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T his man.

This beautiful, dangerous, mine in every way that counts Shifter .

Doesn’t he realize I already belong to him?

Not because of fate.

Not because of a bond.

But because when he looks at me like this. Like I’m his whole goddamn world. I choose him all over again.

“Kian.”

His name comes out like a prayer. Or maybe a spell.

I move slowly, deliberately, and swing my leg over him until I’m straddling his hips. My thighs press against his, and already I can feel him, hard and ready beneath the thin barrier of his sweatpants.

The couch lets out a soft groan under our weight, but I don’t give a damn about the furniture.

I care about this.

Us.

My hands slide up the firm plane of his chest, palms memorizing the ridges of muscle and the wild thump of his heart.

“I pick you,” I whisper. “Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. Hell, for all my tomorrows, I pick you .”

And then I kiss him.

At first, he doesn’t move. Just lets me take the lead. Maybe because he's stunned, or maybe because he’s afraid to hope.

But when he does respond?

He devours me.

One powerful arm wraps around my back and hauls me against him, and then his mouth is crushing mine in a kiss so hungry it borders on desperate.

The kind of kiss that says I thought I’d lost you. I never want to feel that again.

Our lips part with a gasp, then reconnect. My hands dive into his thick golden hair as he licks into my mouth like a man starved, tasting me, claiming me.

My body sizzles to life.

Every inch of me burns.

Maybe it’s the fear.

Maybe it’s the relief.

Maybe it’s the way our bond is singing like a live wire beneath my skin.

But I’ve never wanted anything like I want this. Him.

I grind my hips against him, and the friction makes him growl deep in his chest. A low, dangerous sound that makes me even wetter.

“Fuck. So good. You taste like mine,” he rasps against my lips, biting lightly at my bottom one. “Like fire and flowers and fucking heaven.”

“Kian, I want you to claim me,” I breathe, sliding my hands down to tug at the hem of his shirt. “Again.”

The next few moments are nothing but a blur of needy touches and ripped clothing.

“Yeah? Fuck. yes, I’ll claim you as many times as it takes. As many times as you want,” he grunts.

Shirts are flung somewhere behind the couch. My jeans are peeled down in a frenzied rush, and his sweatpants vanish with them, leaving us skin to skin, chest to chest.

Nothing between us but heat.

His eyes roam over my body like it’s the first time he’s seen me.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groans, hands roaming reverently over my waist, my belly, the soft flare of my hips.

“I’m chunky,” I tease, though the insecurity still flickers behind my voice.

He stills.

Then grips my hips tighter, dragging me against his cock in a slow, torturous grind that makes me cry out.

“Chunky?” His eyes glow, his Bull close to the surface now. “Woman, you’re a goddess. Soft, sensuous, made for me. All this?” His hands squeeze my ass, pulling me flush against him. “This is what I need. What I crave. What I’d kill for.”

“Then take me,” I whisper, rocking my hips again. “Please.”

He doesn’t make me beg twice.

One hand slips between us, guiding the thick head of his cock to my entrance. The second I feel him there, I shudder, because fuck, he’s big.

And hot.

And mine.

He holds me still, his other hand cradling the back of my head, and he looks into my eyes as he pushes in.

Slow, firm, relentless.

“Breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”

And I do.

I breathe. I open for him. And he fills me, inch by inch, until he’s buried to the hilt, and I swear I’m about to come from the stretch alone.

“So tight,” he grunts, forehead pressing to mine. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

I nod, tears pricking my eyes because I’ve never felt so close to someone. Not just physically, but spiritually.

Like something cosmic is clicking into place.

Like this was always meant to be.

He begins to move. Long, deep thrusts that stroke every sensitive part of me. He sets a rhythm that’s both possessive and tender, worshipping my body as much as he claims it.

“Say it again,” he groans, picking up the pace, sweat glistening across his shoulders. “Say you pick me.”

“I pick you,” I pant, clinging to him. “I’ll always pick you.”

Our bodies slap together, hard and hungry, each motion coaxing me closer to that edge. His thumb finds my clit and circles with just the right pressure, making me sob.

“Come for me, Mo Chroí . Let me feel you fall apart on me.”

And I do.

With his name on my lips, with our bond singing like wildfire, I come hard—my body clenching around him, pulling him deeper, tighter.

He follows with a roar, thrusting hard and deep as he comes inside me, hips stuttering, hands shaking, body locked as he pours everything he is into me.

And when it’s done, when we’re tangled together in the afterglow, he presses his lips to my temple and whispers, “You saved me too, mate. You just don’t know it yet.”

And neither of us lets go.