Page 37 of Trusting Her Mate

“Yours...”

“Say it again.”

“Yours!” The word breaks apart as I angle my hips. “Yours, yours...”

My hand slides around to the front, fingers finding the spot that makes her buck. I circle it slowly, and she writhes, caught between my hand and my cock, pinned between my body and the door.

“Come for me,” I say. “Now.”

She shatters. Her whole body seizes, back arching, nails scraping the wood. She screams my name, loud enough to echo through the trees, and the sound pushes me over the edge. I bury myself to the hilt and come, growling against her neck, teeth pressed to the claiming mark.

We stay like that. Breathing. Trembling.

I press my forehead to her shoulder. “You okay?”

“I can’t feel my legs.”

“That’s the point.”

She laughs. Wrecked and beautiful.

I pull back slowly. I go into the room and search for her underwear. I find it lying on the floor and pick it up. I return to her and kneel. She looks down at me, eyes wide.

“Hold still,” I say.

I slide the underwear up her thighs, over her hips, and adjust the fabric with careful fingers. Then I smooth the flannel down over her ass, straighten the collar, and press a kiss to the claiming mark.

“Boone.” Her voice is rough. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you smell like me.”

She blinks. Understanding dawns. “You’re scent-marking me.”

“Thoroughly.”

“For the meeting.”

“For the meeting. For Ashstone. For every wolf who gets within ten feet of you today.” I stand and cup her face. “When Dax walks into that clearing, he’s going to smell me on every inch of your skin. He’s going to know, without doubt, that you are claimed. That you chose me. That I chose you. And there is not a damn thing he can do about it.”

Her pupils dilate and the bond flares. “That’s the most territorial thing you’ve ever said.”

“Get used to it.”

She grins. Feral and unafraid.

Neither of us showers, but I change into clean clothes. Black t-shirt, dark jeans and boots. I watch her pull on the green dress, letting the fabric fall over the skin I just marked with my mouth and hands and scent. The claiming mark sits visible on her throat. She doesn’t cover it. She leaves it exposed. Bold. Proud.

My wolf purrs. Again. She crosses the cabin and takes my hand. Her fingers lace through mine. The bond settles, steady, fierce, and certain.

“Ready?” I ask.

“No.” She smiles. “Let’s go anyway.”

I open the door and afternoon sun floods the porch. The forest stretches ahead, bright and sharp. The path to the pack hall winds through the trees.

Wren steps out first, my scent soaked into every fiber of her being. She looks like a female who has been thoroughly, publicly, and undeniably claimed. She also looks thoroughly fucked, because she has been.

I follow her into the sunlight, and my wolf stretches beneath my skin, satisfied and savage. Let Ashstone come. Let Dax bring his contract, his witnesses, and his pretty polished boots. Let him smell what’s waiting for him.