscle while her hips meet minethrust for thrust with an urgency that matches the biological engine roaring through both of us.
I feel the knot begin to form.
The pressure at the base of my cock that has been building across every encounter accelerates past anything I have a reference for. The swelling starts as a fullness, a thickening at the root that catches against her entrance on each withdrawal. With each thrust the base stretches wider, and I can feel her body responding to the growing intrusion, her inner walls clenching tighter around the widening knot, the omega biology recognizing what's coming and preparing for the lock with a fresh flood of slick that coats both of us from hip to thigh.
"It's happening," I manage, and my voice doesn't sound like mine. It sounds like the wolf underneath the man, rough and low.
"I feel it." Her voice is wrecked, her eyes huge and dark, and her body is clenching around the forming knot with rhythmic contractions that pull the swelling wider.
I thrust deep one final time and the knot locks.
