He doesn't give me time to reconsider—not that I would.
Before I can think, he's lifting me like I weigh nothing, which is both flattering and terrifying because apparently werewolf strength is very real. We're moving fast, his mouth claiming mine while my hands fumble with his shirt buttons.
"You're wearing too many clothes," I manage between kisses, and he makes a sound that's half laugh, half growl.
"So are you. We're fixing that."
My training leggings along with top disappear between the hallway and his bedroom door—werewolf magic, possibly—and suddenly I'm in just my sports bra with his hands everywhere. The mate bond pulses between us like a living thing, every point of contact sending electric sparks racing across my skin.
He backs me toward the bed, mouth never leaving mine, and then we're falling together onto the mattress. His body covers mine, and that little thing in my chest purrs at the weight of him, the rightness of having him pressed against me.
Everything moves too fast to think, but I like it that way.
His hands are rough, pulling at my bra, his mouth trailing fire down my throat. When his teeth graze the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, a sound escapes me that I didn't know I could make.
Hugh reaches between us, fingers finding where I'm already soaked, and pushes two inside without preamble. The stretch makes me gasp, my hips bucking. He's not gentle—he's angry, hungry, and driven by the same primal and maddening need that's been building for weeks.
"Hugh." His name comes out as a moan when he curls his fingers, hitting a spot that makes stars burst. "I need… I want—"
"I know what you need." His voice is rough, wrecked already. He positions himself at my entrance, and even that contact sends the bond singing through my veins.
He starts to push forward, and the stretch is immediate, intense—
"I should probably mention," the word bursts out before I can stop it. "I've never… actually done this before."
He freezes. Completely, utterly freezes, every muscle locked tight.
"What?" The single word sounds strangled.
"Virgin. I'm a virgin. Surprise?" I try for a casual laugh that comes out slightly hysterical. "I mean, I've heard werewolf dicks are huge, which—congratulations on that, by the way—but maybe we could just—"
I grab his hips and try to pull him forward, because stopping now feels physically impossible. The bond is screaming at me to complete this, to finally have what's mine.
He catches my wrists, pinning them beside my head. "Claire. Stop."
"I don't want to stop. I want you—"
"I know what the bond wants." He's trembling with effort, amber bleeding through gray. "But I need to prepare you first. You've never done this, and I'm not small. If I don't take my time, I'll hurt you."
"Maybe I don't care about—"
"I care." The words come out fierce, almost angry. "I will not hurt my mate. Not ever. So you're going to lie there and let me make you ready for me, understood?"
The command in his voice makes something low in my belly clench. "Fine. But for the record, I was enjoying the whole desperate-and-frantic thing."
"You'll enjoy this more." He releases my wrists and kisses down my neck, taking his time now, his mouth trailing over my collarbone while one hand slides between my thighs again.
This time, he starts with one finger, working me slowly while his tongue circles my nipple. The stretch is familiar but his touch is different now—reverent, careful, even as the bond pulses with need between us.
"That's it," he murmurs against my breast. "Just relax for me."
When he adds a second finger, the pressure increases. His thumb finds my clit, circling while his fingers move inside me, and the dual sensation makes my thighs shake.
"How does that feel?" His voice rumbles against my skin. "Tell me if it's too much."
"It's not—God, it's good. Really good." The words come out breathless as he curls his fingers, hitting that spot again. "Please, I need more."
"Not yet." But he's moving lower, positioning himself between my thighs. "I told you—I need to prepare you properly."
Then his mouth is on me, tongue licking through my folds while his fingers continue their rhythm. The mate bond amplifies everything—every stroke of his tongue sends golden pleasure radiating through my entire body, the connection between us humming with shared sensation.
When he adds a third finger, I cry out at the stretch. It borders on too much—the fullness intense and almost uncomfortable—but his mouth never stops working my clit and gradually my body adjusts. Through the bond, I feel his satisfaction, his primal pleasure at preparing his mate to take him.
"That's my girl," he groans against me, and the praise makes me clench around his fingers. "Taking me so well. You're going to feel so perfect around my cock."
I'm writhing now, grinding against his face while his fingers pump steadily inside me. The orgasm builds fast and devastating, the bond magnifying every sensation until I can't tell where I end and he begins.
"Please, please, I need to come, please—"
He pulls back just before I break, his fingers slowing to maddening circles that keep me hovering on the edge. I actually whimper in frustration.
"Not yet. I want you desperate for me when I finally give you what you need."
"Mission accomplished," I manage, panting. "Consider me desperate. Desperately desperate. Can we move on to the giving part now?"
He positions himself between my thighs, and when I finally look—really look—I understand why he was so careful. He's thick, intimidatingly so.
"We'll go slow," he promises, one hand bracing beside my head while the other guides himself. "Tell me if it's too much."
He pushes forward slowly, and the stretch is immediate, intense. Just the head feels impossibly full. He pauses, jaw clenched with the effort of holding back.
"Breathe," he reminds me. "Just breathe and relax for me."
He slides in another inch, and I gasp. Through the bond, I feel what this costs him—the desperate need to claim, to take, held back by iron will because hurting me is unthinkable.
Inch by excruciating inch, he works himself inside until finally he's fully seated. I've never felt so full. The bond blazes golden between us, something fundamental clicking into place as our bodies finally join.
"Okay?" His forehead drops to mine. "Talk to me, sweetheart. Are you okay?"
"Move," I manage, gripping his shoulders. "Please move. I need you to move."
He starts slow—pulling out almost completely before sliding back in. The drag of him sends pleasure sparking through my nerve endings, the bond transforming every sensation into something transcendent.
He watches my face as he builds the rhythm, and when I start meeting his thrusts he groans. "That's it. Moon Goddess, you feel incredible."
He brings me to the edge again—his hand working my clit while he drives into me—then slows just before I can break. I sob in frustration.
"Hugh, please—"
"I want to feel you come around my cock," he growls, increasing his pace. "I want to feel you fall apart while I'm inside you."
He builds me higher this time, his rhythm relentless, hitting that spot inside me that makes stars burst. The bond is screaming now, golden light flooding my vision.
"Please, please, I can't, I need—"
"Come for me," he commands, and the orgasm crashes through me.
I cry out his name as my body clenches around him, wave after wave of pleasure. Through the bond I feel his release echo mine, the sensation doubling back until I can't tell whose pleasure is whose.
Then something changes—I feel him swell inside me, pressure at the base expanding, locking us together. His face is buried in my neck, his whole body shaking as he comes in hot pulses that seem to go on forever.
The bond flares so bright everything goes white.
The last thing I'm aware of is his arms wrapping around me, pulling me close, and then the overwhelming pleasure drags me down into darkness.