Page 75 of Fated to the Lone Shifter
But just as I’m about to shatter, he slows. His lips trail down my neck, his breath hot and heavy, his teeth grazing my skin in a way that sends shivers down my spine.“Not yet,”he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, his control a stark contrast to the desperation in his touch. I whimper, my body aching, my core throbbing with unfulfilled need.
He pulls back slightly, his gold eyes locking onto mine, dark with desire and something deeper—something I can’t quite name. His hands roam over me, possessive yet reverent, as if he’s memorizing every curve, every mark our magic has left on my skin. The glowing sigils on my body pulse faintly, responding to his touch, a silent reminder of the bond we share.
“Please,”I plead, my voice breaking, my body trembling on the edge of release.
He smirks, a wicked glint in his eyes, and I know he’s enjoying my desperation.“Patience, Sera,”he says, his tone teasing yet commanding. He shifts, his hands gripping my thighs, spreading them wider, exposing me fully to his gaze. His breath hitches as he takes in the sight, his hunger palpable.
He leans down, his lips brushing against my ear, his words a whisper that sends a jolt of anticipation through me.“I want to taste you,”he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.“But not yet.”
His mouth trails lower, his kisses soft and deliberate, a stark contrast to the urgency of moments before. He nips at my collarbone, his teeth grazing my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, my body arching into his touch, craving more.
He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates against my skin.“Impatient,”he teases, his lips brushing against my throat.“But that’s what I love about you.”
His hands roam lower, his fingers tracing the curves of my body, his touch both gentle and demanding. He teases me, his fingers brushing against my core, his thumb circling the spot that’s aching for his touch. I gasp, my body bucking against his hand, my breath coming in short, desperate pants.
“Please,”I whimper, my voice a plea, my body on the brink.
He chuckles, his breath hot against my skin, his fingers stilling.“Not yet,”he repeats, his voice a low growl.“I want to draw this out, make you beg for it.”
His words send a fresh wave of desire through me, my body trembling with anticipation. He shifts, his mouth moving lower, his kisses trailing down my body, his tongue teasing, his teeth nipping. I squirm, my body arching into his touch, my breath catching as he teases me, his mouth a hair’s breadth away from where I need him most.
“I can’t–,”I gasp, my voice a desperate plea.
He chuckles, his breath hot against my skin, his fingers tracing patterns on my thighs.“You can,”he murmurs, his voice a low rumble.“And you will. But not yet.”
His words are a promise, a threat, a tantalizing tease that leaves me trembling on the edge, my body aching, my core throbbing with unfulfilled need. I’m suspended in a state of exquisite tension, my breath coming in short, desperate pants, my body crying out for release.
“Not yet,”he whispers, his voice a low growl, his control a stark contrast to the desperation in my touch.
I’m left teetering on the edge, my body trembling, my breath coming in short, desperate pants. The air between us crackles with tension, the fire casting flickering shadows on the walls, the world outside forgotten.
Until the door explodes open.
Wood splinters. The protective wards fizzle.
And there he is.
Bode stands in the threshold, mid-shift, claws out, his body twisted between man and beast. Saliva drips from his snarling jaw. Eyes black as pitch. Rage incarnate.
“Noah!” I cry, heart lurching.
Noah moves fast—off the floor, body coiled, ready to defend.
But Bode is faster.
They collide with a thunderous crack, claws against skin, fangs flashing. They’re a blur of muscle and fury, primal forces locked in a deadly dance. The air thickens with violence and power, a storm of snarls and grunts and breaking wood.
Bode rakes his claws across Noah’s chest. Blood arcs through the air. Noah counters with a solid punch to Bode’s ribs, then drives his elbow into the wolf’s jaw. Bode staggers—just for a second.
But it’s enough.
Noah shifts mid-strike, half-wolf now, and tackles Bode into the wall. The cabin shakes. They grapple, claws tearing flesh, jaws snapping for throats.
I scream and grab for the on the mantel, channeling every ounce of will into it. My magic flares as I hurl it at Bode’s shoulder.
It hits.
Hard.
