Page 41 of The Reaper's Vow
The loss of his warmth leaves me cold despite the fire still coursing through my veins. I watch him stalk toward his dresser, his movements sharp with barely contained energy. The muscles in his back flex as he yanks open drawers, and I can't help but admire the Norse tattoos that cover his shoulders and spine.
“That was...” I struggle to find words for what just happened between us. “I've never felt anything like that.”
“Neither have I.”
More intense is an understatement. I can still feel echoes of his pleasure mixing with mine, a phantom sensation that makes my skin tingle. The reality of what just happened settles over me as I watch him turn away. My body still hums with aftershocks. What terrifies me most isn't what he did, it's how desperately I wanted it. How completely I surrendered to a man I barely know.
Damien pauses at the bathroom door, his broad shoulders tense. Without turning around, he says, “You should get dressed. We need to leave in an hour.”
Then he's gone, the bathroom door closing behind him with a soft click. The shower turns on again seconds later.
I lie there, limbs heavy with satisfaction yet somehow still aching for more. My wolf whines, unhappy with his departure, with the unfinished nature of what just happened between us.
Then I feel it—his pleasure surging through our connection. The sensation is so unexpected, so intimate that I sit up, pressing my hand against the mark as if that could somehow block the transmission. But there's no stopping it. I can feel him touching himself. In the shower. Because of me.
My cheeks burn as I realize what's happening. Every sensation, his need, his pleasure, the roughness of his hand. I'm no longer just in my body; I'm in his too, feeling the hot water cascading down his skin, the coil of tension building in his core, the desperation driving his movements.
My wolf stretches beneath my skin, purring with satisfaction at this unexpected intimacy. I should give him privacy, but I can't tear myself from the connection. Each stroke, each tightening of his grip sends echoes of pleasure ricochetingthrough me until I'm pressing my thighs together again, my own need rebuilding despite his earlier attentions.
I can feel his frustration, his desperate attempt to release the pressure without binding us together. Images flash through my mind. His hand wrapped around his length, head thrown back as water sluices down his powerful body.
When his release finally comes, it crashes through me like a tidal wave. I gasp, my back arching as phantom pleasure courses through me. For a moment, I'm both in my body and his, experiencing his release as if it were my own. The intensity leaves me breathless, trembling on the bed as the feeling slowly dims to a more manageable hum.
The shower cuts off, and I scramble to get dressed, trying to block out what I just felt, and praying to the gods that I can make it through meeting his Alpha without thinking about it.
Karina
I'm drowning in his scent with every step we take. Pine and danger wrapping around me like invisible chains, pulling me closer even as I fight to maintain distance between us.
“Don't speak unless spoken to,” Damien growls, his hand at the small of my back guiding me toward the imposing main house. “Keep your eyes down, but not too down. Looking at his feet is an insult, looking him in the eye is a challenge.”
“So where exactly am I supposed to look? His kneecaps?” I mutter, trying to ignore how his touch sends electricity racing through my system.
“His shoulder. Or his hands. Just not his eyes or his throat. Don't bare your neck to him.”
“Why would I?—”
“It's a submissive gesture. One that females use to invite attention from alphas.” His fingers press harder against my back. “You're mine. Not his.”
The casual claim makes my wolf purr even as I bristle. “I'm not yours. Not completely.”
“Three days, kitten. Less than that now, but until then, you're still marked as mine.”
I swallow hard, memories of this morning flooding back with vivid clarity—his mouth between my thighs, his fingers working me to heights I never knew existed, the way his pleasure echoed when he finished in the shower. I know he can smell the shift in my scent because his nostrils flare, pupils dilating slightly.
“Keep those thoughts in check,” he mutters. “Your scent shifts when you remember.”
“How am I supposed to rein in my thoughts?” I hiss back, mortified that my body betrays me so completely.
“Think about something else. Anything else.”
Easy for him to say.
“Anselm is testing us,” Damien says as we approach the heavy wooden doors of the main house. “He knows what a newly bonded pair goes through—the hunger, the need. He’s counting on us slipping.”
“Why would he want that?”
“Opportunity. He’s been pressuring Elias to settle down for years.”
