Page 126 of Pack Frenzy
Each slow thrust winds tighter, friction and pressure building until pleasure claws its way up my spine and breaks me open.
“Jess…” His voice cracks on my name. The way he says it—soft, wrecked—turns it into a kind of prayer, and I want to trust in it.
His words that follow are almost a groan. “Gonna—fuck?—”
His knot swells, stretching me until I can barely breathe, until I feel him everywhere. The heat that floods me isn’t just release—it’s claiming from the inside out, and I don’t want to turn away from any of it. Not him. Not this.
The sound he makes—half growl, half breath—vibrates against my throat, and it hits me how rare it is to hear Rowan lose control. It’s messy, human, perfect, and makes my orgasm crash over me.
My body clenches around him, instinct taking over, answering the steady pulse of his heat. The fullness pins me to him, fire blooming where we’re locked together until every nerve feels raw and alive.
The room fills with our scent—sandalwood and rain and something sweeter, musk and salt and skin.
Sweat slicks between us, his breath rough against my throat, the faint tremor in his arms proof he’s holding on as hard as I am.
The knot throbs once, twice, locking us together as his hot come jets into me. My body shudders around him, aftershocks rolling through until all that’s left is pulse and breath.
Our skin sticks together, slick with sweat and heat.
I drag my fingers through his hair, the strands damp at the nape of his neck. His weight is grounding, not trapping. Maybe this is what safety’s supposed to feel like—heavy enough to keep you from drifting, light enough to breathe.
The kind that tells me I’m here, I’m real, and for once, no one’s judging.
He lifts his head, eyes dark and unguarded, and for a second I see something break open in him. Not weakness—just truth.
My hand finds the scar through his eyebrow. He leans into my touch, and something in my chest twists hard.
“You’re mine, Jess.” His voice rumbles through me, low and certain.
It shatters me in a way I didn’t expect. Because part of me wants to argue—to remind him I belong to myself. But another part, the part still shaking from his touch, wants to believe him. I should pull back, should remind him I don’t belong to anyone, but God, the sound of“mine”makes something starving in me sit up and listen.
“Yours?” I say, one eyebrow arching up. My body is still humming with the aftermath of our connection, but my mind isalready spinning, already analyzing. “That sounds an awful lot like you think you own me, Rowan.”
He doesn’t flinch. His gaze stays steady, the way it always does when he’s sure of something.
“Not own,” he says quietly. “Belong.”
The word sinks deep, curling under my ribs like a secret.
“Belonging’s dangerous,” I whisper.
“So’s pretending you don’t,” he answers. Then his lips brush mine, soft enough to undo me completely.
“You feel that?” he murmurs, his hand pressing lightly over my heart. “That rhythm? It’s been in sync with mine since the first day I saw you.”
I want to tell him hearts don’t sync; they just survive. But mine seems to keep trying to prove me wrong, and it scares the hell out of me.
“It’s not just about control, Jess,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin. “It’s about finding someone who sees you, all of you, and still wants you. Someone who makes you feel alive, even when everything else is chaos. And still stays.”
The words hit too close. I want to believe him, but belief feels like a luxury I can’t afford. So I do what I always do—mask, deflect, rebuild.
“It’s just sex,” I murmur, though every nerve in my body calls bullshit. But if I call it that, it can’t gut me. If it’s just sex, I get to keep the pieces when he leaves.
He chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through his chest and into mine. “Just sex?” he echoes, his hand sliding down from my heart, over my ribs, to rest on my hip. His touch is gentle, but there’s an underlying possessiveness.
“Then I’ll wait,” he says simply. “Until you’re ready. Until you see that belonging doesn’t mean giving up control—it means choosing where you want to be.”
Time loses shape while we stay joined, skin cooling, breaths slowing. When his knot finally softens and releases, the separation feels like a loss.
