8. Safe

8

Safe

It only took the human nurse at the medical centre two hours to ascertain that Isobel’s big toe was fractured. She fixed it to the toe beside it, using her second toe as a splint, and pumped Isobel full of painkillers. She gave her a list of all the activities Isobel needed to avoid in the following weeks as she healed, and she nodded along with all the instructions as though she had some intention of following them, even though she didn’t.

She didn’t have time for a fracture, or a break, or anything else that might go wrong. She couldn’t afford a single day off, let alone six to eight weeks. Oscar was waiting for her when she got out, loitering by one of the hedges, his face bruised and a scowl on his lips.

Elijah had driven her to the restricted, official area in one of the golf carts after they escaped the Stone Dahlia, but he hadn’t been allowed to accompany her into the medical centre.

“Do you need the nurse?” She eyed Oscar carefully, wondering why he was there. She had told Elijah she would text him once she was released, so she hadn’t expected anyone to be waiting.

“Just you,” Oscar said, so low she almost didn’t catch it. He began walking toward the line of golf carts, and she fell into step beside him. His silence was heavier than usual. It felt like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

They still hadn’t spoken about … the incident. The mating tie. The cock lock. The ferality. There was … a lot to unpack. Oscar didn’t seem like he was an easy person to traumatise—not when chaos shadowed his every step—but turning feral inside his mate while all nine of his best friends witnessed his lack of self-control might just do the trick.

“Are you cold?” he asked. He didn’t wait for her answer; he just took her hand and slid it into his jacket pocket. He pushed his fingers between hers, locking their palms together, but he did it slowly, like he was scared of hurting her.

She was dosed up on medication and enjoying the quiet, empty campus. It was a Friday night, almost three in the morning. There were no staff, no professors, no officials, no students.

But they weren’t alone.

The whole world was watching. The moment felt private, but it was anything but. The darkness and silence attempted to cloy them into opening up, spilling their secrets and exposing their vulnerabilities.

How nice it would have been, if it hadn’t been a trick.

The weight of exhaustion suddenly crashed into her, descending over her mind like a dark, thick fog. She swayed into Oscar, and he stopped immediately, pulling her hand out of his pocket and scooping her into his arms. He held her like she was made of porcelain—something she wasn’t quite used to from him. He carried her to one of the golf carts and carefully deposited her into the passenger seat.

He didn’t say a word as he drove them home. Things between them weren’t exactly awkward, and the silence wasn’t truly silent, either. The space between them vibrated with unspoken words so loud it was almost overwhelming. It made it difficult to decide how to start or when to start speaking.

Tonight likely wasn’t the night. It was temping to dive into her issues with each of the Alphas the second she had a spare, almost-private moment with them, but sometimes she needed to just let it go, even if only temporarily. Sometimes, she had to let go of the urgency of her existence and just let things be . They would still be just as urgent tomorrow, or the day after. It was okay for him to hold her hand so carefully and for her to know why, and for them to sit peacefully in their vibrating silence, because she knew they had each other, and the safety of that knowledge eased the edge of urgency that nipped at her heels all the time.

“I’m starving,” she muttered just as they reached the dorm.

“You and everyone else.” His voice was so gravelled she would have believed he hadn’t spoken in weeks.

He plucked her out of the cart and carried her up to the dorm, setting her down before the front door. He knew she would want to walk in there and show the others she was okay, if any of them were still up. Elijah would be, at least.

She gave Oscar a small smile, which seemed to pull the focus of his dark eyes. His face was so frighteningly blank. She squeezed his hand, a silent “We can talk about it later” passing between them, and something eased in his expression. An infinitesimal softening.

Warmth trickled through her at the non-verbal communication. She hadn’t ever been close enough to another person to talk to them without actually talking . Not even her mother. And yet she could now do it with several of the Alphas. Gabriel and Elijah, certainly. Theodore, Kilian, and Cian, to varying degrees. And surprisingly, even Moses, though his non-verbal cues were usually little challenges or moments of amusement to rile her up.

The others were more difficult, but she didn’t know why. Kalen, Mikel, and Niko had their reasons to be more guarded, she supposed.

Oscar held open the door for her and they walked into the kitchen where the others were still awake and hanging around the small kitchen. They must have also been hungry because the counter was overflowing with snacks. They should have all been in bed, snatching every extra minute of sleep they could get, but tonight had been hard.

For all of them, by the looks of it.

She had thought Oscar was bruised up, but it was nothing on Theodore and Moses, who were sporting black eyes, busted lips, and cuts and scrapes over every inch of skin she could see.

