The fire crackles, and he leans forward to top off my wine, careful not to spill even a drop. The bottle is something red and lush, a gift from Simone (“It’s an aphrodisiac,” she’d whispered, waggling her eyebrows, as if I needed encouragement). The glass is heavy, the kind that makes you feel sophisticated even if you’re just slouching in your boyfriend’s shirt sans panties. I take the wine from him, letting our fingers brush, and he lingers a heartbeat longer than necessary.
He sets his glass down, fingers drumming on the edge of the coffee table. There’s a fidgety, anticipatory energy to him tonight, like he’s winding up for something and can’t quite get it out. For a second, I think he’s going to launch into a story about his latest book, or about the time he once drank a whole bottle of absinthe with his agent in Prague and ended up writing three chapters in Esperanto. Instead, Talon clears his throat, rakes a hand through his dark hair, and gives me a look.
“You’re staring at me,” I murmur with a smile.
“I am,” he says in a deep tone. “I have something for you, Kitten.”
My pulse jumps, just a bit. “What is it?”
He laughs, and then reaches under a cushion and pulls out a small, black velvet box. Not the kind from a mall jewelry counter. This one is irregular, a little battered, the edges fuzzy with wear. He looks at it like he’s not sure it’s the right moment, then glances at me and seems to decide it’s now or never.
He opens the box and inside is a ring. Not a diamond. It’s a band of brushed gold, wide and solid, with a tiny, perfect fox inlaid in wood—walnut, maybe? The fox is cunning and sweet and just a bit mischievous, the eyes two flecks of opal, and I knowimmediately it was made by Erasmus because the little paws are a dead ringer for the fox carved into the side table he gave us years ago.
I stare. My heart is suddenly a bass drum. “Talon…”
The huge man sets his wine aside and slides off the couch to kneel on the rug, so close I can feel the heat of him, the heat of the fire, the heat between my thighs that never fully goes away around this man. He holds the box up, and the firelight bounces in his blue eyes and makes the ring look like it’s glowing.
“For the record,” he says, voice low and rough, “I’m not good at speeches. But—” He blows out a breath, glances down, then up. “This cabin was where I learned how to love. Where I learned that sometimes, you have to burn down the old life to get something better. You taught me that, Kat. You’re the best thing I’ve ever encountered in my humble existence.”
He slides the ring from the box, and his hands are so steady it makes my nerves hum. “Will you marry me, Katherine Vreeland? Make me the happiest, luckiest, most envied man on the planet?”
My breath is caught somewhere in my chest, but I manage to nod—once, hard, like a bobblehead on a bumpy road. “Yes,” I squeak, then, “God, yes, are you insane? Of course.”
Talon slips the ring onto my finger. It’s a perfect fit, warm from the fire and from his hands, and the fox’s eyes wink up at me, clever yet wise. Then he pulls me down onto the rug, mouth crashing into mine, and it’s not gentle or careful. It’s all teeth and lips, all the hunger we’ve built up since the moment we met.
I grab handfuls of his hair, yank him closer until our bodies are smashed together, chest to chest. He groans into my mouth, andthe vibration goes straight to my core. I climb into his lap, knees on either side of his hips, and we kiss until I can’t breathe, until the only air I want is the breath he’s stealing from my lungs.
He works his hands up under my thin t-shirt, callused fingers sliding over my waist, up to my breasts, and I arch into him, already so wet it’s embarrassing. He lifts the shirt off in one smooth motion and tosses it behind him, then runs his hands over my bare skin like he’s learning it all for the first time.
I can’t stop touching him—his shoulders, his neck, the hard line of his jaw. I drag my nails down his arms and he shudders, the sound coming out of him halfway between a laugh and a growl. He yanks his own shirt off, then laughs when he sees I have no panties.
“I love it,” he rasps into my ear. “My naughty little girl.”
He kisses down my neck, nips at the spot below my ear, then works his way down to my collarbone. He bites there, not gentle, and I gasp, nails digging into his back. He slips one hand between my legs and runs his fingers over my slit, groaning when he finds me soaked.
“Always so fucking ready for me,” he murmurs, and I can only moan in response.
He slides two fingers into me, curling them just right, thumb working my clit in slow, relentless circles. I buck against his hand, ride his wrist until I’m shaking, hips grinding down hard.
“Talon,” I moan deliriously, my head tilting back. “Oh yes!”
He bites my nipple, and the pain-pleasure combination sends me rocketing up and out—orgasm slamming through me so hard I see stars behind my eyes.
“Mmm!” I scream. “Oooh!”
He withdraws his fingers and licks them clean, then lifts me and lays me back on the fur rug, looming over me with that look that says “you’re mine.” He sheds the pajama pants, and his cock springs free, thick and hard and already leaking.
I reach for him, guiding him to me, and when he pushes in, the stretch in my pussy is perfect, too much, everything at once. He sets a brutal rhythm, deep and fast, and I dig my heels into his back, urging him on.
“Mmmm!” I cry out. “Give it to me, Daddy!”
We fuck like animals, lost in the heat and the hunger and the blizzard that’s piling up outside. The fire roars, and I can barely hear myself over the slap of our bodies and the filthy things he’s whispering in my ear.
“Mine forever,” he growls, biting my throat. “This wet piece of pussy belongs to me.”
“Yes,” I gasp, “yours, always, mmm?—”
He grabs my wrists and pins them above my head, eyes blazing. “Say it.”
