"And if I am?" He thrusts up hard, making me cry out. "If I told you I've killed, that I'm dangerous, that I'm exactly the kind of monster your brother probably warns people about?"
I laugh.
Breathless, unhinged, absolutely delighted.
"Then I'd tell you to spill all the blood you want." I lean down, getting close to his face, my hair creating a curtain around us. "For me. Only for me. Paint this whole fucking academy red if it makes you happy."
He groans—a sound of pure want mixed with something darker.
"Don't say shit like that unless you mean it, Sweets."
"I mean it." I straighten back up, head falling back again as I increase my pace even more. "I mean every fucking word. You could tell me your whole pack are murderers and guess what?" I giggle, the sound manic even to my own ears. "I wouldn't give a fucking damn."
His cock twitches inside me.
Hard.
His grip on my hips turns punishing.
"Don't tempt me with a good fucking future, Sweetness," he threatens, but there's something almost reverent in his tone. "Don't make me want things I can't have."
"Who says you can't have them?" I'm moving faster now, my movements turning erratic as the pressure builds to unbearable levels. "Who says we can't be exactly what we want—two brokenpeople who found each other and decided to burn the world down together?"
"Seraphine—"
"I'm serious." Another giggle escapes, high-pitched and slightly deranged. "I'm so fucking serious. I'd run away with you right now. Tonight. Leave all of this behind and never look back."
His response is lost in a groan as my pussy clenches around him, milking his length greedily.
I'm so close now—so impossibly close that every nerve ending in my body is screaming, every muscle pulled tight in anticipation of the release that's building like a tidal wave.
I can feel his knot.
Starting to form at the base of his cock—a subtle swelling that presses against my entrance with every downward thrust, threatening to lock us together, to bind us in the most primal way possible.
The danger of it should make me stop.
Should make me pull off, lift away, protect us both from a bond neither of us planned for.
But I don't stop.
Can't stop.
I'm chasing something bigger than logic, bigger than self-preservation—I'm chasing the feeling of being wanted, being claimed, being someone's first choice instead of their last resort.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" The words tumble out of me in a breathless chant. "Sage, I'm—I'm going to?—"
"Come for me," he demands, his own voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Come on my cock, Seraphine. Let me feel you fall apart."
The permission is all I need.
My orgasm hits like a fucking freight train.
White-hot pleasure explodes through me—starting at my core and radiating outward in waves that make my toes curl, my back arch, my entire body seize with the intensity of it. I scream his name—loud, shameless, not caring who hears or what they think.
My walls clench around him rhythmically, pulsing with each aftershock, and somewhere in the chaos of sensation, I hear him cry out, too.
His hips thrust up one final time—deep, brutal, perfect—and I feel him pulse inside me. Feel the heat of his release painting my insides, marking me in a way that's almost as permanent as a bite.
