Page 83 of The Reaper's Vow
I pull out of her, ignoring her whimper of protest, and flip her onto her stomach with hands that shake from restraint. “On your knees.”
She complies instantly, rising onto all fours. The sight of her like this—vulnerable, exposed, waiting for me—nearly breaks what little control I have left.
I grab a fistful of her hair, wrapping it around my hand until I can pull her head back, exposing the elegant curve of her throat. Her gasp of surprise turns into a moan of pleasure as I position myself behind her.
“Mine,” I growl against her ear as I enter her in one powerful thrust.
The angle is deeper this way. My grip on her hair tightens, keeping her head pulled back as I set a punishing rhythm.
“Yes,” she gasps, pushing back against me, meeting each thrust with equal force. “Harder.”
I comply, my free hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. I can feel the beast inside me taking over, my control slipping with each thrust. I growl against her skin, teeth grazing the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.
“Damien,” she moans, my name sounding like a prayer on her lips. “Please?—”
My hips snap forward with brutal force, driving into her so deeply I feel her shudder around me. Through our bond, I experience her pleasure layered over mine. A feedback loop ofsensation that threatens to drive me insane. I feel everything. Her surrender, her desperation, the way her body stretches to accommodate mine.
“You...feel...so fucking...good,” I snarl, each word punched out with a deep, driving stroke. “Gripping me...milking me...taking it all...just like that.”
She pushes back against me, taking me deeper, and I nearly lose my mind. My fingers dig into her hip, sure to leave bruises that will bloom purple by morning. Good. I want everyone to see. Want them to know.
“I'm close,” she gasps, her inner walls clenching around me in a way that makes my vision blur. “Please, I?—”
I don't let her finish the thought. My teeth sink into her shoulder, not breaking skin this time but applying enough pressure to send shockwaves through our shared connection. The sensation explodes between us transcends flesh and blood.
She comes apart beneath me with a cry that echoes off the walls, her body convulsing as her orgasm crashes through both of us simultaneously. I feel it like lightning in my veins—her release triggering mine with devastating intensity. My vision whites out as I empty myself inside her, my hips jerking erratically as wave after wave of pleasure tears through me.
I collapse over her, my chest pressed to her back as we both struggle to breathe.
“Jesus,” she pants beneath me, her body still trembling with aftershocks.
I press a kiss to her shoulder, tasting salt and satisfaction on her skin. “I need to call Elias.”
“The world can wait five more minutes,” she says, turning in my arms until she can face me. Her hair is wild, her lips swollen, and there's a satisfied smirk on her lips that makes my chest tight with something I can't name.
I smooth the tangled strands away from her face, marveling at how she can look so fierce and vulnerable at the same time. “Five minutes,” I agree, though we both know it's a lie. With her looking at me like that, I could stay buried in this bed for days.
But the reality of what’s coming slams back into me like ice water—Lockhart’s people at our borders, the plan already in motion, and the very real possibility that tomorrow night could end with Karina in mortal danger.
My wolf snarls at the thought, pressing hard against my skin, demanding to take control. I force him down, knowing instinct won’t win this fight. Strategy will.
“I have to call Elias first,” I mutter, pulling away from her warmth with reluctance clawing at my chest. “If Anselm refuses to let us use Crimson Howl, we’re back to square one.”
Karina pushes upright, the sheet falling to her waist, hair mussed, and my mark gleaming bright on her throat. Even like this, she radiates defiance. Reckless. Unyielding. Mine.
“Will he agree to it?” she asks.
“Elias will. His father...” I shake my head, scrolling through my contacts. “Anselm doesn’t gamble unless the odds are rigged in his favor. This plan has too many cracks for his taste.”
I find Elias’s number and press call. The line rings three times before he finally answers, his breath rough but steady.
“About fucking time. Please tell me you’re not dead.”
“Not yet,” I say, mouth twisting. “But I might be after the favor I’m about to ask.”
“Favor?” His laugh turns into a ragged cough. “Let me guess—you need me to bury a body? Or did you finally decide to run off with your new girl and need a safe house?”
Despite everything, a reluctant smile tugs at me. Only Elias could make a joke with one foot in the grave. It’s why we’ve always worked as friends.
