[POV: Atlas]
His door clicked shut behind us, sealing out the world, the celebration, the pack—everything but us.
The moment Draven turned to me, the fire in his eyes made my knees weaken. He said nothing at first. Just looked—like he was memorizing every inch of me in the low amber light of his bedroom, the wolf-fang pendant resting against my sternum.
Like he couldn't quite believe I was here, in his space, as his chosen mate.
"Are you going to run?" he asked softly, stepping closer.
I shook my head. He didn't smile—he smirked. "Good."
Then he moved—slow, deliberate—and closed the space between us in two strides. His hands cupped my face, rough palms cradling my jaw, thumbs pressing gently beneath my cheekbones like I might break if he wasn't careful. But there was nothing soft about the way he kissed me.
It was hungry. Like every moment of tension between us had finally snapped loose—every argument, every charged silence, every night we'd spent inches apart pretending the air between us wasn't combustible.
I groaned into his mouth as his hands slid down my neck, gripping my hips and pulling me flush against him.
"Draven," I gasped as he pulled back, just barely, his forehead resting against mine.
His lips brushed my cheek. "Say it again."
I breathed, "Draven."
He groaned, a low, guttural sound vibrating in his chest. "That sound… Goddess, Atlas, I'm not going to last if you keep saying my name like that."
I melted into him, hands knotting in his shirt as our mouths found each other with more urgency. His tongue slid against mine, teasing, claiming, sending sparks across every nerve until my skin felt too tight to contain what was building beneath it.
His lips left mine, trailing fire along my jaw, down the side of my neck. "Tell me to stop," he whispered against my pulse. "And I will."
"No," I breathed, voice barely audible. "Don't stop."
Something broke in him.
One hand skimmed over my waist, the other tilting my chin up so he could kiss me again—slower this time, deeper, as though trying to memorize the shape of my mouth with his own.
"Draven," I whispered as he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine.
"Yes, little wolf?"
"I've never… done this before."
He stilled, his thumb brushing over my cheek. "I know."
My eyes widened. "You do?"
"I can feel it," he said softly, voice dark with reverence. "The way you tremble… the way you breathe when I touch you. But you trust me."
"I do."
His gaze softened, though the fire behind it never dimmed. "Then let me show you how it should feel."
His hands moved to the hem of my shirt, fingers curling beneath the fabric. He lifted it slowly, knuckles grazing my stomach, my ribs, my chest—each inch of contact sending a ripple of anticipation down my spine. He pulled it over my head and tossed it aside.
He stepped back just far enough to look—really look—his dark eyes tracing the lines of my body. The lean muscle across my chest and abdomen, the scars he'd mapped before with his fingertips, the way my skin prickled under his gaze.
"Goddess," he whispered. "You're unreal."
Heat flooded my cheeks, but before I could cross my arms over myself, he was close again—his hand reaching out, brushing a strand of silver-white hair from my forehead.
Then that same hand trailed down, slow and torturous, over my collarbone, across my pectoral, down the flat plane of my stomach. His fingers traced the ridge of muscle just above the waistband of my pants, and my abdomen contracted involuntarily at the touch.
My head dropped to his shoulder as his palm pressed flat against my lower belly, fingers dipping just beneath the fabric—slow, knowing, deliberate.
"Draven…"
"You've been aching for this," he murmured against my temple. "For me. Haven't you?"
"Yes," I gasped.
His hand slipped lower, wrapping around me with a grip that was firm and sure and devastatingly gentle all at once. I broke—a ragged sound tearing from my throat as his fingers began to move, stroking slow and deep, finding a rhythm that made my vision blur at the edges.
"You're so responsive," he whispered, kissing just above my collarbone. "So sensitive to every touch."
My body tensed, every muscle tightening as his hand worked me with maddening precision, his free arm locked around my waist to keep me upright as my legs began to shake.
"You feel incredible," he growled against my neck. "And you're mine. Mine to touch. Mine to take apart. Mine to ruin with pleasure if I want to."
"Draven—" I whimpered, already trembling, my fingers digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders. "I— please—"
"That's it," he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Let me feel you fall apart. Just like this. Just for me."
I clung to him, hips moving helplessly into his grip as the rhythm deepened. My thighs trembled. The coil in my gut wound tighter, hotter, until I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but hold on.
"Draven—" I gasped, "I—can't—"
"Yes, you can." His voice was dark velvet. "You're doing so well. So damn beautiful when you come undone."
The orgasm slammed into me like a wave crashing on stone—raw, bright, all-consuming. I moaned his name, burying my face in his neck, shaking as he held me through it, his hand still moving slowly, drawing every last tremor from my body.
"That's my boy," he whispered against my shoulder.
He lifted me like I weighed nothing and laid me down on the bed, kissing my stomach, my chest, my lips again—slow and reverent, like he was worshipping something sacred.
"This is insane…" I murmured, still breathless. "I thought I'd lost my mind."
"Good." His grin was wicked as he knelt beside the bed. "Because I'm not done with you."
I sat up, fingers reaching for the hem of his shirt. "My turn."
His breath caught when I touched him, and I smiled, emboldened by the sound.
I peeled his shirt off slowly, revealing the broad architecture of his chest and shoulders—muscle and scars layered over each other like a map of everything he'd survived. The raw strength of a man who'd spent his life protecting others. And now, me.
My fingers grazed his chest, his stomach, tracing the ridges of his abdomen, feeling how he shivered under my touch despite the heat radiating from his skin.
"You're trembling," I said.
"And you're playing with fire, little wolf," he growled.
I kissed his chest, just over his heart, then again at his collarbone, his throat, feeling the shudder that ran through him like an earthquake. His hands fisted the sheets beside my knees, knuckles white with restraint.
When I finally reached the waistband of his pants, he growled softly, "If you keep teasing me, I won't be able to take it slow."
I laughed—a sound full of heat and joy, reckless and brave in a way I'd never been before tonight.
"Then don't."