Page 12 of Can’t Get No Satyrfaction (Mated to the Monster: Season 3)

CHAPTER 12

M ake me.

Sylvie’s challenge hit Thorn like a bolt of lightning, crackling through his blood and setting every nerve ending aflame. His grip faltered as desire surged through him, primal and urgent, and his control snapped like a dry branch. He knew better—knew all the reasons this was dangerous. Trust a human, and they’d tear your heart to shreds. His sister’s fate had taught him that lesson in blood.

But the challenge blazed in those blue eyes, and his body moved before his mind could stop it. His arm shot out, bracing against the tree trunk behind her, caging her more firmly between bark and muscle. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t shrink away.

This is a mistake , his mind screamed, but when his mouth crashed down on hers, reason shattered. The kiss was pure instinct—rough and hungry, claiming. Her gasp vibrated against his lips, sweet and startled. Instead of pushing him away, her fingers threaded into his hair, grasping the sensitive base of his horns as she pulled him closer.

He told himself it was just to keep her quiet, to stop that clever mouth from drawing the poachers back. But when her lips parted and her tongue brushed his, the lie crumbled. Her taste flooded his senses—honey and sunlight and something uniquely her. The scent of her filled his lungs until he could barely breathe.

He wanted more, needed more, and he lifted her higher against the trunk. Her legs immediately wrapped around his waist, and she gasped as he settled her over the thick ridge of his sheath. He took everything she offered, his tongue sliding over hers in a searing kiss. He drank her in, devouring her until nothing else existed but the feel of her body pressed against his and the soft, breathy noises she made as he explored her mouth.

It was madness, pure and simple. Although the poachers were beyond the range of his senses, they could double back and stumble upon them, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t get enough. He deepened the kiss, claiming every inch of her mouth, his fingers tangling in her hair. She moaned, pressing soft curves against hard muscle. His hips rolled instinctively, seeking relief for the aching hardness of his cock, and she whimpered as she rode his swollen sheath. He needed to be inside her, needed to claim her as his own.

He wanted her now. Right here, against this tree, surrounded by his forest. The thought of taking her, of sinking into her wet heat while the poachers lurked nearby, sent a primal surge of desire through him. He wanted to bury himself inside her, to hear her scream his name while she came around his cock. Let them find him like this, a wild satyr claiming his mate in his forest. They would run in terror, or face his wrath. Either outcome was acceptable to him.

One small shred of sanity remained, enough for him to order Bront to guard, but he didn’t wait to see if the dog obeyed, couldn’t look away from her to check.

“Need you,” he growled against her lips, his fingers digging into her hips.

“Then take me,” she whispered back, her hands tightening around his horns. “I’m yours.”

He was lost. His control shattered, broken into a million pieces by her words. He didn’t care if this was a mistake, didn’t care if the whole world came crashing down around them. All he cared about was claiming her as his.

He fumbled at her clothes, desperate to touch bare skin, to feel the heat of her. She whimpered as his fingers found their way under her shirt, finding the soft curve of her breast beneath a small scrap of lace. He groaned, grinding his hips against her as he explored the small, perfect mounds. They nestled in the palm of his hand, her nipples pebbling under his touch, and she arched into him, her head falling back against the tree trunk.

“Yes,” she gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please, Thorn.”

Hearing his name on her lips drove him wild, and he yanked her top up and tore impatiently at her flimsy bra, freeing her breasts, small and pale with stiff little pink nipples that begged for his mouth. He obeyed their summons, bending his head to suck one into his mouth, laving his tongue over the tight bud. Her cry echoed through the forest, and the thought that someone might hear them only added to the rush of pleasure. He wanted to make her scream his name for the world to hear.

“Thorn,” she whimpered, her fingers twisting in his hair. “We need to—oh gods—we need to stop.”

“No.” The denial tore from him, rough as gravel. She couldn’t stop this. Not now. He’d die if she did.

“But the poachers?—”

He lifted his head to stare into her eyes. “You’re mine, Sylvie. They can’t have you. They won’t.”

She trembled, her eyes wide. “I don’t want them, Thorn. Just you.”

He claimed her mouth again, kissing her with all the desperation and hunger burning inside him. She met him kiss for kiss, her tongue sliding over his. He needed her, needed to be inside her, to feel her clench around him. His cock was so hard it ached, straining against his sheath.

And then his hands were at her waist, tugging at her shorts, desperate to feel her wet heat. His tail flicked in agitation, his horns aching as he kissed her with bruising force. The button on her shorts came undone and he moved away just enough to yank them down, revealing a tiny scrap of lace that did nothing to cover the most intimate parts of her. He groaned, pressing his mouth to her neck, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin there. She tasted like sin and salvation all at once.

He had to have her, had to claim her. Nothing else mattered.

He lifted her higher against the tree, his fingers digging into her hips. She wrapped her legs tighter around him, arching to meet his touch. He could feel her heat against the soft fur covering his lower body, and he ground his hips against hers, needing to be closer, to have nothing between them.

His hand slipped between them, finding the soaked lace of her panties. He growled, ripping them away, desperate to touch her, to feel the slick heat of her arousal. He slid one finger between her folds and groaned at the wetness he found there. She was ready for him, her body welcoming him.

“Mine,” he growled, claiming her mouth again. “You’re mine, Sylvie.”