Isobel halted in her steps, her heart lurching into her throat. There was no way Ironside would air this footage—or at least they would cut it to hide all the injuries because they didn’t want anyone asking questions about the Stone Dahila, but it was still absolutely forbidden to mention the secret club on camera, so she didn’t comment on it out loud, speaking through the bond instead.

What exactly do these fights entail?

To her surprise, Mikel actually answered her instead of brushing off the question for another time when they weren’t so obviously exhausted.

There are three levels, he explained. Both in terms of the architecture, and in terms of the fighting style. The first level is open to all spectators and all entrants, Gifted or human. Some assholes just like to beat up Gifted, so that’s what they pay money for on this level.

Sounds awful , she said, sighing softly.

Kilian slid off his stool and gripped her gently about the waist, sitting her in his vacated spot. He wordlessly slipped off her shoe and surveyed her foot as the others watched. The skin around her toe was swollen and mottled with bruising. He lowered her foot again gently, and then circled her to press his chest against her back, giving her something warm and hard to lean against.

She sent a wave of gratitude to him through the bond, and he wound his warm, muscled arms around her waist, squeezing softly in answer.

She reached for a bag of pretzels. “Where did all this come from?” And then she added in her head, What happens on the second level?

She had been hoping that Mikel and Kalen would put off their lecturing about her foot until she’d had time to sleep, and was grateful that they seemed to be holding their tongues.

“We all hide food in our room where we can eat crap behind Mikki’s back,” Moses said, stormy eyes fixed on her tongue as she licked the salt on a pretzel. He watched until she crunched down on it, and then he shook his head like he was dislodging an errant thought.

Mikel ignored his statement, sitting on the kitchen counter and drinking a beer. He was the one who answered her more private question.

The second level is one storey down. There’s a private elevator. It’s where the more serious fights happen. Gifted and humans both compete, but this time, the humans can actually lose. People bet a lot of money on these fights.

And the third level? she asked.

The same deal, but with knives, Mikel answered. And double the money .

She winced and quickly stuffed another pretzel into her mouth. Which level do you guys fight on?

Take a guess . Mikel fixed her with a slightly amused expression, his heavily scarred face taunting her.

She didn’t want to answer, so she hunted through the snack cornucopia for a packet of Red Vines. Then, finally, she feigned ignorance of the fact that someone was clearly taking regular swipes at Mikel’s face with a sharp object and said, Level two?

He grinned at her, taking a long pull of his beer. She watched his throat working, mildly hypnotised.

Mikel fights on the third level. Theodore took pity on her. Oscar moves between the second and third level. Today, Moses, Niko, and I all fought on the second level. The men down there are all professionals, and they all want to fight an Alpha because even though we aren’t allowed to use our abilities on them, we’re still innately stronger, faster, and usually bigger.

She chewed on her lip and abandoned the red vines, ripping open a chocolate bar instead. She wanted to demand to know why it looked like he and Moses had been run over, but it wasn’t like she had any other suggestions for how to wear out their aggression. With the bond damaged enough that they were all under threat of suddenly devolving into crazed, violent monsters, she had to admit that the need to mitigate aggression was severe. Kalen and Mikel had managed things so far without anyone getting caught or seriously injured; she just needed to trust that they had more experience with ferality than she did.

She let the conversation in her head drop.

They ate and lazily joked for the cameras, clinking their glasses in celebration of Isobel’s successful first performance, Elijah’s quick thinking, and Niko’s success—he was the only new fighter to leave the ring uninjured—only acknowledging their Stone Dahlia successes in their heads and keeping things light-hearted until they couldn’t keep their eyes open anymore, and then they all dragged themselves to bed.

But Isobel didn’t go to bed.

She showered and then paced around her room, her painkillers wearing off until she was limping again. The pain was grounding for a while, but then it just became annoying, and she flopped down onto her bed, her foot throbbing and burning.

She huffed, got back up again, popped two more pills, and opened the Eleven app on her phone, clicking the button to loop the cameras for a few minutes. She left her room and crept downstairs, slipping into Kalen’s office. There was just enough moonlight filtering through the almost transparent curtains for her to see by as she moved to the door to his living quarters. She knocked, but he didn’t answer. She waited, shifting her weight to ease the discomfort in her foot, before finally trying the handle. It was unlocked. She opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind her and leaning up against the heavy wood as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark room.

Her heart pounded out of her chest.

