Page 119 of Bitten & Burned

“Still mine?”

“Yes.”

“Then take a breath.”

I did.

And he slid inside.

Gods.

He filled me slowly, deep, inch by inch, until I felt stretched, felt claimed. My legs wrapped around his waist automatically, hips arching up to meet him. I could feel his control in every measured movement—this wasn’t frantic or wild. This was Cassian staking a claim—marking me without teeth, making me his.

“You feel perfect,” he rasped. “I knew you would.”

I whimpered, hands gripping his shoulders as he pulled back and thrust again—deeper this time. Stronger.

“I can feel how much you need this,” he said, his voice both gentle and intense. “How much you need me.”

I nodded, breathless. “Ido.”

His pace quickened, hips slamming into mine with more force, more purpose. And still his hand held my throat—not cruel, just commanding. A reminder of the power I’d given him. Of the trust he held in his palm.

“You’re safe,” he said, punctuating every word with a thrust. “You’re mine. And I’ll never let you fall.”

The bond hummed steady, solid. For once, I almost believed him.

The orgasm crashed over me like a wave—sudden, sharp, devastating. I cried out, clenching around him, shaking, unable to do anything but feel as he fucked me through it, his voice the only thing keeping me tethered.

“That’s it, little dove. That’s my good girl.”

He didn’t stop.

He released my neck and pulled me into his arms. I went, helping as I could, while he draped me over his lap, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of him.

“Rowena?” he murmured, nuzzling my nose with his, “May I bite you? Taste you? Please?”

I nodded, tilting my head to bare my throat.

He opened his mouth. I saw a glint of fangs, and then he was on me.

The bite didn’t hurt. Not even when he started drinking; it was just a dull ache, like a bruise.

He groaned into my throat as he drank, shivering whenithit him. I had done this enough to know whatitwas now. When they could feel the wound.

I reached back and stroked his hair, encouraging him to continue.

And he did, drawing twice more and licking the wound clean.He straightened, eyes dark and boring into mine. “Your taste is intoxicating,” He whispered. “Gods, you’re perfect.”

He chased his own release next—grinding deeper, rougher, until he cursed under his breath, burying himself to the hilt one last time with a broken groan, hips jerking up into me as he came.

And still, even then, he didn’t let go.

“Still with me?” he asked again, voice wrecked.

“Still yours,” I whispered.

The bond pulsed hot at the words, echoing his claim through me.