Page 84 of Reaper's Pack

Roughly.

Harsh and violent, Hazel gave as good as she got. Sure, I was the one who pounded into her from behind, taking her with a brutality that would have splintered a lesser creature to pieces. But she rocked back to meet my every thrust, tipped her head to the side to offer her flesh to my greedy mouth—neck, shoulders, jaw, lips. Nothing was safe. Nothing off-limits.

I still wasn’t sure if she could bruise, but I could mark her skin, evidence of our union scattered across the luminescent white in angry red lashes.

She accepted my savagery and responded in kind, raking her nails across my neck, up my sides. My hair became her new obsession, a prop for tugging and twisting, her grip its harshest the louder she moaned.

As her lovely body tightened, her pale pink nipples pearled and her full lips parted, her eyes slowly drifted closed. I memorized every quiver, every quake, sensing her nearing her breaking point, the cliff’s edge in sight as her cunt choked my cock each time it slammed into her.

I fisted my hand firmer into her messy mane, dragging her back so that my mouth found her ear, my pace never slowing. No mercy. Not for an alpha’s mate.

“I do want you, Hazel,” I snarled softly, pumping harder as her hands scrambled across my body for something to cling onto. “Don’t you understand? I fucking want you. I can’t. I shouldn’t, and it’s killing me.”

“Have me,” she sang sweetly, glancing over her shoulder as much as my rough hold on her hair would allow. “Knox, I’m yours—oh!”

Her face screwed with pleasure, and I nearly lost myself in the way her body rippled around me. Heat flashed in her cheeks, then skittered down her beautiful figure in a telling flush. Bent over the fallen tree trunk, she shivered and shook in my arms—and still I offered her no mercy. Not when my own release was a breath away. The beast within surged, taking control as I slammed into her once, twice, three times more.

And as I spilled myself inside her, pleasure surging and threatening to cut me off at the knees, I yanked her head to the side. Bared her throat to me. Instinct guided my mouth to the crook of her neck and shoulder—and I bit down hard, a sound reverberating in my chest that even I hadn’t heard before. Something primal and raw. Guttural. Possessive.

Whether it frightened her or not, Hazel took every last brutal moment of it, her breath falling in stuttering gasps, her body warped for my purposes.

For my mark.

That was what I was doing, what I had never done before: marking a mate.

Mine.

Ours.

Tentative fingers walked up my cheek, buried into my hair. Softly this time, she held me to her, even after my teeth left her flesh. We stayed like that, some tragic statue in the forest, my harsh breath gusting over her neck, our hands in each other’s hair. Stinking of one another, scents entwined. Sex and sweat mingled with the storm. As the beast retreated and the man seized control, I knew I needed to move, but I couldn’t.

I wanted to stay like this forever, buried in her, my mark on her skin, her hand in my hair and her supple body tucked neatly to mine.

If only hellhounds were permitted such luxuries.

Slowly, as my self-control came trickling in, I eased out of Hazel and stumbled back a few paces. Lost in her, I hadn’t noticed the changes around us: the rain had downgraded from a battering to a misting, and the sky stayed a dreary dark grey, not a hint of flickering light to be found. As I scrubbed a hand over my face, thunder grumbled very, very, very distantly, heard only to those with heightened senses. Water squished soundly underfoot, and I made a halfhearted attempt to do up my trousers, my movements as sluggish as my mind.

Hazel, meanwhile, straightened in front of the fallen tree trunk, her back to me, body glistening from the dripping rain. She picked through her torn clothes, leaving the tattered dress where it was but reattaching the black lace around her breasts. A hint of modesty, our roles reversed—her mostly naked, me fully clothed. I scowled down at myself, then ripped clean through the shirt buttons, wrenching off the soaked fabric and tossing it aside. Next came my boots and socks so that I could feel the mud between my toes—feel more myself.

In a matter of moments, I too stood naked, skin coated in the cool watery mist. Hazel’s gaze swept up and down my figure almost appreciatively, and her lips lifted in a gorgeous little smile.

Only I couldn’t bring myself to smile back.

All of this had been… a loss of control, fueled by scotch and whatever the fuck she had gulped down for the last six hours.

I’m yours, Knox. It was just heat-of-the-moment talk. And that pissed me off.

I held up a hand when she drew a breath, looking like she had something to say.

“Tell me you’re mine in the morning,” I growled, knowing full well she would run from this just as fast as I would in the harsh light of day. “When you’re sober, tell me.”

Her mouth opened and closed a few times before her arms crossed and her expression pinched.

“I am sober,” Hazel snapped back, “and it is morning, you stubborn twat.”

No longer in the mood to fight, physically or verbally, I started a shaky climb up the nearby hill, in need of a cold shower—and then to brood in front of the hearth in my bedroom.

I made it halfway up the slope before a certain someone, who had been soundless in her approach, kicked my left leg out from under me. Embarrassment flared hot in my chest when I lost my footing again and skidded through the mud, not stopping until I grabbed at a sapling. Hazel loomed over me, arms still crossed, but much to my surprise, her glare was gone.

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