She should have just texted him, but she didn’t actually want to talk about it: the sexy, bitchy, terrifying elephant in the room. She wanted to relegate Yulia Novikov to a future problem for future Isobel, but the bond wouldn’t allow her to rest. The urge to be near him was so overwhelming, she almost suspected it was a side effect. She had felt like she was crawling out of her skin ever since she got back from the medical centre, the sensation only easing when he was nearby, when she could see him and scent him and know that he was with her and not Yulia .

Not that he would be with Yulia.

But her bond didn’t seem to care.

She crept toward the big bed, the soles of her feet brushing over the rugs scattered across the marble floors. From the shadowed outlines of the furniture, it seemed his room was almost identical to the bedrooms upstairs.

She wished she could just stop , but her body kept moving without her permission until she was perched gingerly on the edge of his bed, and then suddenly, the desperate itching and scratching disappeared, leaving her with only the sound of her hammering heart and Kalen’s deep, even breathing.

She winced, laying back, still three feet away from his body on the massive mattress. She carefully laid her head back. They weren’t even sharing a pillow.

This was okay, right?

Maybe she could just close her eyes for a little bit.

“Why are you sneaking into my bed, Carter?” His voice was a deep rumble, only slightly husky and not at all sleep roughened. He had been awake the whole time.

“I’m sneaking onto it,” she whispered, staring straight at the ceiling. “Not into it.” She dared to pat the covers she was lying on top of.

Kalen had never believed in the Gifted gods—not until he had been roped into an eleven-way bond centring around a Sigma so tiny, it was a miracle she could handle one of them, let alone ten of them.

And now he was sure the gods were sadistic fucking assholes, because things between him and Isobel were complicated. But what he felt for her was distressingly simple, and never more simple than when she delicately, almost fearfully laid herself out on his bed.

He had sensed her coming. Had prayed for her to choose someone else. But there she was, breathing shallowly, almost like she was trying to hide from him, her scent needy and fretful, her voice a husky whisper that travelled straight to his gut. He was probably going to do something he should regret, and he probably wasn’t going to regret it even for a second.

He just hoped there wasn’t a Gifted hell, because he was heading straight there.

One second, Isobel was staring at the ceiling, and the next, Kalen’s shadowed face was blocking everything out. He had rolled on top of her, but he was holding his body off hers. He just wanted to examine her. His eyes—one amber-gold, the other multi-hued—crawled over her features.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded in a deep, reverberating voice.

“Yulia told you to break up with Josette, and you did it without question.” The words tumbled out of her before she had the chance to examine them. “Well, you were about to do it anyway.”

“Mmhm,” he confirmed in a rumble that she almost felt against her chest.

She wished his face didn’t look so stern, even in the dark, in the privacy of his own bedroom … despite that privacy being momentarily violated. His fierce eyes were narrowed, his squared jaw flexing, his firm lips tugged down. As usual, their bond was shut down from his side. She was sure he could feel her, but she sensed nothing from him at all.

“So what if she tells you to date her instead?” Isobel demanded, though her voice sounded small and vulnerable. She quickly added, in a harder tone, “What if she orders you to fuck her?”

“She’ll be in for a rude shock,” Kalen murmured, settling some of his weight over her. “I’m willing to play the game, but nobody gets to tell me what to do with my body—or my cock.”

“You’ll tell her no?” she asked, her hard tone wobbling.

“I’ll tell her she’ll have better luck with a nail-studded bat.”

“Gruesome.” She made a strangled sound as he lowered further, nudging her legs apart with one muscular thigh. “Graphic. P-positively a-apocalyptic.”

“Is that why you’re in my bed, princess?” His nose ran up the curve of her neck, his hips settling between her thighs, a deeper rumble vibrating from his chest and all the way through hers.

“Wait, this is your bed?” She gasped, her hands flying to his sides to grip his shirt involuntarily. Except he wasn’t wearing one. Her fingertips brushed his bare skin, finding tightly wrapped muscles and burning heat. She curled her hands into shaking fists, unsure what to do with them.

He chuckled, suddenly rolling to his back, bundling her onto his chest. “I’ll let it slide this time. But if you do it again without permission, you’ll be punished.”

She settled against him, sinking into him as though he was a cloud of feathers instead of a granite slab. “Just let me stay for a minute,” she mumbled as his rich, heady vanilla scent sank into her pores. “Kalen?”

“Isobel.”

“I miss flying.”

