Page 404 of Hate Mates

The sound of her breathing—uneven, ragged, needy—fills the silence between us, louder than the distant wind outside, louder than the thundering of my own heartbeat.

I slide my hands down her body, over the dip of her waist, the soft curve of her hips, until I’m gripping the tops of her thighs. Holding her still. Holding her open.

She lets out a soft, breathy sound, the kind of sound that makes my blood turn molten.

She’s shaking.

Not from fear. From need.

“I should take my time with you,” I murmur against the back of her neck, dragging my lips along the delicate skin there, feeling the way she shudders under my touch. “But you don’t want that, do you?”

She shakes her head, her nails scraping against the rock as she braces herself, fingers curling into the stone as if it’s the only thing keeping her tethered. Her body knows what’s coming.

Her breathing stutters.

“No,” she whispers.

I smirk. “No?” I tease, pressing against her, letting her feel the length of me through but still not giving her what she truly wants.

She whimpers. The sound wrecks me.

“Orion, please.”

That word. My name—on her lips, in that tone, pleading, wanting, needing.

It makes something inside me snap.

I grip her hips tighter, pressing my palm against her stomach, pulling her flush against me. She gasps, her head falling back against my chest, exposing the delicate line of her throat, the pulse hammering beneath her skin.

I want to mark her.

I want to brand her with my teeth, my lips, my hands.

I reach down, gripping her thigh, lifting her slightly so she is exactly where I need her. Where she needs to be.

Her breath catches as I slide the length of myself against her, teasing, letting her feel just how hard I am for her, how much I ache for her.

“You’re soaking,” I murmur against her ear, my voice a low growl. “You’re dripping for me, Vivienne.”

She makes a frantic, frustrated sound, trying to push back against me, trying to grind against me, but I hold her still, savoring the moment. Savoring her.

It’s been so long. Too long.

I lean in, pressing my lips against the curve of her throat, tasting her, letting my tongue drag over the sensitive spot just below her jaw.

She shudders violently.

“You think I’ll just give you what you want?” I whisper against her skin, letting my breath fan over her.

Her hands curl into fists against the cave wall, her body tensing, arching.

She wants it.

She needs it.

“You’re mine,” I murmur, dragging it out, making her squirm. “I want to hear you say it.”

Her body stiffens, and for a moment, she doesn’t say anything. I think she might fight me, that she might deny what we both already know.

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