Page 25 of Wolf Fated

Have to…

A deep, driving need scours a red hot path through me. With a low, rumbling growl, I surge forward, capturing Sarah’s lips in a searing kiss that leaves no room for doubt or hesitation. She gasps against my mouth, her body going rigid with surprise for just a heartbeat before melting into my embrace, surrendering to the undeniable force of our connection.

My wolf howls in triumph, reveling in the taste, the scent, the very essence of our mate enveloping us from all sides.

She is everything we’ve been yearning for.

The missing piece that will make us whole.

Rational thought becomes a distant memory as my instincts take over, every fiber of my being focused on a single, driving imperative–to claim, to possess, to bind us together.

Sarah’s fingers tangle in the fabric of my shirt as she presses against me with a desperation that mirrors my own. There’s no hesitation, no trace of uncertainty in her movements–only a desperate hunger that resonates in perfect harmony with the demands of my wolf.

The world around us falls away, the sights and sounds of the festival fading into insignificance. All that matters in this moment is the feel of her body against mine, the intoxicating scent of her arousal that clings to the very air I breathe.

With a growl of pure, unadulterated need, I hoist her into my arms, her legs winding around my waist. Sarah’s fingers tangle in my hair, her nails scraping deliciously against my scalp as she captures my lips in a searing kiss that leaves me reeling.

I think the crowd parts as I storm through. People scatter as I bolt for my cruiser. I don’t know for sure and I don’t care. My mind is gone. I’m operating on pure driving instinct. I’m distantly aware that I buckle Sarah into the passenger seat, start the engine and wind the vehicle through the streets of Willowbrook until I reach my cabin.

Mate. Home. Rightness.

Yes, my cabin. Our home. Where she always should be.

I rip her from her seat. She winds her legs around my hips, and I groan as her heated core grinds against the erection that somehow hasn’t yet broken my pants zipper. I stagger on the path and stumble through the front door

The moment the door slams shut behind us, the last vestiges of my control snap like a frayed tether. I pin Sarah against the nearest wall as my lips blaze a scorching trail along the slender column of her throat. She arches into me with a keening whimper, her hips rolling against the insistent ridge of my arousal in a silent plea for more.

“Mate,” I growl, the word rumbling from the depths of my chest. “Mine.”

Sarah’s eyes fly open, her lush depths hazy with passion and something else, something deeper that resonates through the very core of her being. For a heartbeat, we simply stare at one another, the weight of that single word hanging heavy in the air between us.

And then, as if a switch has been flipped, Sarah is surging forward, her mouth crashing against mine in a kiss that steals the very breath from my lungs. “Yours,” she whispers against my lips, the word laced with a depth of conviction that sends a shudder of pure, unadulterated ecstasy rippling through me. “Always yours.”

Chapter Thirteen

Sarah

I’m barely coherent, but I’m still aware enough of my surroundings to know Mitch has taken me to his beautiful cabin nestled in the deep forest. The rustic timber walls, the rich, earthy scent of cedar permeates every nook and cranny. His scent is everywhere. Sandalwood, and pure spiced masculinity fill my every pore.

The rational part of my brain hazes over as his lips blaze a scorching trail along the column of my throat. His calloused hands roam over the curves of my body with a possessive hunger, the details of our surroundings paling in comparison to the consuming need that burns through me.

I can’t properly describe the savage force that drives through me. The bone-deep compulsion to surrender to this man. To give myself over to the connection that binds us together in ways that defy comprehension.

So I don’t.

Instead, I kiss him back with a desperation that borders on feverish, my fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair as I press against the hard planes of his body with the unforgiving wall at my back.

Mitch growls against my lips, a rumbling sound that resonates deep within my core, erupting flames of desire that threaten to consume me. And then, without warning, he sweeps me into his arms, carrying me up the stairs with long, purposeful strides.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that sends shivers of awareness racing down my spine. “My mate, my everything.”

The word hangs heavy in the air between us, laden with a weight and significance that resonates deep within the depths of my soul.

Mate.

A possessive endearment, a declaration of ownership and belonging that should send alarm bells ringing through me. But instead, I find myself melting into his embrace, surrendering to the profound rightness of whatever it is that filters through me.

He takes me into a room and I glimpse a huge bed made up with a deep blue, soft duvet, limned in silvery moonlight. He guides me to the mattress and follows me down so that I’m on my back beneath him. Mitch’s hands feathers over me, mapping the terrain of my body with a reverence that leaves me breathless.

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