Page 37

AUTUMN

T he house was still.

Not silent, exactly, but the kind of stillness that followed something sacred. Something survived .

The storm inside her had finally passed.

Autumn lay curled in Dorian’s arms, still fully clothed, her cheek pressed to the solid warmth of his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath her ear, a deep, grounding rhythm like it had never once faltered—even when hers had.

Outside, Celestial Pines exhaled. The storm was over.

The dead had been dealt with. And Hollis… was gone.

Not forgotten or erased. But banished.

And she wasn’t broken. Not anymore.

Her limbs felt heavy in that post-magic way, like her soul was still catching up to her skin. But the ache was soft. Welcoming. The ache of being alive. Dorian’s thumb traced lazy circles at the base of her spine, tethering her to the here and now.

She tilted her head, found him already watching her—not with fear, not with pity. But with that look. The one he saved only for her.

Like she was home.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice still rough, like it had been scraped raw by everything they’d just lived through.

She nodded. “Tired. But okay.”

“Still with me?”

Her smile curved slowly. “Yeah. Still with you.”

The words weren’t just an answer. They were a promise.

He leaned in, kissed her forehead. Then her temple. His lips dragged down the side of her jaw, slow and aching. Each press of his mouth made her breath catch, but she didn’t pull away.

She didn’t need to.

The danger was gone. The voices were quiet. Her body? Hers again.

And it wanted .

Her thighs tightened around his hips as she shifted, slowly straddling him. She rolled her hips just once, experimentally—and the sound he made vibrated through her, low and full of restraint.

His hands slid under the hem of her shirt— his shirt—and skimmed up her back, reverent and warm. He didn’t rush. There was no fumbling, no frenzy. Just him, unwrapping her as if she were something sacred.

“Take it off,” she whispered.

He obeyed, lifting the shirt over her head, baring her skin to the low lamplight and the heat in his golden-hazel eyes. They darkened, turning that milky shade that meant the bear was close, watching. Wanting.

She unclasped her bra and let it fall. His hands slid up to cup her breasts, calloused thumbs brushing over her nipples until they peaked under his touch.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, voice hoarse.

Her hands found the hem of his shirt and tugged. He sat up so she could strip it off, and when their bare chests met, skin to skin, she let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t want to forget this,” she said.

“You won’t,” he promised, mouth brushing hers. “Neither will I.”

Their kiss deepened—tongues sliding, teeth nipping, mouths greedy. His cock was hard beneath her, trapped between their bodies, and she ground against it slowly, moaning when the friction sent pleasure sparking up her spine.

The world narrowed to the rhythm of their breath. The soft creak of the bed beneath them. The low, golden light catching in the sheen of sweat starting to bloom across his chest.

Dorian’s hands moved with purpose, reverence threading every motion. His palms skimmed her waist, rough with calluses but careful—like she was something breakable even though she never had been. Not until him.

“You sure?” he murmured against her throat, his voice pitched low, almost guttural. His hazel eyes were nearly gone now, clouded and molten, a milky brown ring circling the center—his bear so close to the surface it felt like he wasn’t just making love to her… they both were.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” Autumn whispered, nails curling gently into his back.

He exhaled, a hot breath that ghosted down her collarbone before his lips followed.

He kissed every inch of skin like it mattered—like it was the first and last time he’d get to taste her.

She arched as he traced the soft underside of her breast with his tongue, her nipple peaking again beneath the press of his mouth.

His hand cupped the other, thumb brushing over it slowly, building her pleasure in slow, deliberate strokes.

She was soaked already. Aching. Not just with want, but with need. That deep, soul-hungry kind that wrapped around your bones and didn’t let go.

He sat up slightly, letting her shift beneath him as he undid the buttons of her flannel pajama pants.

She lifted her hips, helping him peel them down, and then her panties—cotton, soft, damp with arousal.

When she lay bare beneath him, her thighs parted in silent invitation, she saw the restraint in his eyes snap like a tether.

He didn’t dive in. Didn’t rush.

He knelt between her legs and just looked.

“Dorian…” she breathed, thighs trembling as the air kissed her slick folds.

