Page 25 of Taken By The Wolves
When he finally pulls back, I’m panting and dazed.
Reed and Finn have shifted. They’re seated opposite me now on the other couch, drinks abandoned, eyes locked on my mouth.
I sit there between them, lips swollen, heart racing, wine forgotten, like prey that’s been trapped in a snare.
11
NIXON
There are two ways to claim a mate.
The first is through force, the old way, hard and fast, rooted in dominance and instinct. It’s primal, involving teeth, strength, and possession, and once done, it can’t be undone. That permanence is both its power and its poison. A claim like that leaves marks that go deeper than skin; bruises of the spirit can be a bitterness that festers in the bond. I watched it happen to my mother. Her devotion to our father was rooted in tradition only. She submitted because she had to. He conquered because no one ever told him there was another way. His claim worked like fire, fiercely consuming without restraint, leaving the ash of their potential underfoot.
I never saw her look at him with softness in her eyes.
I won’t have that with Scarlet.
She’s bright and sharp and stubborn in ways that make my wolf rise and my hands ache. She’s a challenge in all the ways that make all our spirits want to fly free, and if we dothis right, if we take our time, it’s my hope she’ll bend to our will without breaking the potential for real love within our bond. She’ll soften without losing any of that fire. She’ll give herself over not because she’s overpowered, but because shewantsto submit.
The second way is through patience. Through care. Through pleasure. Through love.
It’s a slower path, yes, but the result is unshakable. When a mate truly chooses you, she doesn’t stay because she has to. She roots herself to you, her devotion climbing around her mates like ivy around a great oak. They become one with the earth and sky.
So, I begin with a gentle kiss. I kneel, lowering myself to her level, and press my mouth to hers with purpose. I’m alpha, and she will know it. She responds like a woman who’s trying not to show how badly she wants to be touched. Her hands twist in my shirt, pulling me closer. Her mouth parts, lips yielding, tongue brushing mine, willing to taste what she didn’t expect to want. She breathes me in and releases the tightly wound parts of her that she arrived clutching so close.
When I pull back, she’s flushed and wide-eyed, her chest rising and falling. I watch her, cataloging every little shift: the tremble of her thighs, the heat blooming in her cheeks, the dazed hunger in her eyes.
I slide my hand to her knee, and she jumps slightly, gasping, her body reacting before her mind catches up. I look up, meeting her gaze, and ask, “Yes?”
She’s as still as a deer in the moonlight, sensing danger but convincing herself that she’s surrounded by nothing but the protection of the forest, ignoring her fear centers in the way that humans have convinced each other is a good thing.
I wait, inhaling her scent that makes my wolf arch under my skin. Human men prey on women like Scarlet, but not anymore.
When she gasps, “Yes,” I move slowly. My hand glides up the inside of her thigh, her legs parting in a silent, instinctive response. She invites me. Even through her clothes, I can scent her hunger, and it’s familiar in a bone-deep way that settles every longing I’ve ever had. I press the heel of my palm against her through the denim, and her hips roll.
She’s ready.
With deliberate care, I unbutton her jeans, still tasting her mouth in gentle sips. She lifts her hips with barely any encouragement. That’s trust. That’s surrender, in its first form. I slip my hand beneath the waistband, under the lace, into heat, leaning over her, crowding her.
She’s soaked, and I groan, pressing deep, coming home, knowing my brothers are watching it all. My fingers find a slow, even tempo, enough to keep her chasing. Enough to make her tremble. Her breath comes sharp, her thighs tense, and shake. Her hand clenches the cushion as her head tips back. I watch it all, like my brothers, my teeth itching to grip her nape and bite to make her ours. The first time I take her, I won’t watch her face as she comes, rutting into her from behind the way us wolves prefer, but I’ll feel it, though. She’s tight, and we’re big.
Then there’s the knot.
Scarlet tries to hold back, but of course, she fails.
When she comes, it’s with a soft, stunned cry, half-smothered by her hand. She shakes as waves of release crash through a foundation only just cracked open.
When she’s done trembling do I withdraw my fingers,sliding them over my tongue one after another while she watches.
Her taste is warm earth and summer sunshine, and I want to bury myself in it, mark me with her and her with me. Our eyes meet, and she blinks, stunned.
I lift her without asking, and without resistance. She folds into me, boneless and soft, the scent of her satisfaction clinging to everything.
I carry her to the bedroom and lay her gently on the bed.
I don’t undress her. I won’t stay. Not tonight. This is the beginning.
I tuck the blanket around her and smooth the hair from her temple. She blinks up at me, dazed, dreamy, and already drifting. I press one kiss to her forehead.
