Eira’s POV
He moved his fingers slowly at first, deliberate and unhurried, as though he intended to morize every reaction of my body. His thumb traced slow circles over my clit, each stroke asured, each touch purposeful.
At the sa ti, his other hand kneaded my breasts skillfully, his palm warm and possessive. His mouth claid my earlobe, almost biting, almost marking, while his breath fell hot and heavy against my skin.
I panted, my chest rising and falling rapidly, my hands reaching back to cradle his face. I needed to feel him, to confirm he was real, that this storm he was stirring inside was not so fevered dream.
A loud moan tore from my throat. My body arched completely, surrendering to the waves he summoned, before collapsing back against him. I gasped for air, lungs burning, limbs trembling as the pleasure ebbed through .
He slipped his fingers away gently and pulled closer into his arms. My back rested fully against his chest, his body a solid, reassuring presence behind . He pressed soft, lingering kisses along the crook of my neck, as if soothing what he himself had ignited. His breathing was ragged, uneven, betraying that he was no less affected than I was.
His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of my neck. For a heartbeat, I thought he might sink his canines into my flesh. The thought did not frighten . It stirred sothing darker, sothing intimate and possessive. I found myself wondering how it would feel to be marked by him.
He allowed ti to recover, wordlessly tending to in his quiet way.
I had not known he could be this gentle.
"Want more?" he asked at last, his voice low and restrained, as though he were holding himself back by sheer will.
Though I had been the one drowning in pleasure, the tension in his body told he was no less tornted.
"Will you fuck ?" I asked, turning my face slightly toward him.
"No." His answer was firm, unyielding. "But I can use other ways, like this."
"Then I don’t want to," I replied just as firmly.
I would not be selfish. I would not let him suffer while I chased my own pleasure.
"What are you going to do with your cock?" I asked bluntly. It was hard as hell, pressing insistently against . "I can feel it, you know."
"I can take care of it," he said with quiet arrogance. "You worry about yourself."
Before I could protest further, he eased down onto the mattress. His movents were careful, almost reverent. He helped slip back into my panties, smoothed my dress over my thighs, and arranged the cushions behind so I could rest comfortably.
"You enjoy this view," he said softly. "I’m going to get so fresh air."
"Where?"
He lifted his hand and gestured toward the roof of the caravan.
"Can we go to the rooftop?" I asked, a flicker of excitent rising within .
"Yes, but you can’t," he replied at once, his tone turning strict. "Not while we’re moving through the hills. Stay where you are until I return."
I rolled my eyes, knowing I had little choice but to obey. As he moved toward the staircase door, he paused by one of the small wardrobes built beside the horizontal bunks and pulled sothing out.
He tossed a white pullover toward . "Put this on over your dress if you want to be comfortable."
The fabric was thick and soft, heavy enough that I would not need a bra beneath it. It would hide everything.
"Thank you," I murmured, watching as he disappeared through the staircase door. I wondered briefly how one reached the rooftop. There must be a ladder hidden sowhere. Perhaps later, I would look for it.
I slipped the pullover over my head. It enveloped instantly, warm and secure. Though the caravan’s temperature had been adjusted to shield from the cold outside, this felt different. It felt personal. As though the lingering warmth of its owner still clung to it, wrapping around in quiet possession.
I lay back against the mattress and closed my eyes, letting my thoughts drift. The steady motion of the caravan and the muted hum beneath it lulled into a fragile calm.
I did not know how long I remained there before Rafe returned. The sound of the door drew my gaze to him, and without aning to, my eyes dropped instinctively below his waist.
"You shouldn’t call a pervert when you’re the one yourself," he remarked dryly.
"I was just checking if you’ve cald down," I replied boldly.
I knew he could do nothing to , so I could be as bold and daring as I could be. How satisfying it was.
"You’re not that great to keep hard for long," he countered smugly. "Don’t overestimate yourself."
"Bastard." I grabbed a cushion and hurled it at him. "I have three mates, and they remind every ti exactly what I am."
"Good for you," he said in a tone so bored it almost annoyed more. "Want to go downstairs?"
I swung my legs off the bed and stepped down carefully. As I did, I muttered loud enough for him to hear, "What’s the point of staying up here if you don’t plan to fuck ."
"Don’t ask for more than you can handle," he replied, entirely unbothered, as he moved ahead to lead the way.
I followed him, unable to resist one last jab. "I can handle three mates, and one of them is the most powerful top tier Alpha. So what are you?"
The words left my mouth before I could reconsider them. Perhaps I had gone too far. Yet a stubborn part of wanted to provoke him, to push back against the way he constantly unsettled .
He stopped abruptly.
My heartbeat faltered at once.
For a fleeting second, I realized I might have truly crossed a line.
Slowly, he turned to face . His red eyes narrowed, no longer amused, no longer teasing.
I instinctively took a step back, but before I could retreat further, his hand shot out and pulled sharply toward him. His other hand rose to my neck to strangle , not squeezing hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind how easily he could.
"Those three mates of yours, and that top tier Alpha," he said, his voice cold and stripped of all warmth, each word forced through clenched teeth, "they won’t drink your blood. But I will. They won’t kill you. But I will."
The muscles in his body were rigid, coiled like a predator ready to strike.
"You’d better think before provoking ," his words full of warning.
I swallowed hard. The way he looked at , the predatory intensity in his gaze, made it clear that he was not bluffing. He looked capable of killing or anyone else without hesitation.
"It wouldn’t take a mont to fuck the hell out of you, drain every drop of your blood, and then bury you six feet under the ground."
The words were brutal, unfiltered.
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