Page 19 of His Lost Mate

“Jonah,” she breathed out, a plea and a surrender all rolled into one.

Jonah knew better than to let her finish so quickly, so easily. He silenced her with a kiss that spoke of things yet to come, of storms to be weathered together, and of the battle he knew theywould have to fight. And for a brief, stolen moment, hunger and cold were forgotten, fear was pushed aside, and the only thing that existed was the two of them, lost within the eye of their own personal storm.

The wind and snow outside howled, but its ferocity paled in comparison to the tempest Jonah unleashed within her. His fingers were deft, dancing their way over her skin with an intimacy that suggested not just a vague familiarity but possession. They continued down her body, to that hot place between her legs. His fingers found her most sensitive spot, started to rotate in a way that no man should ever be allowed to do but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from enjoying it anyway—she didn’t seem to want to.

“Jonah,” she gasped, her voice hitching as his fingers worked their wicked magic. The rough pads of his fingertips drove her higher.

“Come for me, kitten. I want to feel you surrender to me.” Jonah whispered, his fingers speeding up their pace as her breath hitched in her throat. Her hips undulated beneath his fingers, unstoppable, begging for more as he coaxed more and more pleasure from her.

A surge of electricity cascaded through his veins, and Jonah growled, unashamed as the pleasure tried to steal his every thought. But he held back, pushing her onward. In that moment of release, when her body shuddered and her mind seemed to blank, he wondered if she resented him for knowing exactly how to make her unravel, and if she might begin to love him for that knowledge.

She was still riding the wave when he placed the broad head of his cock at the opening to her center and he began to push inside. There was no gentle preamble, no whispered warnings, just the raw, undeniable truth of him filling her completely—taking his prize.

He wielded his body with precision and unapologetic passion. His thick, long length stretched her, sending ripples of heat to every corner of her being. Dripping for him, she tightened around him, her nails drawing lines of fire across his back.

“Jonah,” she cried through clenched teeth, even as her hips arched to meet his every thrust. The tangle of emotions was relentless.

Jonah felt a mix of resentment, need, and a frightening depth of desire he didn’t want to name. With each movement, he staked his claim, leaving her breathless, wanting, and utterly confused by the intensity of it. All he knew was that the dizziness and disorientation he had been staving off since he’d found her began to ebb.

As the cabin creaked and groaned against the storm’s assault, so too did the barriers between them strain under the weight of their frenzied union. The world beyond their sheltered enclave ceased to exist, the danger lurking outside, the gnawing hunger, the uncertainty of their future, all faded into insignificance. In that time and space, with him moving within her, every whisper of friction and slide of skin tasted of a forbidden and fated sort of freedom. And he feared, more than anything else, that he might grow to crave the maelstrom of emotion she brought to him.

The storm outside could have torn the world apart for all Jonah cared. In that moment, as her hips moved against his with a rhythm that spoke of dark, primal things, nothing else mattered. He watched her, in awe, as he swiveled his hips, rotating them into her, stroking every inch of her deep inside with those calculated twists of his hips. He wasn’t hammering into her; he was crafting each thrust like an artist, painting strokes of pleasure. As he moved between her thighs, Phoebe fell back, her breath coming in short gasps.

“Look at me, Phoebe,” he growled, his voice thick with arousal and need.

She opened her eyes just in time to see him lean over, the fierceness in his gaze making her shiver. His mouth was on her then, teasing her nipples to peaks, drawing out a soft moan that sounded more like surrender than anything else. The way he pinched them, just shy of too much, sent jolts straight to where they were joined. And when his tongue flicked out, circling the sensitive tips, she was lost.

“Jonah…” was all she could manage, but it was enough.

Enough to feel the power shift, to know he was conqueror, and she was supplicant. Her pussy clenched around him in a way he’d never felt before.

Whatever danger might be waiting outside stopped mattering because inside that old cabin, the world had shrunk to just the two of them. There were no men hunting them, no secret flight computer to get to its rightful owner and no need to find out who was behind it all and whether or not it was connected to his father’s death. Her body still trembled from the aftershocks as Jonah hovered above her, his rhythm slow, steady and strong, his breath ragged.

“Damn, Phoebe,” he murmured, letting her hear the pleasure in his voice, feel it against the sweat-slick skin of her collarbone. He was waiting, holding back for her, letting her coast back to reality as the pleasure began to ebb.

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his dark gaze. They were like twin storms themselves, tempestuous, but now there was something else, something more. A quiet intensity that made his heart thump harder. With a slow exhale, she let her legs fall from around his waist, signaling she was ready for him to find his own release.

Jonah closed his eyes, a crease forming between his brows as if he were savoring a fine wine, not just the clutch of herbody around his. His lips moved silently, words lost, but their meaning clear. It was incredible. They were incredible. And then, with a tension that coiled and snapped like a live wire, he began pounding into her with a relentless, brutal passion before giving her a final, deep, hard thrust, before he shook in her arms, his pleasure loud in the silent room, raw and unguarded.

It was the sound of a man undone, and it seemed to spark something within her, a flicker of passion reignited, a longing to feel this again, with him.

As the storm raged on, Jonah’s shudders subsided, and he collapsed into Phoebe’s embrace, his head resting against her chest. Slowly, Jonah pushed himself up on shaky arms, his eyes meeting hers with a smile.

He rolled from her before crossing to the fireplace to stoke the fire and then to the woodstove to do the same. He watched her as he returned to the bed. Jonah turned to survey the cabin, the windows rattling in their frames, and the shadows cast by the fire writhing across the walls. They were in the eye of the storm.

9

JONAH

The first light of dawn filtered through the cracks in the cabin walls, casting pale stripes across the floor. Jonah knelt by the fire, stirring the embers back to life, his movements quiet and efficient. His focus shifted to the small kit he’d laid out beside him—a fresh roll of gauze, antiseptic wipes, and a small pair of scissors he’d sharpened himself.

Behind him, the bed creaked as Phoebe stirred, her soft groan of discomfort pulling his attention. He turned, his eyes locking on her as she pushed herself upright, wincing slightly. Her hair was tousled, her eyes still heavy with sleep, but her posture was as stubbornly defiant as ever.

“Morning,” Jonah said, his voice low but steady.

Phoebe glanced at him, her lips curving faintly in acknowledgment. “Morning,” she murmured, rubbing her face. “Is it safe to say we survived the night?”

“Barely,” he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching. “We need to check your arm.”

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