Evaline:
The air between us grew heavy, the silence broken only by the sound of my own uneven breathing. My arms instinctively crossed over my chest, as though that thin barrier of fabric could hide the way my heart was pounding against my ribs.
The man before - my mate, my Ethan - hadn’t said a word since slipping the hoodie off my shoulders, but I could feel him watching , even in the darkness of the room. His presence wrapped around like fire and shadows all at once, a mixture of danger and comfort that made my knees weak.
I licked my lips nervously, and that was when I noticed the taste still lingering on my tongue. Wine. Rich, heady, unmistakable. He had kissed just monts ago, and now I knew for certain he wasn’t sober.
My pulse skipped. If he was drunk, was I? The world tilted faintly when I tried to step back, dizziness fluttering through my head. Sothing was wrong. My drink earlier - it must have been laced with sothing, because no matter how much I tried to steady myself, the room felt unbalanced. My instincts scread that this wasn’t normal, but at the sa ti, the mate bond thrumd in my veins, drowning reason in its tide.
When I stumbled, his hands were there instantly, strong and sure, catching by the waist before I could fall. My breath hitched. His touch was searing, and the sparks that ignited where his fingers t my skin left no doubt - this was real. This was my mate.
"Careful," his voice rumbled low, husky, and strained. I shivered at the sound, clutching at his shirt for balance.
A small part of my brain noticed how different he was feeling. His body, his scent, his voice... he was different.
"I-sorry," I whispered, though it ca out more like a shaky exhale.
He didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled closer, his chest brushing mine, and even through the layers of fabric I felt his heat. My mind scread at to think, to question, to demand answers. But my body, my very soul, moved to the rhythm of sothing older and stronger than reason.
I tilted my head up, and his mouth was already there waiting. His lips claid mine in a kiss that sent shivers down my spine. This one was hungry, desperate, as though he had been waiting for his whole life.
And maybe he had.
The bond flared so intensely it nearly knocked off my feet. I gasped into his mouth, trembling, while his hands slid up my arms and frad my face. He kissed deeper, coaxing to open up to him, and when I did, a small sound escaped - half whimper, half surrender.
The taste of wine on his tongue mingled with sothing darker, sothing undeniably him, and I couldn’t pull away even if I tried. He devoured like I was the only source of air, and my own hunger rose to et his.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathless. His forehead rested against mine, and though I couldn’t see his face clearly, I could feel the heat of his gaze burning into .
"You are mine," he whispered, voice ragged and low. The words vibrated against my lips.
I should have been afraid. Instead, the claim settled deep into my chest, sparking warmth where there should have been fear. My throat was dry, but sohow, I managed a soft, "Yes."
That single word seed to snap the last of his restraint.
In one fluid motion, he bent and scooped into his arms. I gasped, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck as he carried toward the bed. His steps were steady, deliberate, and every nerve in my body lit up in anticipation.
The mattress dipped as he laid down gently, almost reverently, as though I were made of glass. For a mont, he just hovered over , his breath hot against my cheek, his body a tense line of control barely held together.
I reached up blindly, fingers brushing along his jaw, finding smooth skin.
"Look at ," I whispered without thinking.
A harsh breath escaped him, and though the darkness hid his features, I felt the weight of his eyes as he obeyed. The intensity there made my stomach flip. I had never been looked at like this before... like I was both a salvation and a storm.
Then his lips found the hollow of my throat, and I arched helplessly beneath him. His kisses trailed down, slow and deliberate, leaving a path of heat that made forget the dizziness, the confusion, everything but him.
His hands moved with the sa aching patience, tracing my sides, brushing over the thin fabric of my tank top. When his fingers slipped beneath the hem, brushing against bare skin, I shivered violently.
"Too fast?" he murmured against my collarbone, his muffled voice almost breaking with restraint.
I shook my head, words failing . All I could do was tug at him, desperate to keep him close.
His answering groan vibrated against my skin, raw and unguarded. He kissed again, slower this ti, as though he was trying to savor every second. His tongue brushed mine, and the connection deepened until I thought I would lt into him completely.
Piece by piece, the world around us fell away - the cold outside, the shadows in the corners of the room, even the questions clawing at the back of my mind. All that remained was him. My mate.
The way he touched was both careful and claiming. His hands worshipped every inch, yet his kisses grew hungrier, rougher, as though his control was unraveling with every heartbeat.
When he finally pulled back enough to whisper, "Tell to stop, and I will," my chest tightened painfully.
I swallowed hard, my voice trembling but certain as I said, "Don’t stop."
And just like that, the last thread snapped.
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