Page 27 of Ranger's Honor
She slips.
I’m moving before thought can catch up, instinct striking like a battle cry. My boots hit the crate below—wood splintering under my weight, the crack ricocheting like gunfire—just as she loses her footing. Her gasp slices through the air, high and sharp, and I see the shock flare in her eyes a split second before gravity takes her.
Her gasp slices through the air, and the world narrows to her.
Time slows. She drops, twisting midair, arms flailing for balance she won’t find. My pulse slams against my ribs, every instinct in me igniting in one savage burst. I launch forward, catching her mid-tumble, my grip locking around her waist in a hold that says she’s mine and nothing’s taking her from me.
We spin hard, momentum dragging us down. My back slams into the floor, pain ripping across my spine, but I twist mid-fall, taking the hit so she doesn’t. The air punches out of my lungs,but I don’t loosen my hold. I’d rather break my back than let her hit that ground alone.
For a split second, all I can think is I almost lost her. That fucking fast. One slip, one second slower, and she’d be gone. The fear hits like a blade to the chest, sharp and unrelenting, cutting deeper than the pain ripping through my back. My arms lock around her, pulling her tight against me, shielding her from the impact. I can feel her heartbeat hammering against my ribs, the tremor in her breath against my neck. Something surges through me, hot and electric, not a bond yet, but the brutal certainty that she’s mine. A promise and a warning, tangled together and burning in my veins.
Her breathing is shallow and fast against my throat, the scent of her skin flooding every sense I have. She’s alive. Safe. In my arms where she belongs. The part of me that’s still human wants to shake her for risking herself. The rest of me—the wolf—just wants to hold her here and never let go.
She blinks down at me, eyes wide, pupils blown, stunned… and then she grins. And fuck me, it’s beautiful.
But all I can think is—next time, I’m not giving her the chance to fall.
"Caught me."
"You scared the shit out of me."
"You liked it."
I don’t answer. I can’t. Not when she’s flush against me, her ample breasts pressing firmly into my chest, her warm palms spread wide over the toned muscles beneath my shirt. Her fingers flex, as if bracing to hold onto something solid and steady amidst a storm. Her pupils have dilated, nearly swallowing the brilliant color of her irises. She smells like a heady mixture of sweat, skin, saltwater, and the intoxicating scent that is uniquely her when her primal instincts awaken.
In the charged stillness that surrounds us, the sound of our breathing fills my ears: ragged and shallow, almost synchronized as if two halves of a shared existence.
One heartbeat—then I move. In a single, deliberate motion, I pin her against the wall; her breasts crushed between our chests, my muscular arms caging her in on either side of her head. Her breath hitches in surprise or anticipation. Her nails dig into the flesh of my shoulders with a sting that sends shivers down my spine. An involuntary growl rises in my throat – pure instinct.
“Dalton.”
It’s not a warning. Not a protest. It’s a need—raw and all-consuming—and I shatter under its weight.
This is insane, dangerous, reckless in every possible way. And I don’t care. Not when I can feel her pulse pounding against mine, not when her soft body trembles beneath me, not when her luscious mouth tips toward mine in a dare I can’t refuse.
Logic disintegrates, caution combusts. All I can see are those stormy eyes is defiance, and all I can feel is the heat radiating from within our bodies as it threatens to engulf us both.
Our mouths collide with desperation; our tongues dance in unison as they explore each other's taste—hardened earth beneath raindrops and the electric promise of a storm I know will break me. I wedge my thigh between hers, grinding against her until the tension snaps taut between us. Her back arches in response; her fists grip at my shirt, the buttons digging into my skin.
If I could etch her into my bones, I would—carry her fire in every breath. Instead, I grasp her hair tightly, twist, and tilt her head back, exposing the pale curve of her throat. My teeth sink into the hollow beside her pulse, biting down hard enough to draw blood as I mark her as mine. She moans low in her chest, legs locking around my waist, grinding up against me with relentless force.
“Now,” she breathes, voice frayed and splintering. “Please...”
A growl tears loose from deep in my chest as my hand finds her zipper. I drag it down impatiently, the denim stubbornly clinging to her hips. I strip them away inch by inch, every tug feeling like the slow removal of armor from a fighter who doesn’t yet know she’s already surrendered.
Her panties are warm and damp against my palm. Her gasp is sharp and sweet when I press harder against her sensitive flesh before boldly moving the fabric aside. My fingers slide through her slick arousal before bringing them to her lips. She wraps them around my fingers first with her teeth, then takes them into her mouth—tongue curling slow and deliberate—her eyes locked on mine in a challenge I’ll always answer.
“Fuck,” I rasp. It’s not enough—it never will be—but I give her more, again and again, until her legs threaten to buckle.
Dropping to my knees now, I force her hips against the wall with firm hands while feeling the muscles twitch under my grasp. Taking a deep breath just above the apex of her thighs, the scent of her arousal is thick and intoxicating. My tongue slides tentatively over her engorged nub, testing and tasting, before pressing harder and sealing my mouth around her clit.
She jerks suddenly in response, her leg nearly kicking me as I hold her open with iron resolve. Her fingers tangle in my hair, nails scraping across my scalp with a sting that only drives me further into the abyss of desire.
Every sound she makes—those half-formed moans, those bitten-off gasps—feeds the insatiable hunger tearing through me. I circle her clit slowly at first, then faster, harder, until she’s biting down on her arm to keep from screaming. I hold her there, trembling on the edge of ecstasy, coaxing wave after wave until her thighs spasm against my ears and her head knocks back against the wall. Sweat drips from her skin like beads of liquid gold, running down the curve of her spine.
When her strength fails and her resolve slips away, I press a soft yet assertive kiss to the inside of her thigh before pulling her upright once more. I spin her around to face the wall; our fingers fumble together as she presses flat against it so that my hips lock perfectly against her ass. My teeth find purchase on her shoulder as I shove open my own jeans and thrust into her without faltering from behind.
Her gasp is one of shock and relief entwined. We move in sync, wild and unbroken; the slap of skin and rasp of denim echoing through the small space. My hands roam her body, learning every curve and every shudder that passes through her.