“Yes,” she moaned into the kiss, her hips rocking against his hand. She was so responsive, so eager for him. It drove him wild, made him want to do things to her that he’d never done before.

He wanted to taste her, to devour her, to feel her clench around his tongue, to hear her scream his name as she shattered. But not here, not like this. That would be for later, when he had her spread beneath him on his bed. He’d lick her until she begged him to stop, until she was shaking and spent, and then he’d do it all over again.

But right now, he needed to be inside her, to feel her heat wrapped around him. His cock was so painfully hard that he could barely think straight. All he knew was that he had to have her, had to make her his.

His cock sprang free from his sheath, thick and glistening. He didn’t have time to worry about the strangeness of his anatomy, all that mattered was the way she felt against him, the way her body welcomed him.

He positioned himself at her entrance, his eyes locked on hers. She stared back at him, her pupils huge and dark, her lips swollen and red. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and he was about to make her his.

My mate.

“Tell me you want this,” he growled and she smiled—fierce, breathless, trusting.

“Yes.”

His hips jerked forwards but he did his best to enter her slowly, to give her time to adjust, shuddering with pleasure as her tight heat began to envelop him. The pointed tip of his cock slid in easily enough and she gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she arched to meet him. He could barely breathe, barely think, as he slowly pushed deeper, her body straining to accept the increasing thickness of his shaft.

He was lost, completely and utterly lost in her. All that mattered was the way she felt around him, the way her body fit him like a glove. The way she whimpered his name as the thick ring at the base of his shaft strained against her body’s resistance. His tail slipped between them, flicking across her swollen clit and she shuddered, her body convulsing helplessly as she finally eased enough to take the rest of him.

They both groaned, and he forced himself to still, his forehead dropping to hers as he let her adjust to the size of him, her narrow channel still fluttering helplessly around his shaft.

Fuck . Had anything ever felt so perfect? So tight and hot and wet that he shuddered again. He never wanted to leave her body. He wanted to stay buried inside her forever, to feel her squeeze him as her pleasure took her. She was already quivering on the verge of another climax.

“Thorn,” she whispered, her voice breathless and needy.

He couldn’t deny her, couldn’t deny himself. He pulled out slowly, feeling every inch of her as he did. Then he thrust back in, hard and deep, filling her completely. She cried out, her head falling back against the tree trunk, her eyes closed in pleasure.

He set a hard, fast rhythm, driving into her with long, deep strokes, his hips slamming against hers with each thrust. His hand tightened on her ass, pulling her into him with each stroke. His tail flicked with each thrust, brushing across her clit as he fucked her.

Her nails dug into his back, scoring his skin as he pounded into her. She was close, he could feel it in the way her body clenched around him, in the way her cries grew louder and more frantic. He wanted to feel her convulse around him, wanted to feel her shatter in his arms. He angled his hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her gasp and moan.

“Come for me, Sylvie,” he growled, his voice low and rough with desire. “Let go.”

Her eyes flew open, locking onto his as she came apart around him. Her body shook, her walls clenching and releasing him in waves, milking his cock with every pulse of her pleasure. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up, fucking her through her climax and straight into another. He was relentless, driven by a primal need to make her his, to brand her as his mate in the most basic way possible.

“Thorn!” she cried out, her voice raw and desperate, her body trembling in his arms.

It was too much, the feel of her coming around him, the sound of his name on her lips, the way her eyes locked onto his. His knot expanded, locking them together as his release slammed into him, his cock pulsing as he spilled himself deep into her body. His hips jerked, his fingers digging into her skin, his tail wrapping around her thigh as he rode out his climax. It seemed to go on forever, his body shuddering and twitching as he filled her.

When it was finally over, he rested his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged and uneven. He could feel her heartbeat pounding against his chest, her body limp and sated in his arms.

“That was…” she whispered, trailing off as though she couldn’t find the words to describe what they’d just experienced.

“Yes,” he agreed, kissing her softly. “It was.”

They stayed there for a moment, just holding each other and catching their breath. Then he heard the sound of a twig snapping in the distance. Only a small creature but it served as a reminder that the poachers were still out there, and he’d been careless, putting them both in danger. His knot was still swollen, locking them together.

“Don’t move,” he warned as concentrated on slow, deep breaths, willing his knot to subside. Despite his best efforts, he was still somewhat swollen when he pulled out of her and she shuddered, her body clinging to him and urging him to drive back into her. He gritted his teeth and set her back on her feet. Her bra and panties were a lost cause, but he pulled her shorts back up her legs and tugged her t-shirt back into place. She wobbled but he steadied her, his hands lingering on her hips.

His gaze traveled down over her, lingering on the red mark on her neck, not quite a claiming bite, but close enough. For now.

My mate.

The words echoed in his head but he couldn’t quite bring himself to say them out loud. What if she rejected his claim?

“We should get moving,” he said gruffly. “We need to get to the cabin before they stumble across us.”

She nodded, her eyes still glazed with pleasure. “Okay.”

He whistled for Bront and the hound dashed out of the bushes to join them. He could have sworn there was a knowing smile on the dog’s faces but he did his best to ignore it.

He took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “Come on. It’s not far now.”

She accompanied him, her grip strong and sure, and he found himself smiling, more content than he’d ever been.