Page 35 of Fated Wings
The pace increased. What started as careful became demanding, each thrust driving deeper. Newt gave up on coherent thought, lost in the slide of flesh against flesh, the building pressure that threatened to tear him apart in the best way.
His cock bounced between them with each impact, leaking steadily. When Vaughn wrapped a hand around it, stroking in time with his thrusts, Newt saw stars.
“Close,” he gasped. “Really, really close.”
“Good.” Vaughn’s teeth found his throat, not biting yet but threatening. “Want to feel you.”
The words should not have pushed him closer to the edge, but they did. Everything narrowed to sensation—Vaughn inside him, around him, the building pressure that demanded release. His balls drew tight, that familiar tension coiling at the base of his spine.
“Vaughn—”
Teeth sank into the junction of neck and shoulder, breaking skin.
They crashed together in a supernova that obliterated every thought from Newt’s head. His cock pulsed between them, release hitting with the force of a sledgehammer. Each spurt painted white streaks across his stomach while his body clenched around Vaughn’s shaft, drawing him impossibly deeper.
Vaughn’s rhythm faltered, hips jerking erratically as Newt’s inner muscles rippled around him. The groan that tore from his throat vibrated against the fresh bite mark, sending aftershocks through Newt’s oversensitive system.
Something shifted in the air between them. A pulse that had nothing to do with their racing hearts and everything to do with the invisible thread that had connected them since that first meeting. Energy crackled across Newt’s skin, raising every hair on his body.
From his chest, a tendril of mist began to rise. Pale violet, delicate as spun sugar, it wavered in the air like smoke caught in a nonexistent breeze. Another tendril emerged from Vaughn’s chest—deep amber shot through with threads of copper that caught the light.
“What—” Newt’s question died as the two ribbons found each other.
They danced in the space between their bodies, twining together in a spiral that defied physics. Violet and amber merged without mixing, creating patterns that hurt to look at directly. The tendrils pulsed with their heartbeats, and suddenly Newt felt it—Vaughn’s heart hammering in perfect synchronization with his own.
Two hearts beating as one, the rhythm so perfectly aligned it became impossible to tell where his ended and Vaughn’s began.
The intertwined ribbons hung suspended for a breathless moment. Then they moved, striking like serpents. The amber ribbon dove into Newt’s chest, while the violet one shot into Vaughn’s. There was no pain, just warmth spreading from the point of entry, flooding through veins and settling into bones.
Vaughn gasped above him, eyes wide with the same wonder Newt felt. The connection between them solidified, becoming something tangible. Not just the physical joining of their bodies but something deeper. Newt could feel Vaughn’s emotions bleeding through—possessiveness, satisfaction, and, underneath it all, a love so fierce it stole his breath.
“Mine,” Vaughn growled, the word reverberating through their new bond.
“Yours,” Newt agreed, though the word felt inadequate for what they’d just become to each other.
Vaughn’s hips stuttered, control finally snapping. He drove deep one final time, Newt’s name on his lips as he found his own release. Heat flooded Newt’s insides, marking him in ways that went beyond the physical.
For long moments they stayed frozen, bodies locked together while their hearts continued their synchronized dance. Sweat cooled on overheated skin.
Then Newt felt it. A shimmer in the air. A disturbance that had him scrambling for his clothes. “Get dressed!”
To his shock, Vaughn listened, tossing on his jeans just as a portal opened and his father stepped through.
Chapter Ten
Newt couldn’t believe his father was standing there. Then again, he could. Hershel was all about himself, never giving any thought or regard to what his son wanted or desired. That never mattered to his father. Pure instinct drove Newt to place himself between Hershel and Vaughn, though the absurdity of protecting a wolf shifter from a fae with delusions of grandeur wasn’t lost on him. His bare feet slapped against the floor as he scrambled forward, still yanking his borrowed shirt down over his stomach.
Hershel Twistboot’s face contorted like he’d bitten into something rotten. His gaze raked over the rumpled bed, the scattered clothes, and finally settled on Newt’s disheveled appearance with disgust that could've curdled milk.
“What in the seven realms is going on here?” The words cracked through the air like a whip. “Newton Aloysius Twistboot, you will explain yourself this instant!”
Oh good, the full name. That always meant a delightful conversation was about to unfold. Newt’s stomach clenched, years of conditioning making him want to shrink into himself. Behind him, he sensed Vaughn’s tension, could practically feel the heat radiating from his mate's body.
“Father, I—” The familiar pattern of submission started automatically, words of apology already forming on his tongue.
“You’ve broken sacred law by leaving our realm without permission!” Hershel’s voice climbed higher with each word. “And now I find you here, half-dressed, consorting with a…a mutt?”
The slur hit like a physical blow. Newt’s hands balled into fists, fingernails cutting crescents into his palms.
