way her hot pussy pulsed and contracted around his cock. She was his match. Made purely for him. No one would make him think otherwise.
He sucked on her pounding pulse, making her pussy tighten around him and bathe his cock in a rush of cream. His wolf was urging him to bite her hard, to draw blood and claim her. It was tempting, so fucking tempting, but Ryan would never do it without her consent—even though the drive to claim was like a drumbeat in his chest. No, he wouldn’t claim her. But he’d sure as hell fucking mark her so she knew whom she belonged to.
Feeling her release start to creep up on her, Makenna clawed at his nape. “Ryan, I need—” She cut off as he shifted her hips slightly, so that he was now hitting her G-spot with every brutal, territorial thrust. “Fuck.”
Meeting her glazed eyes, Ryan reached between them and found her clit with his thumb. “Come for me.”
The power and authority in his voice hit her deep in her core, sending her tumbling into a climax so vicious it tore a scream from her throat.
Ryan snarled as her claws sliced into his back, branding him, just as her pussy clamped down on his cock, rippling and spasming. It was too much. Sinking his teeth into her throat, he rammed himself deep and exploded, shooting jet after jet of come inside her. Soul-deep satisfaction settled deep in his gut. He might not have claimed her officially, but he’d claimed her in his own way with his body, his teeth, and his come. For him, at least, it was binding.
Makenna Wray would never be free of him.
CHAPTER TEN
Staring at herself in the bathroom mirror the next morning, Makenna sighed. Hell. She was covered in brands that pretty much broadcasted “Ryan has been here.” There were little bites on her neck, shoulders, and breasts. There were claw marks on her hips, stomach, and upper arms. And there were fingerprint bruises on her hips, ass, and thighs.
She wished she could say they pissed her off. They didn’t. Nor did the fact that she was sore and tired. She felt taken, sated, and very well fucked.
She had been well fucked. Ryan had taken her in the shower, on the floor of the bathroom, and from behind as she braced herself against the wall. Then—while she’d been limp as a noodle—he’d bathed her, ate her out, and put her to bed. In the middle of the night, she’d woken to feel him fucking her slow and hard.
Their first time had been so wild and frantic that she’d missed what the next few rounds with Ryan had shown her—the guy had a big thing for control. Not to the extent that he expected her to be submissive. No, he liked that she was defiant. He even liked that she made her own demands . . . he just ignored them.
Hell, the night itself had branded her.
Her wolf liked wearing his marks, liked that he’d felt the need to display such possessiveness. What she hadn’t liked was the amount of scars on his body.
It hadn’t been until they showered together that Makenna saw them. They weren’t battle scars. No. The scars, lesions, and burns told her that he’d been subjected to horrific torture. And she fucking hated that. Her wolf had lunged to the surface with a growl, making Makenna’s eyes turn wolf. Ryan had kissed and licked her neck, soothing the animal and calming her. Makenna had wanted to ask about them, but it didn’t seem right to do it while he had three fingers buried in her. There was a time and a place for conversations like that. It was—
A flicker of movement in her peripheral vision alerted her that she wasn’t alone. Ryan was in the doorway, staring at her, eyes inscrutable as always. Naked, he was a sight to behold with all those sleek, hard muscles and a set of fantastic abs. She met his gaze through the mirror. “You do realize I look like the victim of an assault, right?”
Moving to stand behind her, Ryan cupped her hips possessively, eyes roaming over her brands. “I don’t think my back looks much better than your front.”
Recalling the amount of times she’d clawed him, she’d have to agree with that. She’d also bitten his shoulder a few times. “We need to learn some self-control.”
Ryan usually had that in abundance. He was rough during sex—it was the way he liked it.