Page 91 of Roaring Spell

“Beautiful.” He kisses his way back up my body. “You’re beautiful when you come.”

“Your turn.” I’m already reaching for his pants. “I want to feel you.”

He helps me strip away his remaining clothes. And then he’s naked above me, and I finally get to see all of him—the broad shoulders, the thick chest, the muscles that cord his stomach and arms. The evidence of his arousal, hard and ready and impressively proportional to the rest of him.

“Oh.” The word slips out before I can stop it. “You’re⁠—”

“I’ll go slow.” He lowers himself between my legs, the head of him pressing against my entrance. “We can stop whenever you⁠—”

I wrap my legs around his hips and pull him forward.

The stretch is intense. Overwhelming. He’s big—bigger than anyone I’ve been with—and my body needs a moment to adjust, to accommodate, to accept him.

Torin holds perfectly still. His jaw is clenched, muscles trembling with the effort of restraint. Sweat beads on his forehead.

“Okay?” His voice is strained.

“Yes.” I shift my hips experimentally, and we both groan. “Just—give me a second.”

“Take all the time you need.” He lowers his head, kisses me softly. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

“I know.” I kiss him back, letting my body relax around him. “You always are.”

When I’m ready, I roll my hips. His hips move in response—a slow withdrawal followed by a steady push back in.

“Gods, Sakura.” He buries his face in my neck. “You feel incredible.”

“So do you.” I dig my fingers into his shoulders, urging him on. “More. I can take more.”

He gives me more.

What follows is not gentle.

It starts that way—careful strokes, measured rhythm, both of us learning the feel of each other. But gentleness burns away fast. The weeks of tension, the near-death, the claiming, it all builds to a need that’s beyond soft and sweet.

Torin’s hips snap forward. I cry out—not pain but pleasure, the kind of pleasure that borders on overwhelming but never quite crosses the line. He sets a relentless pace, driving into me with the power of his bear and the precision of a man who’s been memorizing everything that makes me gasp.

“Mine.” The word rumbles from his chest—human and bear combined, possessive and protective. “My mate. My storm. Mine.”

“Yours.” I meet each thrust, rising to meet him, our bodies moving in a rhythm that feels ancient and new all at once. “I’m yours, Torin. I chose you.”

“Say it again.”

“I chose you.” I pull his mouth down to mine, kiss him like I’ll die without it. “I love you. I claim you.”

He growls against my lips, and his pace increases. Harder. Deeper. The sound of our bodies meeting fills the cabin—skin on skin, breath on breath, the creak of the bed frame protesting our enthusiasm.

I’m climbing again. The pressure builds faster this time, my body still sensitive from before, and I can feel myself racing toward the edge.

“Close.” I gasp the word against his throat. “Torin, I’m so close⁠—”

“Come for me.” His hand slides between us, finds the bundle of nerves that makes me see stars. “Come, Sakura. I want to feel you.”

The orgasm hits harder than the first one. I clench around him, my whole body shuddering with the force of it, and outside, thunder booms and lightning cracks across a sky that was clear moments ago.

Torin follows me over the edge. He buries himself deep and groans my name like it’s the only word he knows, his body pulsing as he finds his release.

And in that moment—at the peak of pleasure, at the height of intimacy—his teeth find my shoulder.