Something in me snaps—something desperate, aching, wanting more.
Before I can overthink it, I push him gently, but firmly back against the sofa, my hands on his chest, feeling the solid strength beneath my palms as he goes willingly. I move over him, straddling his lap, the closeness dizzying, intoxicating, impossible to ignore.
Emma purrs approvingly.
The kiss breaks for half a second—just long enough for us to breathe—then it crashes back together, fiercer this time. Claiming. Unapologetic.
I kiss him like I'm afraid he'll disappear if I don't, like every doubt and fear inside me needs to be burned away by his mouth on mine. His hands come up instantly, gripping my hips, grounding me there, a low sound vibrating in his chest that sends heat spiraling through me.
I feel powerful like this—above him, pressed close, his attention wholly mine.
My heart is racing, my skin buzzing, every nerve awake as the kiss deepens into something raw and hungry, stripped of hesitation. There's no gentleness now, only need and intention, the kind that makes my breath stutter and my thoughts scatter.
I don't question it.
I don't stop.
All I know is the way he responds—like he's been waiting for this, like he's barely holding back—and the realization hits me hard and thrilling all at once, I'm not just wanting him.
I'm choosing him.
And I want him to know it.
I move without thinking, rolling my hips slowly against him, chasing that dangerous spark of friction that has my breath hitching. His body responds instantly beneath me, a sharp inhale leaving him as his hands tighten at my waist, steadying me—anchoring me. The reaction alone sends a soft, helpless sound from my throat.
"Kieran," I manage, my voice barely holding together.
His mouth leaves mine, trailing along my jaw, my throat, lingering just long enough to make my pulse riot. His touch is everywhere and nowhere at once—warm, reverent, possessive—like he's memorizing me. Like he's afraid to let go.
I hook my fingers into his hair and pull him back to me, needing his mouth again, needing that connection. The kiss is desperate now, messy and consuming, stealing my air and giving me fire in return. He groans softly against my lips, and the sound alone coils low in my stomach.
I tug my blouse free, craving skin, closeness, anything that brings us nearer. My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might burst as his gaze darkens, heated and unwavering, tracking every movement like I'm the only thing in the room.
I reach for him next, fingers sliding over warm fabric, intent and unashamed. I don't stop. I don't hesitate.
All that exists is the heat between us, the tension stretched thin and trembling, the knowledge settling deep in my bones that this—this—is inevitable.
And I'm not running from it anymore.
Fabric tears free beneath my hands, his shirt discarded somewhere behind us, forgotten. My body hums—too aware, too alive—every nerve tuned to him. I reach for him again, reckless and impatient, fingers already seeking purchase when his hand snaps around my wrist.
"Samantha," he growls, low and dangerous, the sound vibrating straight through me. "If you keep that up, I won't be able to stop myself."
"Please," I breathe, shameless, needy, rocking against him like my body has already chosen its answer.
His grip loosens, but only so he can take control another way. Fingers threading into my hair, tugging just enough to steal the breath from my lungs as his mouth finds the sensitive curve where my neck meets my shoulder. Teeth graze. Heat flares.
"I will not take you for the first time in another male's pack house," he murmurs, voice rough, restraint fraying as his lips trail upward, slow and deliberate, like punishment and promise all at once.
"But—" I start, already pleading as the world shifts.
He rises with me effortlessly, my legs locking around his waist on instinct alone. I cling to him, mouth tracing his throat, coaxing, tempting, trying to unravel that control one kiss at a time as he carries us toward the bed.
"Little wolf," he says, laying me down with maddening care, hovering over me like he owns the space between us, "you're being very naughty."
My pulse thrums. My wolf stirs.
"Then give me what I want," I demand, the edge of Emma slipping into my voice before I can stop it—raw, confident, certain.
His smile is slow. Predatory.
A promise wrapped in restraint.
"Oh," he murmurs, eyes darkening as he leans closer, "I will. Just not the way you think."
And somehow… that only makes it worse.
His mouth finds my chest, heat seeping through lace, and the sensation steals the air from my lungs. I gasp, fingers curling into the sheets as my body reacts faster than my thoughts ever could. He pulls back just enough to see my reaction, a low chuckle brushing my skin.
"Careful," he murmurs. "Don't be naughty."
The warning only sparks something reckless in me. I bite my lip, push myself up, and take exactly what I want from him. His sharp intake of breath is immediate, honest. I tug him closer, voice soft, but daring.
"Or maybe," I murmur, "you need to remember who's in charge here."
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes.
In one swift motion, control snaps back into his hands. Fabric is gone, discarded, forgotten as his attention locks onto me fully—devastating, consuming. Latching his mouth unto my breast, in precise strokes, circling, sucking and biting. The sensation pulls a moan from deep in my chest, my body arching instinctively toward him, craving more, needing more.
I cling to him, fingers fisting in his hair, grounding myself in the only thing that feels real.
"Kieran…" I breathe, the plea slipping out before I can stop it—raw, unguarded, aching.
And the way his name sounds on my lips tells him everything.
His mouth trails down my body at a pace that feels almost cruel, slow enough that every nerve ending screams. One hand toys with my breast, deliberate and knowing, as if he's memorizing every reaction I give him. I'm already trembling by the time his lips reach the edge of fabric, his gaze lifting to mine—watching, waiting.
My underwear is gone a heartbeat later, removed with devastating patience, and the way his eyes darken at my response makes my pulse stutter.
He doesn't rush.
He never rushes.
Instead, he works his way back up, lips and tongue mapping heat into my skin, leaving me breathless, undone, aching. By the time he settles between my thighs, my body has already betrayed me, open, needy, welcoming him without a thought.
"Kieran," I breathe, barely a word. "Don't tease me."
A low hum vibrates against me, satisfied.
"Is this what you want, little wolf?" he murmurs, voice velvet and danger.
His presence settles between my thighs with unhurried intent, the weight of his attention far heavier than his body ever could be. I feel him there before he ever touches me—warm breath, the brush of his knuckles along my legs, the quiet, reverent pause like he's savoring the moment. When his mouth finally finds me, it's not rushed or greedy. It's deliberate. Worshipful. "You taste divine Samantha," He murmurs before hitting his target again.The sensation steals the air from my lungs, my head falling back as every thought scatters. My body reacts instinctively, hips lifting without permission, chasing more of whatever he's giving me, needing him closer.
Kieran doesn't let me rush him. He keeps me right on the edge, reading every sound I make, every tremor, every breath that breaks apart in my chest.
"I–oh, Goddess…" my voice shakes in pleasure.
His hands anchor me, holding me steady while his mouth works me apart in ways that feel impossibly intimate—like he's learning me, claiming me, reminding me that he knows exactly how to make me unravel. His strokes, slow and quick alternating in a way that is driving me crazy over the edge.
"Please, don't–ahh–stop," I moaned, my voice shaking, breaking as he drove me higher.
My fingers twist in the sheets, my voice dissolves into his name, and in that moment there is nothing else—no Elders, no crowns, no fear. Just him. Just us. And the undeniable truth that I have never felt so completely wanted.
Then his presence shifts, warm and overwhelming, and the sensation hits me all at once. He growled in beat with the finger that had slipped inside me.
My cry echoes his name, raw and unfiltered, and I don't care who hears it.