I cross the rock. Her skin is cool when I get one hand at her hip and the other up her back, and she comes against me with no resistance at all. The chill burns off her fast, her wolf running hot underneath it. Her palms land flat on my chest—not to stop me. She can feel what’s coming off me through the shirt, and her breath has already gone short.
“You’re wound tight,” she says.
“You washed it off.”
“Washed what off?” But she knows. Her mouth tips. “Your bear’s sulking.”
“He wants you back the way you were.”
She holds my eyes. “Then put it back.”
I get my mouth on her throat. She tips her head and gives it to me, and I work down—the wet hollow at the base of her throat, her breast, the hard point of her nipple until her fingers twist in my shirt and a sound breaks out of her. I go to my knees on the stone to get the rest. She doesn’t stop me.
I run my hands up the backs of her thighs and open her, and put my mouth on her flesh. Cold from the pool for half a breath; then hot, then slick, going wetter under my tongue with every pass. I lick her open, drag up through her folds to her clit, and work it in slow circles until her hands drop to my head and her thighs start shaking against my jaw.
“Decker—fuck—” She’s loud in here. The chamber echoes it back off the stone—every ragged breath, every sound she can’t hold in.
I hum against her and suck down on her clit, and her cry comes out hoarse. A finger inside her is all it takes. She comes against my mouth with my name in the middle of it, knees buckling. I hold her up by the hips and keep at her until she’s pushing at my forehead.
“Okay.” She’s panting. “Too much. Done. I can’t—”
I stand. She’s flushed down to her breasts, breathing hard, her eyes gone soft and dark.
“You’re not done, though.” She glances down at where my jeans strain over my cock.
A shelf of slate juts low from the chamber wall, a step away. She turns toward it, already moving—bends over it before my hand can ask, palms flat on the cold stone, hips tipped up and back. Her thighs gleam with what my mouth did to her. Her wolf is in every line of how she’s offering, and the bear reads it, and whatever caution I had left is gone.
I get my jeans open, fist my cock, and drag the head through her slick folds. She pushes back at the first touch, trying to take it before I give it.
“Now,” she says. Rough. Done waiting.
I push in, and she cries out.
She’s tight—always tight, small everywhere—and even soaked and used to me, it’s a slow, hard stretch, her body giving way around me a fraction at a time. She drops her forehead to the slate, hauls in a breath, and works herself backward onto me, greedy for the rest.
The sound she makes when I bottom out sits right on the line of pain, but she’s dripping around me. I can see it where she’s stretched wide, where I disappear into her.
“All of it,” she says. “Don’t go easy on me.”
I don’t.
I lock both hands on her hips and take her the way the rut wants it, the way she’s asking, and she meets every drive. The chamber fills with us—skin on skin, the wet slap where we’re joined, her voice cracking off the stone every time I hit the end of her.
“Oh God—harder. Right there. Please—fuck!”
I go harder. Her beast yields to mine, and she takes it, pushing back for more.
She comes with her cheek flat to the slate and her nails scraping the edge of the stone, clamping down on me in long pulls, and I keep going. She’s barely down from it before she’s rocking back again, chasing the next one.
I look down at her neck. The bare curve of it, water still beaded along her nape.
The bear wants the bite. It’s right there…teeth in, deep, done, no taking it back. I hold it.
Not now.
Not before she knows everything I’ve done with what she gave me. She chooses with all of that, or it isn’t a choice.
So I give him the other thing.
