Page 37 of Bound to the Griffin (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #3)

Jackson

When I shut the cabin door, it felt like I had sealed the whole world out with it.

The quietness after the storm, the shouting, the chaos from the basement in the B it was a word meant to describe her, us. What we were when we were together.

Her eyes softened, and I cupped her face in my hands. Gods, she was beautiful like this. Her eyes searching mine, lips parted in anticipation, the stubborn angle of her chin, and the soft tremble of her lips. “Tell me if you want to slow down,” I whispered.

Her answer came steady, though I could feel her heartbeat racing beneath her skin.

“I don’t. I want you.” Those words undid me.

My mouth found hers—hungry and certain—and the world narrowed to heat, to breath, to the soft, yielding press of her lips.

She tasted like rain and firelight, and I lost myself in the way she clung back, matching me heartbeat for heartbeat.

“This is going to mean forever,” I warned her between kisses, and she just smiled, all sexy and mysterious, all mine.

“I will claim you as my mate. We will bond. You understand?” It was more than marriage, more than a promise; it was a bond unbreakable by time and magic.

She did not flinch. She did not cower or step away.

She embraced it with open arms, like I knew she would.

“Yes, I want that. I want you, Jackson. I’ve never been more certain of where my place in the world is: right here, with you. Here, in Hillcrest Hollow.” Yes, she did. Here, she fit in. Here, she could be herself. And I’d go to the ends of the world to keep it that way.

We laughed as we fumbled with coats, stubborn zippers, and tangled sleeves.

The laughter broke on a sharp inhale when my fingertips brushed the bare curve of her waist. Warm skin against my chilled hand, so simple, so overwhelming.

She shivered, but leaned closer, pulling me with her until my own coat slid, forgotten, to the floor.

“Mine,” I whispered, the word roughened by the depth of it.

My lips brushed the shell of her ear as I said it again, more certain: “My mate.” I slipped my hands from her bare waist to her still lace-clad breasts, then carefully undid the clasp so her bra slid away with a whisper.

Her hands were on the buttons of my shirt, but it wasn’t going fast enough.

Reaching up, I yanked, and buttons popped and scattered.

Her brown eyes glowed with fire when she answered me, her hands already trailing over my now-bared chest. “Yes, yours, and you’re mine.

” The house was still warm enough; we had not even been gone for that long since we woke, tangled on the couch by that phone call early that morning.

I dragged her past it, heading for the bedroom this time.

She tumbled onto the mattress, and I followed her down, hands caressing her soft skin, her silky thighs.

Then I parted them and buried my face against her folds, a quick lap of my tongue to draw her taste, her scent, deep into my soul.

She hadn’t expected it—yelped—then surrendered with a moan, her hands curling against my shoulders.

“Jackson,” she moaned again when I slid her panties off and tested the wetness of her pink folds with impatient fingers.

Her clit was peeking at me, and I flicked a finger against the side, then again when that made her whole body jerk against the sheets. “Jackson!”

“Where shall I mark you?” I asked her. I wasn’t quite sure how it worked, but I was sure a mark would appear after I sank into her.

My cock ached fiercely at the thought, impatient to do it, but I wouldn’t until I knew she understood.

In my mind, a parade of images flashed by, her soft belly, the sexy curve of her hip, or perhaps the lush side of her breast. All of those would be secret places to mark her, but after the town hadn’t believed me at first…

I wanted all of them—the whole world—to see the truth.

She touched the hollow at her throat, her eyes flashing at me.

Then she raised her fingers and touched my neck.

“Here, for everyone to see,” she said, echoing my own sentiment.

With a growl, my restraint snapped, and I lunged forward, pinning her to the bed, claiming her mouth even as I let my hands claim her core.

Fingers dipped deep, sank into heat and wetness, accompanied by the sound of her moans.

She was ready. I freed my aching cock from pants I’d never gotten to remove, parted her thigh, and hooked it over my hip, and then I sank deep.

The world blurred at the edges, leaving only this closeness, this bond.

Every breath, every touch, carried the weight of a question: Do you feel it too?

Do you choose me as I choose you? And every time, her gasps, her whispered yeses, her arching into me were the answers I craved.

I held back, trembling with restraint. She must have felt it, because her voice cut through the haze, my name on her lips like a plea and a command all at once.

“Jackson… let go.” I did, and in that surrender, the world shifted.

Pleasure hazed my vision, skated up my spine.

Her body clenched tight around me as she came, her expression beautiful as she tossed back her head and exposed the delicate arch of her throat.

I could hold on to nothing but her, to the orgasm crashing through me until I saw nothing but stars for several long seconds.

After I slowly settled back inside my own skin, I watched the play of light and emotion on my mate’s body.

Her bare skin, her open expression, so full of love and hope.

Then, as the mark seared into place in a curl around her neck, delicate as feathers, glowing gold before settling into ink, I felt the tether snap taut between us. Eternal. Unbreakable. Mine.

I collapsed against her, breath ragged, the only sound the soft in and out of our breathing and our heartbeats slowing in unison. I gathered her close, wrapping the blankets around us and pressing a kiss to her temple.

She traced the mark over my skin, her voice hushed with wonder. “It’s beautiful.” Feathers, a light touch, like a tasteful necklace around her throat. Mine would look the same, so everyone would know we fit, inside and out.

“So are you,” I told her, bursting with happiness, holding my mate in my arms, floating on the success of today’s victories.

I let myself whisper the promises that had lived in me longer than I’d admitted.

“I’ll rebuild every room with you. Wards on the sills, tea in the mornings, flights at dusk. You’ll never face the dark alone.”

Her eyes glistened, her voice steady. “And we’ll make it ours.

Your sky, my hearth. One home.” Outside, snow slid from the roof with a hush, possibly hinting at the coming of a thaw, of spring.

I shifted, coaxing her back into my lap, and she came willingly, her smile equal parts challenge and devotion.

This time, she set the rhythm, slower, savoring, claiming me as surely as I had claimed her.

When at last exhaustion pulled us both under, she tucked herself against my chest. Her voice—drowsy but certain—whispered the word that sealed everything: “Mate.”

“Always,” I promised, knowing I spoke nothing but the truth.