Page 125 of Pack Frenzy
His lips crash into mine again, softer this time, but deeper, hotter, like he’s trying to swallow my soul. The room tilts, and I’m drowning in the scrape of his stubble, the catch of his breath, the way his tongue claims mine like he’s starving for it.
His hand finds the clasp of my bra at my back, and the cool air rushes over my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his palm as it cups my breast, grounding me, owning me.
“Okay?” he murmurs, his voice rough, like gravel dragged over silk.
“Green, green light.” I nod, my voice shaky, breathless. “Keep going.”
Every move is patient, reverent, like I’m a goddess he’s worshiping. His mouth is everywhere—my throat, my jaw, the corner of my lips. I can’t take it any more. I want, I need him inside me.
I grab his face, pull him to me, and kiss him to show him how much.
In our kiss, I taste salt, air, and the steady hum of his restraint unraveling, and I want more. I wanteverything.
The mattress dips under him, his forearms bracketing my head, and I swear I can feel the effort it takes him not to fucking lose it. He’s shaking, and I love it. I love the power I have over him, with him.
“I’m right here,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
His hand traces the edge of my panties like a question, and I answer by lifting my hips. He slides the lace down—slow, careful—fingertips skimming my thighs, and I swear I ignite just from the light touch.
He curses under his breath. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
His gaze drags up my legs, molten and hungry, before he bends to kiss the inside of my thigh.
Then he settles between my thighs,the world shrinking to the places we’re connected.
He moves—slow, steady—sliding into me inch by fucking inch until I can’t breathe. The stretch burns, but it’s the good kind of burn, the kind that melts into heat, into pressure, into fullness.
I grab his shoulders, hold on, and claw at his back as he bottoms out. He’s deep, so fucking deep, and I feel every goddamn inch of him.
A low sound tears out of him. “You feel so fucking good.”
Rowan’s jaw clenches; his eyes flicker shut. He stays still, letting me adjust, letting me breathe through the stretch, the shock, the fucking pleasure that blooms like a wildfire in my core. I run my hands down his back, nails scratching the line of his spine until he exhales against my neck, ragged and broken.
“Jess,” he says, and it’s not just my name—it’s a vow, a fucking promise.
“Don’t stop,” I manage, my voice shredded, desperate.
He doesn’t. The rhythm starts slow, careful, building heat by degrees. The sound of us fills the room—our breaths, our heartbeats, the creak of the bed as we move together.
Each thrust is a reminder that he’s here with me, and I tighten my legs around him.
His gaze fractures—hunger and restraint colliding.
Then he kisses me again, softer now, deeper, and the room tilts around the pull of it as he pumps in and out of me.
I kiss his chest, his jaw and something in him breaks loose. The control, the distance, all of it.
His pace roughens, not careless but real, and I meet it with the same urgency. We move until thought dissolves, until there’s only pulse and pressure and the breathless edge of too much.
The world dissolves into heat and motion, and for one wild, reckless second I think—I love you.
The thought hits too hard, too soon. I bite it back, but it’s already out there, pounding in my pulse, daring him to hear it.
CHAPTER 30
JESS
Rowan buries his face in my neck, whispering my name like he’s reminding himself that this isn’t a wet dream. That I chose this, him. Every second, every breath, until the rest of the world fades and there’s only the sound of us.
