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“Right,” I gasp, adjusting to his size. “You feel so right.”

He starts moving then, long, slow strokes that drag his length against every sensitive spot inside me. Each withdrawal makes me whimper at the loss, each thrust back in makes me see stars.

“You take me so well,” he growls, picking up the pace. “Like your body was made for me. Like you were made to be claimed by me.”

The possessive words send me spiraling toward another edge, my inner walls clenching around his thick shaft.

“That’s it,” he pants, feeling me tighten around him. “Show me how much you want it.”

But then he pulls out completely, making me cry out at the sudden emptiness.

“Turn over,” he commands, winter-pale eyes burning with hunger. “I want to take you from behind. I want to watch you arch for me while I claim you.”

I flip onto my hands and knees, presenting myself to him. His hands grip my hips, fingers digging into flesh as he lines himself up again.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, rubbing the head of his cock through my folds. “So eager to be claimed. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to claim me,” I pant, pushing back against him. “I want to feel you splitting me open. I want you to take me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

He slams into me with one brutal thrust, burying his full length so deep I feel him everywhere. The new angle hits spots that make my vision white out, his thick cock stretching me impossibly wide.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growls, setting a punishing pace that has me clawing at the sheets. “Making you mine?”

“Yes,” I sob, pushing back to meet each brutal thrust. “Harder. Please, harder.”

His grip on my hips tightens as he gives me exactly what I begged for—taking me with a ferocity that rattles the bed frame. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, along with my breathless moans and his guttural groans.

“Feel how deep I am,” he pants, one hand pressing on my lower back to arch me further. “Feel how I own you. No one else will ever fill you like this.”

“I want to remember this,” I breathe against the sheets. “If tomorrow goes wrong, I want this to be what I think about.”

“There won’t be a tomorrow without you,” he growls, thrusts becoming more desperate. “I won’t let them take you from me. Not when I’ve finally found you.”

The possessive words send me spiraling toward release, my inner walls fluttering around his shaft. But he must feel it too, because suddenly he’s pulling out and flipping me over again.

“I want to see your face when you come,” he says, sliding back inside me in one smooth stroke. “I want to watch you fall apart for me.”

This time when he claims me, it’s with devastating precision—each thrust hitting that spot inside me that makes my toes curl.

“Look at me,” he commands when my eyes start to flutter closed. “Look at me while I claim you. I want to see those beautiful eyes when you come.”

I force my gaze to meet his, winter-pale eyes burning with possession and something deeper. The connection between us amplifies everything—every thrust, every sensation, every wave of pleasure building toward something explosive.

“That’s it,” he pants, feeling me tighten around him. “Come for me. Come like the good girl you are.”

The orgasm destroys me completely. Pleasure so intense it feels like dying and being reborn, like every cell in my body remembering what it was made for. I feel myself clenchingaround his thick shaft, milking him as waves of ecstasy crash over me.

“By the old gods, yes,” he groans, his rhythm faltering as my body squeezes him like a vice. “That’s it, take everything I give you.”

His thrusts become erratic, chasing his own release while I writhe beneath him. When he finally comes, it’s with a roar that sounds like winter storms breaking. I feel his cock pulsing inside me, flooding me with his release while aftershocks leave me trembling beneath him.

When awareness finally returns, we’re tangled together in a cocoon of frost and blooming vines, our magic having literally reshaped his quarters around us.

“Well,” he says against my hair, voice rough with satisfaction and awe. “That was... unexpected.”

“Good unexpected or bad unexpected?” I ask, though I’m too boneless to care much about the answer.

“The kind that makes me want to keep you in this bed for the next century.”