Page 73 of North’s Claim

He takes his time, and never enough of it is mine. He builds me slowly, cruelly, learning every place that makes my breath fracture and returning to it until my knees tremble and my confidence turns into something far more desperate. I try to stay bold but North knows how to take a challenge apart. He brings me close enough to taste the fall, then pulls back before I can reach it. My gasp turns into a frustrated sound I would be embarrassed by if his eyes didn’t flash with such dark satisfaction.

“North,” I breathe.

His mouth drags over my thigh. “Not yet.”

My head falls back against the door.

The denial burns through me, sharp and sweet, and when he starts again, the pleasure comes back stronger. Meaner. It climbs too fast, coils too tight, and just when I think he’s going to let me have it, he stops again.

I look down at him, furious and shaking.

He looks up at me like he has already won.

“You’re cruel,” I whisper.

His smile barely touches his mouth. “You wanted memorable.”

Then he rises. The loss of his mouth makes me shiver, but the way he towers over me steals the complaint from my tongue. He lifts me from the door and carries me to the bed, laying me down with enough force to make the mattress dip beneath me. Before I can reach for him, he gets rid of my dress instantly and his cut settles over my body.

His expression shifts too, losing some of its cruelty, gaining something heavier. “That was me asking,” he says.

I swallow. “I know.”

His hand slides along my thigh, firm enough to make my breath catch. “No, baby. You joked about it. You wore it. You let them cheer.” His eyes hold mine, dark and unwavering. “But I want the answer.”

The heat in my body twists into something deeper.

Because it isn’t only about desire anymore. It is about the clubhouse beneath us and the life waiting outside this room. It is about the woman I was before him, the one who learned that wanting could be dangerous, that being claimed could feel like a cage. But his cut is over me now, and I don’t feel trapped. I feel seen, chosen, untouchable.

I lift my chin, even though my voice comes out softer than before. “Then earn it big boy.”

North moves over me, and the game changes.

He kisses me until the last of my laughter disappears, until I am no longer teasing him to provoke a reaction but clinging to him because his hands, his mouth, his weight, his voice are turning me into a confession. He takes his time in the cruelest way, giving me heat, taking it back, dragging me to the edge and leaving me there until pride becomes impossible to hold.

Each time I think I can survive it, he proves me wrong.

My body arches toward him, asking before my mouth will. He notices every broken breath, every tremble, every helpless sound I try to swallow, and the knowledge in his eyes makes me burn hotter.

“You remember now?” he asks against my mouth.

I shake my head because I am stubborn enough to lie and reckless enough to want the consequence.

“No.”

His breath leaves him in something almost like a laugh, waiting patiently for the moment I break.

He keeps me there until the world becomes a thin, bright line I cannot cross without him. “Say it,” he murmurs.

I know what he means.

The word sits behind my teeth, too simple for what it carries. It is not only yes to him, not only yes to his cut, not only yes to the life he laid at my feet without ever calling it a proposal.

It is yes to staying, to choosing, to being claimed by a man who makes belonging feel like freedom.

But I make him wait one more second because I want to see what it does to him.

His jaw tightens. His eyes burn. “Nyxa.”