Page 36 of Trusting Her Mate

My hand slides up her arm, over the flannel sleeve, to her shoulder, to the claiming mark on her neck.

Her breath hitches. “We don’t have time...”

“We have four hours.”

“We need to prepare...”

“I’m preparing.”

My mouth finds the mark and she shivers. Her head drops back, and I press her against the wall beside the bedroom door. My hands grip her thighs, lifting. Her legs wrap around me, instinctive, automatic, as if her body has already learned the shape of mine.

I kiss her deeply for long lazy minutes, my hand fondling her breast over material while she grinds against my hardness.

“This is distracting,” she gasps.

“This is the point.”

I set her down and spin her. Her palms slap the door and the sound cracks through the cabin. I flip the flannel up over her hips. She’s wearing nothing underneath. My wolf snarls with satisfaction.

“Boone...” Her voice is breathless. “The door.”

“Nobody’s coming up this path for four hours.”

“You don’t know that...”

“I know that.” I lean forward, mouth against her ear. “Now be quiet and let me make sure every wolf in that clearing smells me on you today.”

She makes a sound. Strangled and desperate, that goes straight to my straining cock. I kick her feet apart, and my hand slides up her inner thigh. She’s already wet. Slick and hot and ready, and the feel of her makes my cock leak with pre-cum. I had her less than an hour ago, and already I want her again, I think I always will.

“Someone’s eager,” I murmur.

“Shut up and...”

I slide two fingers inside her, and her words dissolve into a moan. Her forehead drops against the door. I work her slowly, curling, pressing. She grinds back against my hand, and the bond floods with her want, hot and thick and overwhelming.

“You want more?” I ask.

“You know I do.”

“Beg.”

“Boone...”

“Beg. Out loud. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you inside me. Now. Hard. I want to feel you for hours.”

I yank my boxers down, grip her hip with one hand, line up, and thrust.

The force of it drives her into the door. It rattles on its hinges. She cries out, sharp and raw, and I do it again. Harder. My hand fists in her hair, pulling her head back, exposing the claiming mark. I bite it again, not gentle, and she screams.

The fear of losing her is driving me, stripping me of any softness. I want her marked and filled with my cum when we step into that entrance. That motherfucker should be able to smell her a mile away.

“That’s it,” I growl against her throat. “Take it.”

“I’m taking ... fuck...”

“You take it so well. So tight. So fucking wet.” I drive deeper. “Mine.”