Page 12 of Craved by the Werewolf (Mystic Ridge Monster Mates #2)
VALA
T he door shut behind us with a solid, final click, sealing out the noise of the compound.
I looked around, expecting something spartan and utilitarian. An Alpha's den stripped down to the essentials. What I got was... him. All of him.
Warm amber light spilled from recessed sconces, brushing over dark stone walls and rich wood beams that felt older than the forest itself.
The air carried his scent—cedar, smoke, and something wilder—wrapping around me before I'd even taken two steps inside.
A massive bed dominated the far wall, draped in deep charcoal and fur throws.
Across from it, an open hearth glowed with banked embers, the faint heat curling into the room like a quiet promise.
It was beautiful, but there was an edge to it that whispered power lives here. And he'd brought me into his sanctuary.
"You didn't have to drag me here, you know." I turned toward him, letting my tone land somewhere between teasing and breathless. "I would've been fine."
His gaze swept over me in a slow, deliberate pass that had nothing to do with checking for injuries and everything to do with stripping me bare. "Not a chance, Vala." His voice was low, steady, dangerous in the best way. "You're not leaving my sight tonight."
My pulse jumped. I told myself it was just adrenaline from the attack, but that was a lie. It was him—all six feet of wolf-blooded trouble standing too close in a room that smelled like him and looked like temptation carved out of stone and firelight.
"This isn't exactly how I pictured my evening ending," I said, though part of me wondered if that was true. Had I been wanting this? Wanting him?
His mouth curved in a way that made heat pool low in my belly. "It's exactly how I pictured it."
He moved past me, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it over a chair.
Without that barrier, he seemed even bigger, the dark shirt stretched across his chest doing nothing to hide the muscle underneath.
He crossed to the hearth, prodding the embers until they flared, casting flickers of gold across the sharp line of his jaw.
I watched him move and felt something shift inside me. This wasn't just about tonight, about the danger or adrenaline. This was about the man who'd shown me his secret lookout, who fought for kids like I'd once been. The man who looked at me like I was worth protecting. Worth keeping.
The thought should have terrified me. I was still leaving for LA, still had that meeting on Monday. But right now, in this moment, none of that seemed to matter.
"You're still wound up," he said without turning around.
"Maybe I like being wound up." The words slipped out before I could stop them, bolder than I felt.
His head tilted slightly, enough for me to catch the gleam in his eyes when he glanced over his shoulder. "Careful, Vala. I might take that as an invitation."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "And if it was?"
He was in front of me before my next heartbeat, one hand braced against the wall beside my head, the other resting possessively on my hip. The touch was gentle, but the weight behind it felt like a claim I wasn't sure I was ready for—but wanted anyway.
"I brought you here to keep you safe," he said, his voice rougher now. "But that doesn't mean I can ignore what I want. Not tonight."
I reached up, my fingers finding the strong line of his jaw, feeling the slight rasp of stubble. "Then don't ignore it."
Before I could think about what I was doing, I pulled his mouth down to mine.
The kiss was hungry, desperate, months of tension finally finding release.
His hand slid up my side, fingers splaying against my ribs like he was memorizing the shape of me, and I melted into him without hesitation.
The heat of his body seeped through every inch where we touched, his chest solid against mine, his scent curling around me until I didn't know where I ended and he began.
My hands found the back of his neck, threading through the short, warm brush of hair there, and the low growl that rumbled through his chest made me bold. I tugged at his shirt, needing to feel skin against skin.
He broke the kiss only long enough to drag the fabric over his head, the motion rough and impatient.
My breath caught—broad shoulders, the kind of muscle that came from real work, and a trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his waistband.
Perfect and dangerous and I wanted to touch every inch of him.
"You're staring," he said, voice rough with amusement and something darker.
"You're worth staring at." The admission slipped out before I could stop it, heat flooding my cheeks.
His eyes flashed gold for just a moment—wolf rising to the surface—and something primal in his expression made my core clench with need. "Should I stop?" he asked, his hands finding the hidden zipper at my side, fingers already working it down.
