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I knew with a possessive certainty that if I ran again—when I ran again—he would come for me. Because no matter how terrifying his strength was to the rest of the world, he belonged to me. And I belonged to him.

My entire life had been defined by a different kind of trap. My mother had controlled every step I took, holding me so tightly in the name of "protection" that I was suffocated, silenced, and perpetually invisible. Even in a room full of people, I had always been completely alone in the crowd—a broken girl with ruined eyes, meant to be hidden away and managed.

Then came the Blackwoods.

For the first time, in a family overflowing with noise and power, I wasn't invisible. Even with my ruined human eyes, I could see them, and they saw me. They didn't want to hide me or fix me. They accepted me. They forgave my lies. They wanted to keep me.

And Gunnar... Gunnar made me feel chosen.

A primal growl rose from deep within my chest. Gathering every ounce of leverage I had left, I planted my feet against the forest floor, arched my back in the dirt, and flipped us over, reversing our positions on the damp leaves. I knew it was only because he let me. This man would let me have anything. Which is why I wanted to give him everything.

I took control, sinking down onto his erect shaft. The descent down was vastly different from when he'd thrust into me from a missionary position. As gravity pulled me down, the angle shifted completely. Instead of being pushed, I was swallowing him whole. The vertical fullness stretched me from the inside out, reaching a deep ache near my cervix that made my breath hitch in my throat. Every millimeter was under my command. I felt the rigid width of him opening me up inch by inch, forcing me to engage my core and thighs just to hold myself steady over his hips.

Surrendering to his thrusts had been intoxicating, but feeling the stretch as I sank down until there was no space left between us gave me a completely different kind of power. A delicious, agonizing heat flooded through me, blurring the line between pain and pleasure until they were completely indistinguishable. Every time I sank down on Gunnar’s shaft, sensations fired through every fiber of my core—a feeling so intense it almost made me lose my breath each time. He was huge, filling me so completely that my body naturally fought and craved the stretch all at once.

I couldn't stop the wild rhythm of my hips. Even as the sensation bordering on pain flared deep within my pelvis, it only fed the fire in my veins, driving me far past the edge of reason. I wanted his raw strength, his possessive edge; I wanted him to completely consume me. Riding him, taking every punishing inch on my own terms, transformed the stretch into an intoxicating burn, turning every agonizing millimeter of his entry into torturous ecstasy.

Gunnar’s hands locked onto my hips, then slid down to cup my ass. He thrust upward into me, no longer holding back, no longer worried about breaking me because he knew I liked it. He knew I craved the brutality of his claiming.

Without breaking his upward rhythm, he lifted his torso, his lips latching onto my nipple. His teeth sank in, biting down hard enough to send a spike of agonizing heat straight down to my clit. I gasped, a raw cry tearing from my throat as another shock of pain merged seamlessly into blinding pleasure.

Before I could recover, his rough hands came to the soft patch at the back of my neck. His fingers threaded tightly through my silky locks and yanked backward, tilting my head all the way back and fully exposing the vulnerable length of my throat to him.

He had the strength to rip my throat out right then and there. I felt the jagged edge of his teeth scrape over my jugular. The explicit threat of it—the violent promise that I was completely at his mercy—made my core pulse violently, slicking my inner walls and making me drown in my own wetness.

My climax hovered right at the precipice, a heavy tide waiting to crash over me and shatter me fully. I clenched my muscles, fighting it with everything I had. I didn't want the orgasm to interrupt this divine agony. I didn't want it to end the violent, hypnotic slide of his thick shaft stretching me open. I wanted to stay right here on the knife's edge, utterly consumed by his strength until there was nothing left of me but him.

My husband was having none of that. He reached between us and pinched my clit. That did it.

My climax caught me in a chokehold. It was long, deep, and devastatingly hard, a violent wave that shook my entire frame. It felt like the ground beneath us was fracturing, like the whole earth was trembling beneath the force of my surrender.

I collapsed onto his chest, my limbs trembling violently as the peak washed through me. But the sensation didn't end.

Gunnar’s own orgasm ripped through him beneath me, his internal flood making me feel impossibly, exquisitely fuller. Before I could catch my breath, the base of his shaft surged, his knot expanding rapidly to lock us together.

We both gasped at the intense stretch, wrapping our arms around each other and holding on tight in the dark; skin-to-skin and breathless on the forest floor.

"Fuck," I sighed. "Fuck-fuck-fuck."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm clearly a size whore."

He laughed. "Fuck, don't make me laugh."

Which made me laugh. Which made him laugh again. Which made the knot shift. Which made us both gasp.

Gunnar moaned, his mouth searching for mine.

"No, don't kiss me. I can't have anymore of you in my body right now."

Which made him laugh again. "Fuck."

He held me against him. Breathing into my hair, sighing into my neck. I let myself be held. I didn't make a plan. I just let myself be. I let myself be his wife, his mate, his person. It was the best disguise ever.

I leaned forward and whispered in his ear, so quietly that not even the crickets could hear. It was my biggest secret. The one I had planned to never tell anyone.

"I love you."