Page 46 of Fat Sold Mate
I can't answer in this form, can only nudge her gently with my muzzle, trying to convey my intent. After a moment's hesitation, she seems to understand, her shoulders slumping in reluctant acceptance.
“Fine,” she mutters. “But only because I'm cold.”
I settle beside her, curling my large wolf body around her human one. For a moment, she remains rigid, resistant to the intimacy of the position. Then, gradually, she relaxes into my warmth, her back pressing against my side, her head resting tentatively against my flank.
The bond between us hums with awareness, with a connection deeper than either of us is prepared to acknowledge. My wolf responds to her proximity with protective instinct, curling closer, a low rumble of contentment vibrating through my chest.
Time passes, measured only by our shared breathing and the slow emergence of stars through gaps in the vinecurtain. The physical connection between us—simple, necessary—feels more honest than any words we've exchanged since this nightmare began.
Just when I think she might have fallen asleep, a shudder runs through her body. At first, I think it's cold again, but then I catch the salt scent of tears, feel the tremors that have nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with grief finally breaking through her defenses.
Ruby cries silently at first, her body trembling with the effort of holding it in. Then a sob escapes, raw and wounded, followed by another, until she's weeping openly against my fur, fingers clutching handfuls of it like anchors in a storm.
“She's gone,” she chokes out between ragged breaths. “She saved us, and she's gone, and I couldn't—I didn't—”
The despair in her voice triggers something in me. Without conscious thought, I shift back to human form, the transformation quicker than usual, driven by instinct rather than deliberation. One moment I'm wolf, the next I'm man, my arms replacing fur as they wrap around Ruby's shaking form.
“I know,” I murmur against her hair, drawing her closer. “I know.”
She stiffens briefly at the change, then collapses against me, her defenses finally, completely shattered. We cling to each other, two broken people united in grief and something deeper, something neither of us has been willing to name.
“It should have been me,” she whispers against my chest. “She was so young, so brave—”
“Don't,” I interrupt, my voice rougher than intended. “Don't say that. Ever.”
I pull back just enough to see her face, to make sure she understands the absolute rejection of that thought. In the dim light, her eyes shine with tears, her lips parted around words that never form. Something shifts between us, the air suddenly charged with awareness that transcends grief.
When she lifts her hand to touch my face, the gesture holds a question I answer by leaning into her palm. Her fingertips trace the line of my jaw, tentative at first, then with growing confidence as neither of us pulls away.
The first kiss is hesitant, a mere brush of lips that nonetheless sends shockwaves through the bond between us. The second is hungrier, desperation giving way to something more primal as her arms wind around my neck, pulling me closer.
I groan against her mouth, my hands finding their way to her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as I pull her against me. The wall meets her back as I press forward, our bodies flush, heat radiating between us like wildfire. Her breath catches, then releases in a soft moan that ignites something feral within me.
“Ruby,” I breathe, my voice barely recognizable, rough with need.
She answers by capturing my mouth again, her tongue seeking mine with an urgency that matches the frantic beat of my heart. The taste of her—salt and sweetness and something uniquely her—floods my senses. My hand slides up her side, thumb brushing the underside of her breast, and she arches into the touch, silently begging for more.
The bond between us pulses, amplifying every sensation until I can no longer tell where my desire ends and hers begins. My fingers find the hem of her shirt, sliding underneath to touch bare skin. Her breath hitches as I trace patterns across herstomach, each circle moving higher until I'm cupping her breast fully, feeling her nipple harden against my palm.
“Please,” she whispers, a sound so desperate it nearly undoes me.
I tug her shirt over her head, revealing her to the moonlight filtering through the cave’s entryway. She's beautiful—scars and all—and I tell her so with murmured words against her collarbone as I taste the sweetness of her skin. Her hands aren't idle, pulling at my clothes until we're skin against skin, nothing between us but the heat of our bodies.
When my mouth closes around her nipple, she cries out, fingers tangling in my hair to hold me there. I worship her with lips and tongue, drawing patterns that make her writhe against me. Her legs part, allowing me to press my thigh between hers. She grinds against me, seeking friction, her head thrown back against the stone as pleasure overtakes her. I can feel her heart hammering against my chest, our pulses synchronizing as we move together.
“I need you,” she gasps, her hand sliding down between us to grasp me firmly. The sensation nearly brings me to my knees.
I lift her with ease, supernatural strength serving a very human desire as she wraps her legs around my waist. Her back still against the wall, I hold her there with one arm while the other works at the fastening of her jeans. She helps, wiggling and shifting until the fabric gives way.
When my fingers finally slip between her thighs, we both moan at the wetness I find there. She's slick and hot, her body telling me everything her words cannot. I stroke her slowly at first, but soon, the gentleness dissolves like morning mist under a burning sun.
My fingers dig deeper into her flesh, marking her as mine. She responds by raking her nails down my back, drawing blood that makes my wolf howl beneath my skin. I slam her harder against the cave wall, pinning her with my weight, one hand gripping her thigh with bruising force while the other tangles in her hair, pulling just enough to expose the vulnerable column of her throat.
I attack the tender skin there with teeth and tongue, sucking hard enough to leave marks that will linger for days. She'll wear my claim on her like a brand, visible to anyone who looks her way. The thought drives me wild, makes me rougher, more demanding as I thrust my fingers inside her with punishing intensity.
Her body bows against mine, trembling with pleasure, begging for more. I'm relentless, driving her higher with each stroke until she shatters around my fingers, her inner walls clenching rhythmically as she cries out my name. Her entire body convulses, head thrown back, exposing the vulnerable line of her throat as waves of pleasure crash through her. I can feel each pulse through our bond, the echo of her release threatening to trigger my own.
“Ruby,” I whisper, once she’s stopped writhing, pressing my forehead to hers as her breathing gradually steadies. Her eyes flutter open, pupils blown wide with lingering pleasure. “Do you want me to stop?”