I looked into those golden eyes and saw the want there, the barely leashed control, the predator recognizing his prey. Part of me knew this would complicate everything—LA, my career, the life I'd planned. But a bigger part of me was tired of running from what I wanted.
"No," I breathed, and meant it. "Don't stop."
The soft rasp of the zipper echoed in the quiet room. Cool air kissed my skin as the fabric slithered down my body, pooling at my feet. I stepped out of it, standing before him in black lace and heels, and felt powerful under his hungry gaze instead of vulnerable.
"Perfect," he growled, voice dropping to something barely human. His hands skimmed my bare arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "I've been thinking about having you like this since that first night in the studio."
The confession sent heat spiraling through me. My fingers went to his belt, trembling slightly as I worked the buckle free. When my hand slipped inside his pants and closed around the thick, hard length of him, he groaned against my neck, the sound vibrating through his chest.
"Fuck, Vala," he breathed, hips jerking involuntarily into my touch. He was hot and smooth in my palm, heavy and throbbing, already slick at the swollen tip. I stroked him slowly, feeling him pulse and strain against my fingers, marveling at the size of him.
His control cracked, a low snarl escaping him as his teeth found my throat, not quite biting but pressing just hard enough to make me gasp. "You have no idea what you do to me," he rumbled against my skin, hands everywhere—skimming my thighs, hooking into the lace at my hips.
"Show me," I whispered, surprising myself with my boldness.
Another growl, deeper this time, and he spun me to face the wall, pressing my palms flat against the cool stone. "Keep the heels," he commanded, voice rough with authority as he eased my panties down my legs with agonizing slowness.
The command sent a thrill through me. I stepped out of the scrap of lace, stilettos clicking against stone, and arched my back slightly, instinctively offering myself to him. His sharp intake of breath told me he noticed.
"Fucking beautiful," he said, hands mapping the curve of my spine, the flare of my hips. He found the clasp of my bra and released it with practiced ease, the garment falling away to leave me bare except for the heels.
His palms cupped my breasts from behind, thumbs brushing over nipples that were already hard and aching.
Then his hands were turning me around, pressing me back against the wall as his mouth descended on my breast—hot and wet, tongue circling one nipple before he sucked it between his lips.
The sensation shot straight to my core, and I arched against him, fingers digging into his shoulders.
He took his time with me, alternating between gentle licks and firm suction, the scrape of teeth just enough to make me gasp. His tongue flicked over the sensitive peak before he moved to the other breast, lavishing the same attention until I was trembling against the wall.
"Perfect," he murmured against my skin, lips gliding back to capture my nipple again. "I could do this all night."
"I can smell how wet you are for me," he said, finally lifting his head, voice thick with satisfaction. "Your body's already responding to mine."
I couldn't deny it—my core was already slick with arousal, heat pooling between my thighs, and when his hand slipped lower to find that wetness, I moaned against the wall.
"That's it," he praised, fingers parting my swollen folds, finding my clit with unerring accuracy. "Let me hear you."
He circled the sensitive bundle of nerves with just the right pressure, his fingers slick with my arousal, and I cried out, hips pushing back against his hand. "Thorne, please..."
"Please what?" His thumb continued its maddening circles while two thick fingers teased my entrance, spreading my wetness. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you," I gasped, past the point of pretending otherwise. "I want you inside me."
He bit down on my shoulder then, not hard enough to break skin but enough to mark me, his canine teeth sharp against my flesh. The pleasure-pain made me whimper and clench around the fingers he finally pushed inside me, stretching me, filling me.
"So tight," he growled against my skin, working his fingers deeper, scissoring them to prepare me. "Tonight, you're mine."
"Yes," I breathed, meaning it more than I probably should have.
He withdrew his fingers, and I felt the loss immediately. But then his hands were on my hips, turning me around, lifting me with an ease that made me feel delicate and treasured. He carried me to the massive bed and laid me down on the soft furs, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Spread your legs for me," he commanded, voice rough with need and authority.