If she thought his body was hard before, it was nothing on how it felt now. He tightened like a bowstring, and she thought she felt him poking into her hip. She shifted in the pretence of getting more comfortable, centring her body on top of his. He definitely had an erection. It pushed up against her stomach, digging into her softness. As she settled back down again, she felt it throb.

And pretended she didn’t.

“What do you miss about it?” he demanded roughly. “Tell me.”

“I just liked that for an hour, I didn’t have to worry about anything. It was all up to you. Whether I got hurt, whether I felt nice, whether I even remembered the day I’d had, or the week. I liked how it made my body come alive—like dancing, but someone else was doing all the effort, and it was such a relief to cry after. It just made me feel better. Is that horrible?”

“No, baby,” he purred, his hands landing on her hips, large and strong and sure, though it seemed there was the slightest tremor of wavering control in his fingertips. “Do you want to fly again?”

Her body melted at his purring tone and the pet name he had called her. “So badly.”

“Okay. I’ll think about it.” His grip tightened on her hips, pulling her an inch up his body and pressing her back down. It rubbed her over his erection and wrung a full-body shiver out of her.

“It doesn’t have to be s-sexual,” she said, her breath misting over his warm skin. “It can be just like it was in the club.”

“That was a performance.” He pulled in a deep, rattling breath. “If you come to me of your own volition and ask me to tie you up in the privacy of my own room, it won’t be the same; you know that.”

She felt something wet against the silk of her pyjamas. His swollen head was leaking.

“Kalen?”

“Isobel,” he groaned in frustration.

“Are you wearing pyjamas?”

“No.”

“Boxers?”

“The only thing I’m wearing is you.”

She swallowed. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he affirmed, though it wasn’t mocking, just a quiet acknowledgement.

“The only reason I’m not fucking you through the mattress right now is because your alarm will go off before I’m done, and you really need to get at least two hours of fucking sleep.”

She squirmed, liquid heat rushing through her body. He was leaking against her silk-covered stomach, and her panties were soaked. He was so hard that she was probably going to have a bruise tomorrow from where he was pressing into her. There was absolutely no way she was going to sleep anytime soon, despite her exhaustion.

He must have felt her discomfort and frustration through the bond because he suddenly switched his grip, sitting her upright over his hips. “Let me move you,” he murmured, shifting her over his thick length, the sensation shooting a bolt of desire all the way through her. Her hands landed on his flexing stomach as he grounded her in the movement, guiding her hips in a slow drag of pressure, back and forth. She could see the shadowed head of his cock peeking out from her shorts whenever he shifted her back. It was swollen and flushed with colour, twitching in need.

“Hands behind you,” he growled. “Fold them behind your back.”

She did, and he suddenly sat up, dragging up her pyjama top. He reached behind her, using it to tie her wrists together as his lips skimmed along her neck. “Just trust me,” he whispered, his teeth scraping below her ear. “Just focus on me. Let go of everything else for now.”

She closed her eyes, and he tightened his improvised knot. With her eyes closed, that subtle pull in her shoulders felt so familiar. The strong hands now dragging down her front, over her breasts, barely grazing her nipples … those hands were like a dream. She wasn’t flying, but it was close .

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his lips pressing against hers in a hard kiss, a possessive stamp. “You’re so perfect.”

He fell back, his hands returning to her hips, and he began to guide her again, sending wave after wave of delicious sensation through her, building the tension inside her body with every drag and shift and throb of the flesh straining up between her thighs. It was almost like a dance, this slow, controlled sway, and she sank into the rhythm, loving that she didn’t have to be in control. She didn’t even have to think. Kalen had meticulously studied, worshipped, and manipulated her body night after night until he knew it like the back of his hand. It was so natural for her to put herself into his hands and trust that he would only give her pleasure, even when it hurt or ached.

He knew when she was getting close, even though this wasn’t a usual part of their performance. He changed his grip again, filling his hands with her ass and squeezing tightly, wringing her out over his length until she was crying out and he was forced to flip them, his hand covering her mouth as he rocked against her, drawing out the aftershocks of her orgasm. He pulled back, ripped off her pyjama shorts and panties, and then leaned over her, tugging at the hard flesh that had been tormenting her.

“Don’t move,” he growled, even though her arms were stuck behind her back, and he was wedged between her legs.

“Cover me,” she begged … because her absolute insanity was already established.

He swore, and she felt ropes of liquid land over her breasts and stomach before there was a slight pressure at her entrance, her soaked sex trying to grip him as he pressed forward, anchoring her hips to the bed with his big hands to restrict her movement as she felt the splash of heat inside her, without him even entering her. She froze, fear bolting through her, because apparently she wasn’t over the whole Oscar incident yet, but he didn’t press in. He trembled there, on the point of spearing her open, his come already inside her.

