My whole body’s strung tight, tension curling deep with every grind of his hips, every touch of his fingers.
But it doesn’t change what I feel.
Even breathless and desperate for more, I can’t give him what he’s asking for.
"I can’t," I whisper, the words pulled out of over the top of soft moans. "I won’t."
He doesn’t stop, but he shifts. Slows. Half-control, half-warning.
"You think I don’t understand?" His voice drops low. "You think I don’t know what it’s like to carry that weight? To want to protect what’s yours, even if it ans bleeding for it?"
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus—on his words, not the ache building in my core, and the desperate need to grind against him. "Then you should understand why I have to go."
"What I understand," he says, punctuating each word with a deep, deliberate thrust, "is that you’re my mate. My priority. My fucking heart walking around outside my chest."
God. Every word he speaks cuts sharper than his teeth ever could.
The bond between us tugs hard—tight enough it feels like it might snap. Not just lust. Not dominance. Just... love, so big it makes my ribs hurt.
"And you’re mine," I breathe. "Which is why I can’t just stand here while you walk into danger."
His grip tightens around my wrists for a second—then releases. I catch myself with a hand against the door, breath shallow, legs shaking. The second he let go, my core muscles gave up the fight, and so did my thighs.
Are thighs part of your core?
Note to self: Train more. Stamina for long walks through deep snow isn’t the sa as holding myself up during monts like this.
He steadies . His big hands are firm on my hips, anchoring as he pulls out slow and deliberate, the sudden emptiness making whimper.
"Lucas—"
He doesn’t answer. Just turns , lifting like I weigh nothing and pinning back against the door. His gaze crashes into mine, gold and furious and full of everything he’s still trying to say.
Damn it, he’s getting to .
"Look at ," he says. It’s a command, but I’m already looking.
I see it all.
The fear under his fury. The way he’s breaking in quiet pieces I can’t always see. How hard it is for him to love like this—knowing it ans he could lose everything.
"The night you were bleeding out, the night I rescued you," he says, voice scraped down and weary, "I thought I’d already lost you."
"I rember," I whisper. My throat burns. I reach up and trace the edge of his jaw, rough beneath my fingers. He hasn’t shaved today. "I know."
I’ll never forget how beautiful the moon was that night.
He leans in, resting his forehead against mine. His breath is ragged.
"I can’t go through that again, Ava. I can’t fucking do it. I’d burn this place down. I’d raze the whole world just to stop that from happening again."
This isn’t about pride. It never was.
"But I can help," I say softly, but firm. "I’m not so fragile girl hoping she makes it out alive anymore. I’ve trained. I’ve learned. I’m ready."
His hands slide lower, grip tightening under my thighs as he lifts again. "No," he agrees, lining us up. "You’re not fragile anymore."
He sinks back inside —slow, asured, deep—and my head falls back with a gasp. The angle this way is brutal. Intimate. Every inch of him hits just right. My skin tingles. Shivers.
"And that’s why I can’t lose you," he murmurs against my skin.
I lock my legs tighter around him, holding him to . My hips roll and buck, trying desperately to draw him in deeper. "You won’t," I whisper. "But you can’t lock up either. Not even to protect ."
His rhythm stutters—then picks up again, a little faster now.
"I’m your Luna," I murmur into his shoulder. "Your equal."
A low growl builds in his chest. He holds tighter, drives up into harder. It’s impossible to speak in anything more than short gasps.
My head spins. Warmth spreads through my body, rushing up my spine and into my head.
"Mine," Lucas snarls. "My Luna. My mate. My equal."
I wind my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life.
"I go where you go, Lucas. I fight where you fight."
His mouth crashes into mine—fast, hard, like he’s trying to stop the world from spinning. When he pulls back, his voice is rough, but sothing in him has shifted.
"We’ll talk," he says, breath hot against my jaw. "But not until after."
It’s not surrender. Not really. But it’s not a flat no, either.
His mouth drops to my neck, lips brushing the scar just beneath my mate mark. His hot breath makes shiver. "When we’re done," he says, voice low and ragged, "everyone will know you’re mine."
I clench around him, the orgasm climbing fast now, unstoppable.
"They already know," I whisper, tugging his mouth back to mine.
The door rattles under the force of his thrusts. I’m definitely going to be bruised later.
Worth it.
"Tell again," Lucas growls against my mouth. "Tell what you need."
I choke on a moan as he drives deep. "To protect my people. To stand beside you. To fight."
"And what do I need?" he asks, his voice harsher now, closer to breaking.
I cradle his face between my hands, eyes locked on his.
"," I say. "Not hidden. Not locked away. , standing beside you."
His face crumples, just for a second. Then he’s moving harder, faster, chasing the edge with already halfway there.
"I love you," he groans against my neck.
That’s what pushes over—his voice, his body, our bond. I co hard, legs tightening, nails digging into his shoulders as everything breaks apart around .
He follows with a growl, his body locking down, hips jerking as he spills into . And for a long mont, neither of us moves. We just breathe, still wrapped around each other, the rest of the world falling quiet.
When he finally lowers , I stagger. My legs don’t work right.
His arm wraps around my waist, steadying as he sighs. "We’re not done talking about this."
I look up at him, shoving sweaty strands of hair from my face. "I think we are, though."
He grunts.
But he doesn’t say anything else.
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