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My chest heaved as I pulled in one rapid breath after another. It did nothing to slow the burn in my blood as I loomed over my helpless wife. But she wasn't helpless. She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew exactly what she wanted. And I knew I could give it to her.

"Fuck me, Gunnar."

Except that. That was the one thing I wasn't so sure of.

Rosalind lay stretched out on the damp moss, naked under the moonlight, completely cornered. Her chest heaved, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. My wolf was clawing at my chest, drunk on the thrill of the chase, but the rest of me was locked in an agonizing vice.

My wife was spread out beneath me, slick, hot, and drenched in arousal. The primal play—the run, the stalk, the yield—had turned her into a feverish mess. Her berry-sweet scent filled my head, making my dick throb so hard it was physically painful.

But it wasn't just arousal I smelled. Adrenaline still coursed through her, sharp beneath the peonies and strawberries. Her heart raced against my chest, and every breath she took drew my wolf closer to the surface.

He'd enjoyed the hunt as much as I had. The pursuit. The capture. The moment she'd stopped running and yielded beneath me. He was still right there, urging me to sink my teeth into the tender curve of her neck and mark her so deeply that every wolf within ten miles of her would know she was mine.

My canines ached with the need. I lowered my face to her throat and breathed her in, fighting the urge to bite. She tipped her head back, giving me access, and, fuck if that didn't make it harder.

She trusted me. Trusted the same hands that had caught her, brought her down, and pinned her beneath my weight. She'd run because she wanted me to chase her. She'd yielded because she wanted me to catch her. Now I had to show her I knew the difference between taking her down and taking care of her.

Rosalind was strong. I'd never doubted that. There was nothing fragile about the woman who'd led me on a merry chase through the woods, knowing exactly what would happen when I caught her. But she was still small beneath me, her body untried in ways mine wasn't. I knew what my strength could do. I knew how easily excitement could turn into too much, how quickly pleasure could become pain if I let my wolf make the decisions.

So I held still. Let my breathing slow. Eased some of my weight off her without releasing my hold.

The beast in me wanted to claim her.

The man in me wanted her to enjoy every fucking second of it.

The brat in her wanted action.

"Take me," she panted, her pale eyes locked onto mine as if she could see me. "Take me now."

A heavy knot tightened in my gut. My wolf roared to drive straight into her, to claim her right here on the forest floor. My hands stayed planted on either side of her shoulders, rigid as iron.

I remembered blood on white sheets. I remembered the choked whimpers she’d tried to hide on our wedding night when I’d forced my way through her maidenhead. Everyone looked at my six-foot-four frame and saw a brute, a blunt instrument built only to break things. I knew I was too big for her. I’d already hurt her once.

She liked the chase. She liked being cornered, being tested, being overpowered. But she hadn't liked being torn open. I wasn't going to break her again.

"No," I growled, my voice rough and gravelly. "Not like that."

Rosalind’s chin snapped up, an edge cutting through her breathless daze. "If you deny me now, Gunnar," she threatened, her voice a low, wicked purr, "I’ll run again. Further and faster this time. And I might just make sure you don't catch me⁠—"

My hand slid down the inside of her thigh, where her skin was softer and hotter. The muscles there trembled beneath my palm. Her knees parted another inch. The scent of her arousal rose between us, sweet nectar with a bite of peppercorn. I dragged my thumb along her inner thigh, feeling her shiver at the touch. She was still breathing hard from the chase, her pulse fluttering beneath my fingers. Every time I moved closer, her hips shifted toward my hand.

Fuck. She was going to be the death of me.

I pressed my mouth to the tender skin above her knee, breathing her in as my hand traveled higher. Her thighs tightened around my wrist, then relaxed, inviting me closer. I felt the heat of her through my palm, smelled how badly she wanted me, and my wolf damn near lost his mind over it. I kept my touch slow, giving her time to feel every inch of my approach.

That was a mistake.

I felt the shift a second before she moved. Her knee jerked up, forcing space between us. She twisted out from under me and scrambled to her feet.

My wolf surged so hard beneath my skin that my teeth ached. The little minx had been waiting for an opening. And I'd given her one.

She didn't get far, barely off my lap before I had her on her back again.

"You're not running anywhere," I growled low against her ear.

I drove two of my thick fingers deep inside her tight, aching sheath, my thumb landing firmly over her clit. She clenched around me, her breath catching as her body welcomed my touch. Every little movement brought her closer, and I had the dizzying sensation that I was the one being pulled under.

Fuck. I could lose myself in this woman. Sink every ugly, bloodstained piece of my soul into her and trust her to hold it.