“I want to remember everything about this,” he said, voice thick with emotion, not lust. His fingers skimmed up the inside of her thigh, not yet touching where she needed him most. “The way you look when you want me. The way your skin smells like lavender and firewood. The way you let me see you when nobody else gets to.”

His fingers found her slit and slid through, gathering her wetness. Autumn gasped, her head tipping back into the pillow.

“Gods, you’re soaked for me, sweetheart.”

Her hips lifted involuntarily as he teased her entrance with just the tip of his finger. She bit her lip, trying to keep her composure, but every part of her was trembling.

“Please,” she whispered. “I want to feel you.”

Dorian leaned down and kissed her again, slower this time—his tongue tangling with hers like it had all the time in the world.

When he pulled away, it was only to push his sweatpants down, revealing the thick, flushed length of his cock—hard, veined, and curving slightly toward his abdomen.

Her breath hitched at the sight of it, heart thudding like a war drum.

“Touch me,” she said softly, reaching out to wrap her fingers around him.

His head dropped back with a hiss through his teeth, hips flexing into her grip. “Shit… Autumn.”

She stroked him slowly, savoring the weight and heat of him in her palm. He was thick, the skin velvety over steel. When he started to rut gently into her hand, she let go with a final squeeze and pulled him down to her again.

“No more waiting,” she said. “I want to feel you inside me.”

He groaned low in his throat and nudged her thighs wider with his knees, his hips settling into the cradle of hers. The tip of his cock brushed her folds, and she gasped at the contact—at the way he just fit.

Then he pushed in—slowly, carefully, inch by thick inch.

Her mouth dropped open in a soundless moan, nails digging into his shoulders as he stretched her open. The pressure was delicious, a burn that bordered on pain, edged with the pleasure of being filled.

“Gods, you feel like heaven,” he rasped, forehead dropping to hers. “Tight… perfect…”

Tears pricked her eyes, not from pain, but from the overwhelming rightness of it. Of him. Of this moment.

He bottomed out with a trembling breath, and they stayed like that for a moment—bodies joined, hearts pounding in sync, the silence saying more than any words ever could.

Then he moved.

A slow, steady pull-out that made her whimper from the emptiness, followed by a deep, rolling thrust that had her seeing stars.

He kept the rhythm torturously slow, their foreheads pressed together, every movement designed to drag pleasure out until it frayed her nerves and made her voice shake when she said his name.

“Dorian… I love you,” she said, barely louder than a breath, her voice cracking.

His hips stilled.

His eyes met hers—wide, raw, as if she’d just torn open the center of him.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

“I love you,” she said louder this time, her hands cupping his face. “I love you. All of you.”

A sound broke from his chest—half growl, half groan—and then he kissed her like a drowning man, hips picking up pace.

The slow drag turned urgent, a rhythm built on desperation and reverence.

His cock stroked her deep, every thrust brushing her most sensitive spot, lighting her up from the inside out.

He shifted slightly, angling her hips higher, and the next stroke made her cry out, her pussy clenching tight around him.

“Fuck, you feel so good when you squeeze me like that,” he panted.

She locked her legs around his waist, nails trailing down his back, and arched into him. Sweat slicked their bodies, her nipples rubbing against his chest with every movement.

His eyes flashed fully milky brown, and he growled low in his throat as he gripped her hip.

“I need to mark you,” he said, voice breaking with emotion.

“Yes,” she gasped, hips rolling up to meet his. “Do it.”

His claws extended—not violently, but instinctively. She felt the drag first, then the sharp sting as they broke the skin on her hip in three deliberate strokes. Her body spasmed, a wild rush of sensation tearing through her.

Her orgasm hit like lightning—sudden, all-consuming. She screamed his name, pussy clenching tight around his cock, milking him as he let out a feral sound and spilled inside her with a shudder.

He buried his face in her neck, breath ragged, his body trembling with the force of his release.

The room went quiet again, save for their breathing.

He licked the mark on her hip, soft and soothing. “Mine,” he said, not possessive—but reverent. “My mate.”

Autumn blinked up at the ceiling, tears tracking into her hairline. “And you’re mine,” she whispered.

He pulled the blanket over them and tucked her against his chest, still deep inside her, their bodies tangled.

Neither one of them needed to say it again.

The mark said everything.