“Fucking hell, Isobel.” There was a hint of disbelief in his voice. He pulled back, sliding off the bed and stalking away, disappearing into his bathroom. When he returned, it was with a soft, warm cloth, and after untying her, he gently cleaned her without uttering a word, the dampness of the water and the care of his movements sending goosebumps racing across her skin.

When he returned to the bed, he dragged her under the covers and tucked her into his body, his nose brushing over her neck and nuzzling into her hair, his vanilla scent so rich it almost tasted like chocolate melting on her tongue.

“You were scared?” he whispered, hand spreading over her stomach, holding her tightly to his body.

“Only for a second,” she admitted.

“We’ll work on it,” he promised.

She sighed contentedly, lulled to sleep almost immediately, but the sleep was painfully short-lived.

Kalen was pulling her into a sitting position in no time, dragging an oversized shirt over her head as she tried to turn herself boneless in the hope he would give up and leave her to sleep. He carried her back to her room and tucked her into bed, planting a quick kiss against her lips that she guessed was supposed to be a brief parting.

Except he lingered.

She sighed against his lips, and he groaned, his tongue meeting hers. He was breathing heavily when he jerked away from her, his hand dropping over her stomach. He just stood there, and she pouted but didn’t bother opening her eyes. She was happy in this blissful, vanilla-soaked space of half-sleep.

His fingers danced lower, and her eyelids began to flutter.

“No,” he whispered. “Keep them closed. I never want to forget how you look right now.”

She thought she heard him snatch up her phone from the bedside table, and then his fingers were on her stomach again, slipping down to the hem of the shirt he had dressed her in. He pulled it up. Slowly . He bunched it up above her breasts, and then over her face, blinding her even though she had kept her eyes closed.

“For privacy,” he whispered, the bed dipping with his weight as he planted a knee either side of her thighs.

Holy shit . He was taking pictures of her.

Her heart raced, goosebumps pebbling over her skin. He gently circled his thumb over one of her nipples and then the other, teasing them to tight points, and then he gripped one of her breasts aggressively, squeezing tightly.

He released her, pushing the shirt further up over her face until she felt her chin slip out from the collar, air hitting her lips.

“This mouth …” He groaned, his lips hovering over hers. He kissed her like he was trying not to. Like he couldn’t help himself. Like kissing her was all he thought about. She moaned and lazily writhed against him, but didn’t dare try to free her arms from the tangle of his shirt or try to lower them. He moaned in heavy approval, pulling away from her mouth and tugging the shirt back down over her chin again.

And then he was shifting down the bed, roughly shoving her thighs apart and tunnelling two of his fingers into her gripping channel. She huffed in surprise, but then her breath hitched as he slipped his fingers free and used her own moisture to smoothly glide his touch over her clit, teasing her in soft, slow circles that had her hips shifting toward him.

“Can you come like this, princess?” He pulled the shirt up to free her mouth again without pausing in his slow, torturous touches.

“I t-think so,” she whispered.

He grunted, and she felt something hot and hard press against her entrance. He pushed forward and she felt the stretch of his cock—his oversized —cock trying to part her lips.

“Just breathe,” he whispered. He must have set the phone aside, because both of his hands were suddenly smoothing along her hips, massaging her thighs.

They were …

He was …

Kalen West was about to fuck her . She could feel the snap of his control, the vibrating tension that shivered through the room, jolting her sleepy body into sudden alertness. Her arms began to move, but his sharp voice stopped her.

“No. If you look, you’ll panic.”

Her mouth was still exposed, but it made her ragged and choppy breaths sound far too loud. She tried to wiggle away from him, but his hands gripped her hips, thumbs digging into her hipbones, and he pushed himself an inch inside her.

“Use your words, Isobel,” he demanded, voice a gravelled snarl.

She knew which words he was talking about. Green for go, yellow for pause, and red for stop. She was too scared to say green, but she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t even want him to pause. But still, she was scared.

“I know, baby.” He grunted, forcing his way in another inch. He seemed to be responding to the fear he could feel radiating through the bond. “But you’re going to take my cock like a good girl, aren’t you?”

She was insane . She was unhinged.

She nodded.

He slapped her thigh. “Words.”

“Y-yes,” she hiccupped.

“Sir,” he growled, even though they weren’t in his room in the Stone Dahlia anymore.

“Yes, Sir,” she breathed out.

