Page 85 of Mate Night Snack
His tongue moved through her slick heat, coaxing more breathless gasps from her lips, teasing and tasting until her legs shook against his shoulders and her hands trembled in his hair.
When she came—soft and sharp and full of light—it wasn’t just physical.
The mate bond opened wide between them, flooding him with her sensation, her joy, her love.
He groaned low against her as it hit him, the emotion crashing like a wave, undeniable and perfect.
He kissed his way back up, settling over her, their breaths mingling.
“Again,” she whispered. “I need to feel all of you.”
He braced his hands beside her hips and met her gaze, holding it like something sacred as he aligned with her center. The air between them vibrated with anticipation, heavy and sweet, like the moment before a summer storm breaks.
With a slow press of his hips, he eased inside.
Katniss gasped, her lips parting in a breathless sound that sent shivers down his spine. Inch by inch, her body took him in, stretching around the thick length of him, slick heat pulling him deeper with every breath.
“God, Katniss…” he groaned, voice fraying.
Her hands gripped his biceps, nails biting into muscle as her legs wrapped around his waist. Her eyes never left his, wide with awe and wonder, her hazel gaze flickering with something fierce.
“You feel like… home,” she whispered, voice ragged.
“So do you,” he said, the words low and reverent.
He sank into her fully, hips flush against hers, the heat between them unbearable in the best way. For a moment, neither of them moved—just breathing, just feeling. Her inner muscles fluttered around him like her body already knew this rhythm, had been made for it.
Then she moved—tilting her hips, rolling against him—and that was it.
They began to rock together in the moonlight, slow and fluid, their rhythm intimate and unhurried. Each thrust was deliberate, drawing them tighter into each other. Emmett gritted his teeth, barely holding on, the feel of her—tight, wet, clenching around him—so perfect it bordered on painful.
Katniss’s head tipped back, her black waves spilling over the wildflowers, lips parted as soft moans slipped free. His mouth found the delicate column of her neck, trailing kisses up to her ear, catching her lobe between his teeth before whispering, “You’re everything.”
She gasped and clutched his back, her nails dragging across his skin and leaving lines his wolf would wear with pride.
“Harder,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I can take it.”
He growled low in his throat, the sound raw and primal, and drove into her harder—deeper—his thrusts gaining force. The soft slap of skin against skin echoed in the clearing, mixing with the rustle of leaves and her breathy cries.
He gripped her hips tighter, pulling her into each thrust, filling her completely, stretching her around the full length of him.
“You’re mine,” he said, the words guttural against her throat.
“Yes,” she cried, hips rising to meet his. “Always.”
The bond between them, always simmering, flared like a flame doused in oil. Power surged through his chest, through his limbs, anchoring him to her in a way that went beyond touch.
Golden light spilled from her, a radiant pulse that cast their bodies in soft, otherworldly glow. It moved across her skin like a living thing—flowing, searching—tracing the arc of her ribcage, the curve of her hips, the line of her jaw.
And then it touched him.
The magic spilled from her fingers, lighting up their joined bodies in threads of glowing gold. Vines bloomed beneath them, curling around their limbs with soft green tendrils, blossoms unfolding with every heartbeat. Where they touched, warmth spread—not just over skin, but into bone and memory and soul.
“Emmett,” she gasped, her voice trembling on the edge of awe and release. “Look…”
He looked. And forgot to breathe.
Her magic had come alive.
