Page 86 of Bitten, Marked, Obsessed

She arches, bare breasts brushing my chest. “Promises, promises.”

I take my time. Open-mouthed kisses down her throat, sucking bruises she’ll glare at tomorrow. When my tongue flicks her nipple, she bucks hard enough to crack the headboard. “Callum?—!”

“Right here.” My hand slides between her thighs, fingers slick with her. Her hips jerk, chasing friction. “Tell me.”

“I want you.” Her nails rake down my back, drawing blood. “All of you. Now.”

I sheathe myself in one slow thrust, her gasp sharp in my ear. Her walls clench, velvet heat strangling me. “Fuck. Kendall?—”

“Move.” Her heels dig into my ass. “Or I will.”

We find our rhythm in the sweat-slick dark, her body arching to meet each punishing thrust. I inhale ragged breaths against her temple. Every creak of the bedframe syncs with her choked gasps, her heels locking behind my thighs to drag me deeper.

My cock pulses thick and urgent, burying deeper with each ragged breath between us. Her clenching heat becomes a velvet vise—I growl against her collarbone, teeth scraping skin that smells of salt and wildflowers. Every inch claimed feels like territory won in a war we’ve been waging. She arches, throat bared, and I press harder—not just to fuck, but to carve myself into the marrow of her bones. The wolf in my blood snarls approval.Mine.Not just tonight. Always.

"Fuck...yes,right there—" Her plea fractures when I angle my hips, hitting that sweet spot that makes her walls flutter. I hiss as her nails carve fresh trenches across my shoulders, the sting sharpening my focus. Her heat clenches around me like a fist, demanding surrender. "Show me," I growl against her mouth. "Let me feel you break."

Her eyes ignite—wolf-gold bleeding through blue—and something primal roars in my blood. I capture her scream with my lips as her back bows off the mattress, thighs quaking against my ribs. The headboard cracks against the wall in time with her contractions, ancient oak splintering under our frenzy.

I force myself to still, trembling with restraint as aftershocks wrack her body. But she's already surging up, teeth grazing my jugular in challenge. "Again," she demands, hips rolling with feral precision. Her palm slaps against the sweat-slick headboard. "With me."

Control shatters.

The ache between my hips burns like fresh claws scoring my spine—this isn’t lust anymore, it’s possession. My cock pulses against her walls with every growl she swallows from my throat, a fevered rhythm that feels more like battle strategy than passion. Shifter blood roars beneath the surface, begging me to claim, tobreak, even as the relentless squeeze of her thighs threatens to snap my control. Fuck, I’d laugh at the irony if I weren’t trembling—since when does an alpha’s restraint shatter faster than that oak bedframe?

Her scent drenches me, wolf-wild and hungry, and for the first time in years, I don’t care about politics or the war brewing beyond these sweat-slick sheets. I care about the way her rebellion cracks open something feral in my chest, the way every brutal thrust carves another fracture into my resolve.

My canines prickle her throat as she tilts her head in offering, pulse hammering against my tongue. The mating bite hovers between us—an oath written in blood and bone—but her fingers soften in my hair. A choice. A plea.

I roar her name instead, burying my face in the crook of her neck as release tears through me. Her answering cry vibrates against my chest when the second wave takes her, legs hooking higher to milk every drop. We collapse in a tangle of heaving limbs, her sigh warm against my neck.

We don’t speak. Don’t bolt. Her heartbeat slows under my palm, her breath warm on my sweat-slick skin. The bond hums, quiet but unbroken.

She traces the scars on my shoulder. “Your wolf’s quieter tonight.”

“Liar.” My laugh rumbles through her. “He’s screaming.”

Her palm presses over my heart. “So’s mine.”

35

KENDALL

Idon’t leave a note.

Just pull on my jeans, throw on a hoodie, and walk out before the sun even rises.

My boots crunch over gravel that’s still slick from the night storm, and the air smells like wet pine and woodsmoke. I pause once, hand on the doorknob, heart clawing at my chest like it’s begging me to go back.

Back to the bed. Back tohim. Back to the way Callum looked at me last night like I wasn’t broken—like Ibelongedto something bigger than blood or war.

But I can’t. Not right now.

Because I feel like I’m standing on the precipice of something ancient and massive, and the minute I say yes to all of this—tohim—there’s no going back.

And honestly I have no idea if I’m ready for that. So I do what I’ve always done when I’m drowning. I go looking for the one person who’s been teaching me how to swim through lies.

Dad’s bunker is exactly where I left it—tucked beneath an abandoned train yard, half-collapsed and stinking of rust and old secrets.

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