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He looked down, watching her tits bounce in the red velvet cups. Tits that were as perfect as the rest of her and looked even prettier all covered in his marks.
Feeling her pussy start to heat around him, he snarled, “Who owns you?”
Once more, those sex-drunk eyes locked with his. “You.”
He fucked her harder, jacking his hips upward again and again, his senses feasting on her—the spicy scent of her need, the carnal picture she made, her breathy moans and gasps, the hot viselike clasp of her pussy.
He let one fingertip whisper over the bud between the globes of her ass. “I’m taking this tonight, Quin. I’m gonna fuck it until you scream.”
Her pussy fluttered, rippled, tightened, squeezed. And then she fractured with a rough cry, her head tipping back.
“Fuck, baby.” He punched his cock faster, deeper, brutally. His release smacked into him like a battering ram, all but flattening him as her inner muscles milked him dry.
She went limp in his hold, breathing as hard as he was. He planted a kiss on her temple, sated and replete. Worried her wrists or shoulders might be hurting, he glided his cock out of her, put her on her feet, and then freed her hands. “You okay?”
Her only response was a gratified hum. She rested her body weight against his while he massaged the full length of her arms from her fingers all the way up to her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she pretty much purred.
He cleaned her up with a wet cloth and helped her remove her outfit, knowing she wouldn’t want to sleep in it, and then guided her into the bedroom. He slipped one of his tees on her and then ushered her into bed. She flopped on her front with a sated sigh.
Isaiah settled beside her and snaked his hand under the tee to palm her ass. “Christmas wasn’t shaping up to be all too good this year. Then came you.”
She smiled. “Right back atcha. December is usually my favorite month. The closer it gets to Christmas, the giddier I get. But not this time.” Her smile dimmed. “There was too much dread around the thought of Harlan and Nel stepping down. Too much uncertainty about what lay ahead. I was sad and mad and stressed out. Then came you.”
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, not liking that she’d spent months in that state; feeling as if—irrational though it was—he should have been there for her. But he hadn’t known she existed back then. Neither of them had even signed up for FindYourMatch.com or been ready for this step.
“I had a really great day,” she said. “Your parents are the shit.”
A fond smile curled his mouth. “They are.” He paused, his lips pursing. “You never mention your parents.”
Quinley didn’t tense. It had been an observation, not a complaint.
“I didn’t want to ask, because I have no wish to make you talk about something that’s painful to remember,” he went on before she could respond. “But if the imprinting is to progress, we can’t keep things from each other. Secrets act as blocks to the bond.”
It wasn’t so much that she was being secretive, just that it was habit to not raise the subject. “It’s not really as painful to talk about as it should be,” she admitted. “Obviously, it’s devastating that they died. I wish with everything in me that I hadn’t lost them. But I don’t remember either of them well enough for it to hurt whenever I think or talk about them.”
“That’s only to be expected. You were a kid when they died.”
“Just five,” she confirmed.
He idly dragged his fingertips down her bare arm. “How did they die?”
“My dad had a heart attack. He’d always had a weak heart. It was a birth defect that no healer could fix.” It sadly worked that way sometimes. “My mom wasted away within a week of him dying.”
“It’s not easy for shifters to survive the breaking of a bond,” he noted.
It was, in fact, exceedingly difficult. Still, some managed it, though they were allegedly never the same afterward. “Adaline said that Mom fought the pull to let go, but I don’t get the sense that that’s true. My opinion? My sister lied because she didn’t want me to think our mom gave up and willingly left us.”
His brow pinched. “What makes you feel it was a lie?”
“Adaline wouldn’t meet my eyes, and Raya got all fidgety and turned away. Plus, they avoid talking about Mom. And whenever I’d ask questions, they’d keep their answers short and sweet. Like it hurt them to think of her. But when I’d ask about Dad, they’d smile and tell me all sorts of stories.”
“Ah,” he said, understanding. “It’s normal for some to feel betrayed if a parent made no attempt to cling to life for their sake in such situations.”
Absolutely. “I totally get it. That’s why I don’t push for them to talk about her and why it’s become habit for me to just not mention my parents at all. It’s not like I need to hear more. I know enough, and I remember some things.”
“You said Adaline raised you. Didn’t anyone else in your family attempt to step in?”
