Page 22 of Mated to the Kingpin

And I devour it.

Her legs tremble as I pull my massive frame up from where I devoured her. I stand over her now, chest heaving, fur bristling with a savage kind of reverence. My shadow swallows her whole, cast by the moon spilling down through the trees. I gaze down at the place where my tongue had tasted everything she’d given, her slick still coating my snout, her scent imprinted into my every cell.

She’s still catching her breath, legs parted, her ruined gown tangled around her hips. Hair wild. Sweat glowing on her skin. No wolf has ever looked upon his mate and seen something more divine.

And no one will ever be permitted to look at her this way again.

She blinks up at me, heart open to me, and tilts her chin with aching slowness. A silent invitation. She’s not just baring her neck.

She’s baring everything.

I lower my massive head, my heavyweight body moving with deliberate, unshakable control. Every ounce of primal instinct urges me to strike fast, to claim her as mine.

My jaws open, the heat of my breath rolling over her collarbones like a storm. My fangs hover above the curve of her jaw where neck meets shoulder, but instead of marking her where tradition suggests, I move. I position my bite higher, angling until a canine grazes where her pulse flutters dangerously close to skin.

Right around the delicate column of her throat. Where it cannot be covered.

Where her beating heart will always be protected by my claim.

My bite will not be hidden. Not with clothing. Not with scarves. Not with time.

I close my jaws. The puncture is precise, terrible, deliberate. She screams, pain turning into release and pleasure.

Her body bows up once more as the bond rips through our blood in a second, searing wave. Lightning surges through our tether, linking us beneath the moon, underneath centuries of tradition. My teeth settle deeper, etching my claim into the very structure of her flesh.

Her hands fist in my thick fur, her mouth parted in an endless soundless gasp, and as her heartbeat stutters beneath her ribcage, the mark seals.

When I release her, crimson blood streaks in twin lines, painting her throat like rubies against ivory. A necklace only I can lay across her skin.

After admiring the sight she makes, I begin to clean her wound. My tongue, hot and velvet, drags over the punctures in long, careful strokes. Each motion helps the healing magic from the bond weave into place faster, closing the wounds until they’re nothing more than silver scars.

I don’t rush, even as my cock aches and drips with need to claim her body now that her soul is mine. I want to memorize this moment as she sighs underneath me.

My tongue makes one final pass,right beneath the jawline. And I rest my muzzle gently there, laying my head down over her pulse. I can feel it. Mine forever.

Chapter 12

Claire

He shifts above me.

From fur to flesh. Beast to man.

The magic ripples off him like heat from the earth, and I watch it unfold—bones cracking, shadows folding, sinew crawling under skin as he reforms from the monster that just marked me into the man who’s haunted my dreams and my nightmares for ten years.

Liam O’Reilly.

Still brutal. Still mine.

He kneels between my spread thighs, broad shoulders rising and falling like he’s forgotten how to breathe around the sight of me. Moonlight kisses every muscle and scar, turning his sweat-slicked skin to silver. Ink coils down his arms onto his hands and across his chest like scripture carved in sin—wolves, weapons, Celtic knots, dark symbols I don’t understand and don’t need to. They tell a story I’ll learn with my fingers later. For now, they just speak one truth: I’m his and he is mine.

His cock is hard and leaking at the tip, proud and obscene beneath the ink that crawls down his lower abs. One hand drags up the inside of my thigh, slow and claiming, while the other braces into the dirt beside my head.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else,” he says, voice low and ragged. There’s no humanity in it. No velvet. Just gravel and promise.

My breath catches.

“Every inch of you,” he continues, the weight of his cock dragging across my soaked entrance like a countdown. “Every thought about any other man. Every fucking memory that doesn’t include my hands, my mouth, my cock. I’m taking them. Erasing them.”

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