Page 179 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“We need to rest,” I rasped, my voice barely a whisper. “Your shoulder—”

She didn’t let me finish. Her hand tangled in my hair, tugging me down until my forehead rested against hers. Her eyes were dark, burning with a heat that rivaled the sun, and she stared at me with a mix of stubbornness and desperation.

“Shut up, Ian,” she breathed, her grip tightening in my hair. “Just be careful. That’s all I asked.”

She maneuvered us, guiding me up her body until I was hovering over her. A small grimace crossed her face as she shifted her weight. I settled above her, pulling her flush against my front, and she reached down, her fingers fumbling with the buckle of my belt.

“Let me,” I growled, my hands shaking slightly as I worked the fastening.

“No,” she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. She slid her hand into my pants, her fingers tracing the length of me, grounding me, and I hissed, my control fraying at the edges. She wrapped her hand around me, stroking me once, twice, and then she guided me into her.

“I want you,” she whispered, her voice trembling but fierce.

I pressed into her, and the friction was blinding, a searing line of pleasure that shot straight to my core. I slid in inch by agonizing inch, as she gasped, arching her back. I pushed the rest of the way in, the friction searing, burning a path through the haze of my mind. I bit back a groan of pure pleasure. I stayed there for a moment, letting my body adjust to the heat of her, my eyes locked on hers. She was staring at me, her chest heaving, the bandage on her shoulder stark against her pale skin. I reached out, gently supporting her injured side with my free hand, careful not to pull on the stitches, and pulled her closer.

“Move,” she breathed, a command so soft it was almost a prayer.

I didn’t need to be told twice. I withdrew until I was teasing her, and then I drove back in hard and deep. The sound of our bodies meeting filled the quiet room. I set a rhythm, slow and deliberate at first, testing the limits of her body, testing the limits of her injury. But she was restless beneath me, arching her back, her nails digging into my shoulders to pull me down. She needed more.

I picked up the pace. The friction was maddening, each stroke sending sparks of pleasure shooting through my veins. I was drowning in the heat of her, the scent of her, the way she felt around me. I was careful not to jar her shoulder, keeping my movements controlled but deep, drilling into her with a steady, punishing rhythm. Her skin was slick with sweat, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her back bowing off the mattress in a silent plea for more. I adjusted my angle, angling my hips to hit that spot inside her that made her gasp my name, while keeping my weight supported on my elbows to avoid pressing on her shoulder. The friction was blinding, a pure white heat that obliterated everything but the rhythm of our bodies. I could feel the ridges of me dragging against her, her arousal coating us both. She was hot, impossibly hot, her sweat glistening on her skin, her breath hitching in sharp, ragged gasps that I couldn’t seem to catch up with.

She tightened around me, her muscles pulsing, and I groaned, my control snapping. I thrust into her harder, deeper, driving into her with a steady, relentless rhythm, careful not to jar her shoulder but unable to hold back. The bond flared between us, blindingly bright and hot, amplifying every sensation, every touch, every stroke. I felt her nerves singing, her pleasure spiking, and I knew she was close.

“Cassie,” I breathed, my voice strained. “Look at me.”

She forced her eyes open, her gaze locking onto mine, filled with a desperate, overwhelming need. I leaned down to kiss her and she whimpered, her hips bucking up to meet my thrusts. She came with a cry that tore from her, pressed tight against my kiss, her body clamping down on me like a vice, pulling me deep.

The sensation was too much. I bit my lip to stop from roaring, my body going rigid above her, and thrust one last time, deep and hard, burying myself in her. I pressed my face into her hair and kept her name locked behind my teeth because the wolf wanted to howl it where the whole pack could hear.

Cassie’s mouth brushed mine. “There you are.”

My chest ached.

After, I cleaned her gently with warm water from the basin Sava had left, then settled her back against the pillows. She was nearly gone with exhaustion, eyes heavy, mouth soft. I pulled the blanket over her, then sat beside her because lying down with my full weight anywhere near her bruises felt impossible.

Her hand found mine under the blanket.

“Don’t sit in the chair,” she murmured.

“I might hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Her eyes opened just enough to cut me. “I know enough.”

I lay beside her. Carefully. Slowly. On my side, one arm beneath my head, the other resting where she could hold it if she wanted. She shifted closer until her forehead touched my chest.

The bond quieted and for the first time since the hunt, the wolf laid down.

Cassie’s breathing evened. Not sleep, not fully, but close. Her fingers stayed hooked around mine.

I listened to the room. Sava outside the door. Two guards at the end of the hall. The distant churn of too many wolves trying to make fear sound like order. Ronan’s voice below us, speaking to men who would obey because the alternative had my blood on it.

Then footsteps approached. Ronan didn’t knock. He opened the door, took in the bed, the blanket, my bare chest, Cassie’s pale face against me, and the fact that my hand was already free.

Sava came in behind him, furious before anyone had spoken. “I told you she needed rest.”