Page 63 of Broken Forced Mate
“I know what you need.”
She moves back up my body and positions herself above me, taking me inside her with a slowness that makes us both groan. The feeling of being surrounded by her heat, connected to her through both physical joining and the supernatural bond, overwhelms every sense I have.
But this time, instead of the frantic desperation of our first time, we move together. She sets a rhythm that builds pleasure gradually instead of racing toward release. This is about connection as much as satisfaction, about choosing each other instead of just satisfying biological needs.
I watch her face as she moves above me, memorizing the way her eyes flutter closed when I hit just the right spot, the way her lips part when pleasure builds. Her hands brace against my chest for leverage, and I can feel her heartbeat through our joined skin.
“I can feel you,” she whispers as she rides me. “Through the bond. I can feel how much you want me.”
The pace increases naturally as emotion drives us both toward the edge. She juts her hips forward, taking me deeper, and I can feel her getting close again through the bond we share.
She feels perfect around me.
“Come with me,” I request as I move one hand between us to touch her where we’re joined.
The additional sensation pushes her over the edge, and she cries out as her body clenches around me. The feeling of her coming apart triggers my own release, and I bury myself deep inside her as I fill her with everything I have.
We stay connected afterward, neither willing to break the physical link between us. The mate bond feels content and sated, like it’s the beginning of real emotional intimacy instead of just physical compatibility.
I can feel the change in the connection between us. Not completion, not yet, but progress. Another barrier down, another step toward something neither of us fully understands yet.
She lifts her head to look at me, and I see understanding in her eyes. We’ve made progress tonight, but we both know there’s still work to do. Trust to rebuild, wounds to heal, fears to overcome.
But we’ve taken a step in the right direction.
And maybe that’s enough for now.
The rest we’ll figure out after we survive what Thane Mordaunt has planned for us.
Chapter 18 - Raegan
The sound of someone rummaging through kitchen cabinets pulls me from my textbook at midnight.
I look up from the Llewelyn political theory I’ve been reading to distract myself from tomorrow’s strategy meeting. Wyn stands in the doorway, looking as exhausted as I feel. Dark circles ring his gray eyes, and his usually perfect posture sags with fatigue.
“Sorry,” he says when he notices me at the small table. “Didn’t know you were still awake.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” I close the book and watch as he moves to the cabinets and starts pulling out ingredients. “What are you doing?”
“Making dinner. Late dinner.” He sets a jar of pasta sauce on the counter. “Realized neither of us has eaten since this morning.”
He’s right. The day became a marathon of intelligence briefings and tactical discussions that left no time for meals. My stomach growls in response to his observation.
“You don’t have to cook for me,” I tell him.
“I know.” He fills a pot with water and sets it on the stove. “But I’m making enough for two anyway.”
Something about the way he moves around the kitchen catches my attention. He pulls ingredients from cabinets but pauses and then glances at the ones I’ve moved to the front of the rack and opts to use those instead. Small adjustments I’ve made to his space over the past few weeks—things he’s noticed and accommodated without comment.
“Garlic bread?” he asks as he pulls out a box of them from the freezer.
“How did you know I like garlic bread?”
“You always order it when we get takeout from that Italian place.”
The observation surprises me. I didn’t realize he was watching my food preferences during the few awkward meals we’ve shared over the past few weeks.
“Sure,” I agree, setting my book aside. “Need help?”
