Page 406 of Hate Mates

“You think I don’t know that no woman has ever—could ever—satisfy me after you?” I growl. “You think I haven’t spent every fucking night since that first time—” I slam into her, hitting deep, claiming every part of her— “wishing it was you beneath me?”

She whimpers, her walls spasming around me.

I can feel it—she’s close.

And fuck, so am I.

Her hands twist in my grip, and I let her free just long enough for her to reach back, fingers digging into my thighs, clawing at my skin as she chokes out, “Then take me. Take all of me.”

Something surges between us.

A deep, raw pulse of power ignites beneath my skin, tingling, burning, setting my nerves on fire.

I slam into her one last time, burying myself deep as her body clenches, shatters, convulses around me.

She screams my name, and I follow, my release ripping through me like a violent storm.

And then?—

A sharp, blinding heat explodes between us.

I gasp, dazed, overwhelmed, as something invisible, ancient, powerful sears through my bones, through my very soul.

Vivienne jerks in my grasp, her body arching, a golden glow pulsing beneath her skin.

And I feel it—her magic, her essence, sinking into me, fusing with mine.

Her soul.

My soul.

The binding.

The realization slams into me, and my entire body goes rigid.

“Vivienne,” I choke out, my hands tightening around her waist. “What have we done?”

Chapter Seven

VIVIENNE HAWTHORNE

My body is still trembling, still pulsing with the aftershocks of pleasure as I press my forehead against the cool stone of the cave wall. My breath is uneven, and my limbs feel heavy, boneless, yet beneath the bliss, something hums beneath my skin.

Something different.

I swallow hard, my fingers uncurling from where they had been gripping the cave wall. Slowly, I look down—and my stomach drops.

A mark glows faintly against my wrist, just beneath the surface of my skin. A delicate, swirling pattern of silver and gold, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

I gasp, turning to look behind me, and when my eyes flick to Orion, I see an identical mark glowing on his wrist as well.

The binding.

My throat tightens. I lift my arm, running trembling fingers over the mark. It feels like mine, like an extension of my own power, and yet—I can feelhimthere too. A whisper of his energy, his magic. His soul.

Orion shifts beside me, dragging in a slow, measured breath. Finally, he exhales sharply and pulls his cloak from the floor beside him, spreading it out, creating a soft place for us to lay together. A small gesture. A tender one.

He guides me down beside him, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me against him. Warm, solid, safe.

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