“Fuck.” He sounded like he was in pain. “I can’t go any further.” He was barely inside . What the fuck ? “You’re stretching so tight around me. I need you wetter.”

His fingers returned to her clit, and his other hand released her hip. She wondered if he had picked up the phone again.

“Are you?—”

“Yes,” he growled before she could even ask the question. He pulled out of her, his dick slipping up along her clit as he lowered himself over her. He tugged at the shirt blinding her until he could whisper into her ear. “I’ve got a little bit of a fucking problem, Carter. I need to be the one who takes this fear away. I can’t explain why. I just know it needs to be me. I’m the one who makes you feel safe again. It’s fucking me.” He slid against her, making her body bow back, a low whine catching in her throat.

“But if I take you …” His voice grew deeper, more gravelled, his cock twitching as he began to grind into her. “The possessive bastard inside me will grow unbearable. I need a way to remind myself that you’re mine.”

This is a one-time deal , she realised with a sinking feeling.

Kalen continued, distracting her. “I need to be able to pull up my phone and see it. See that I was here. That you were soaked for me, that your body curved for me like it’s doing now. That your perfect little pussy got all red and swollen and sensitive from my fingers and my cock.”

His rough, hungry words and the hard scrape of his penis giving her just the right amount of forceful friction was enough to send her spiralling toward an orgasm. He pulled up, the shirt covering her face now a little askew, though he didn’t try to fix it. He notched himself back at her entrance and pinched her clit, like he was demanding she suddenly focus. She was so soaked that he somehow managed to press halfway into her, but before she could panic, he ground down on her clit with his palm, his other hand flashing up to twist her nipple. It was sharp and painful, and it somehow eased her from the edge of alarm and sent her tunnelling into a blissful wave of pleasure instead.

She knew she was being loud, but she didn’t care. She bowed, and he caught the curve of her spine, falling over her and forcing himself deep, to the hilt, in one brutal thrust.

Holy …

Holy shit.

Her release spiralled deeper, stealing the breath from her body. He tore the shirt from her head, pulling it up higher, but left it tangled around her wrists.

He kissed her hard, releasing deep groans into her mouth as her orgasm seemed to go on forever, clenching around his painful size, over and over again.

“I can’t hold it,” he groaned, pulling most of the way out and ducking his head to sink his teeth into her neck.

He bit her hard enough to leave a mark and then snatched up her phone again, leaning back as his chest rumbled, his thickness pulsing, growing bigger and harder. She tried to breathe through it, staring up at him wide-eyed and trying to convince herself it wasn’t happening again.

“You’re—fuck …” His jaw clenched tightly, his pupils dilated, his eyes dark and greedy. “You’re safe. You’re safe with me.”

She nodded, nervously licking her lips, and he gripped her hip with one hand, hard enough to bruise, as he released inside her.

He pulled out, wetness spilling across her stomach, and then tossed her phone aside, catching her chin as he pulled her lips to his. “Say you’re mine,” he demanded.

“I’m yours,” she whispered.

He cupped her pussy. “Say this is fucking mine.”

Her entire body throbbed. “It’s yours.”

“Don’t forget.” He kissed her again, his mouth dominating hers completely. “When you’re ready, if you’re ever ready, I’ll prove it. Until then … send me those pictures.”

If Kalen finding a way to come inside her twice in one night wasn’t enough of a claiming for him, then … maybe he was right. Maybe she wasn’t ready for a relationship with him yet.

He tugged up his black exercise pants—he hadn’t even gotten undressed at any point—and strode from the room, his broad back full of tension.

She quickly untangled her hands, wincing at the gentle twinge of pain that immediately travelled through her body as she grabbed her phone.

There were so many photos. A close-up of her lips, with the shirt pulled up to her nose. Her breasts, her stomach, his dick notched against her. His huge length seated halfway inside her. Her face—wide-eyed, staring up at him, fearful and trusting. Ropes of white splashed across her lower stomach. She looked down, realising he had spilled some of it when he pulled out of her—probably deliberately.

Her fingers were shaking, her body squirming. Somehow, she wasn’t sated. It was almost like he had awakened something inside her that just wanted more .

Harder and rougher.

Her phone vibrated with a message.

Kalen: Now.

She quickly sent the photos before flopping back down, her mind reeling. She really should try to get some sleep, but she didn’t know how that was possible.

So she just sprawled there and stared at the ceiling in shock. She could barely even call what they had done sex . It had been a claiming, a healing, an instinct.

A taste .

Her stupid alarm went off ten minutes later.