Page 40

ROLLO

T he moon was higher now, pearled against the sky like it had climbed there just to witness this moment.

The forest had quieted. The town had dimmed. Lanterns flickered low at the sanctuary’s edge, casting golden trails of light across the wild grass. The last laughter had faded with the guests as they'd meandered home with warm hearts and full bellies, leaving the night to its rightful keepers.

Delilah stood barefoot on the sanctuary porch, gown loose around her frame, curls falling soft around her shoulders. Her back was to him, but she felt him there—he knew it by the way her shoulders eased, her breath slowed.

“You’re quiet,” she said softly, not turning.

He stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to the curve of her neck. “Just takin’ a moment.”

“To breathe?”

“To remember ,” he murmured. “To etch this in my head. You, here. Ours.”

She turned in his arms, hazel eyes glowing in the moonlight. “We’re already etched.”

He let out a quiet breath, full of reverence and ache. “Not yet.”

Her brows lifted. Not with confusion. But knowing.

Anticipating.

“Rollo…”

He took her hand, large and calloused, the one that had fought battles and rebuilt enclosures, that had carried her through fire and fury. And he led her inside.

The sanctuary was still, scented with the herbs she'd gathered earlier in the week—cedar, rosemary, a little starflower.

They didn’t need candles.

Moonlight spilled through the high windows, catching on the dust motes like stardust. It shimmered against the blankets they'd laid together across the floor days ago, talking of dreams and plans and which way to hang curtains.

Now, it was holy ground.

Rollo turned to her slowly, his breath caught somewhere between his ribs and his throat.

“You sure?” he asked, voice gruff with the weight of it all.

Delilah stepped close, sliding her hands beneath the open edges of his shirt, palms warm against his skin, fingers brushing across the firm plane of his stomach and the thick line of hair that trailed downward.

“I’ve been yours since the moment you left that moonvine garden to follow me,” she whispered. “And I’ll keep bein’ yours. Mark or no mark.”

His fingers trembled as they brushed her cheek, rough knuckles trailing the soft slope of her jaw. “But I need to. Not for a claim. Not to cage you. Just… to show you. To bind you to me in the way my soul’s already done.”

She smiled then, slow and sure. “Then do it, Rollo. Mark me. I want it. I want us.”

The air shifted. Not with magic. But with meaning.

He kissed her slow, hands in her hair, chest pressed to hers like he couldn’t bear another inch of space.

Her dark chestnut curls slipped free from their ribbon as his fingers threaded through them, releasing the scent of clove and lavender.

She moaned softly against his mouth, her body pliant and warm as she pressed into him, her breasts soft against his chest, her nipples pebbling beneath the thin fabric of her gown.

“I love how you smell,” he muttered against her lips. “Like rosemary and firewood and sin.”

She laughed quietly, but it caught when he lowered his mouth to her neck and kissed a line from her ear to her collarbone. “And you,” she breathed, “you smell like moss and musk and something untamed. My wild bear.”

He growled low, the sound vibrating between them, primal and thick with need.

They moved together, unhurried. Her gown slipped from her shoulders with a whisper, revealing the soft curve of her dark olive skin to the moonlight. He knelt to kiss the rise of her breasts, then lower, his calloused hands reverent as they smoothed over her hips, her thighs.

Rollo’s shirt was next, peeled away and dropped at her feet, revealing the broad, scarred expanse of his chest, the thick dark hair trailing down between his abs, catching the light.

His boots were kicked aside, his pants soon after, until he stood bare and unashamed, cock already thick and heavy with need, jutting upward between them.

Delilah’s eyes dipped, then lifted back to his, hazel darkening with hunger, golden sparks flaring in their depths.

“Let me touch you,” she whispered, fingers brushing his length, wrapping around him. His breath hitched, and he leaned into her touch, hips twitching.

“Fuck,” he rasped, eyes fluttering shut as she stroked him slowly, her palm slick with his arousal. “That mouth, that hand—you’re gonna be the end of me, witch.”

She smiled wickedly and dropped to her knees, but he caught her face in his hands and pulled her back up gently.

“Not tonight,” he said, voice thick. “Tonight’s not for worship. It’s for us.”

She nodded, and he swept her into his arms like she weighed nothing, laying her gently onto the blankets spread across the sanctuary floor. Moonlight poured through the windows like blessing, catching the sheen of sweat already beginning to rise on their skin.

He hovered over her, kissing down the valley between her breasts, his tongue tracing circles around one nipple before sucking it into his mouth. Delilah arched with a gasp, threading her fingers into his hair.

“I need you, Rollo,” she panted. “Please.”

He shifted lower, settling between her thighs. She spread for him without shame, glistening and ready, the folds of her pussy already flushed and wet.

“You’re perfect,” he growled, voice barely human. “So wet for me already.”

He dipped his head and licked her—slow and deliberate, savoring her. She cried out, hips jerking, thighs clamping around his head. But he was strong, relentless. His tongue traced every contour, tasting her like a meal he’d been starving for, growling as her slick coated his mouth.

“Fuck, Rollo—don’t stop—don’t—” she gasped, clutching the blankets as her body bucked. When his lips sealed around her clit and sucked, her whole body tensed—and then broke, a trembling cry leaving her throat as her climax washed through her.

He kissed the inside of her thigh and crawled up her body, his cock dragging against her slick folds. “That’s one,” he rasped. “We’re not done.”

Her lips curved, still breathless. “Good. I want more.”

Rollo lined himself up, gripping the base of his cock and dragging the tip through her wetness, teasing her entrance until she whimpered.

“Look at me, Delilah,” he said. “I wanna see your eyes when I’m inside you.”

She did—and it nearly undid him. All that love. All that trust.

He pushed in slowly, and her eyes fluttered, lips parting on a moan.

“Gods,” she whispered. “You’re so big—fuck—yes, right there?—”

He groaned, sinking deeper. Her heat gripped him like a velvet vise, tight and pulsing around his cock.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” he choked out, bracing himself above her, one hand beside her head, the other gripping her hip.

They moved together, a rhythm forged from instinct and bond. Her legs wrapped around his waist, anchoring him, and he fucked her slow and deep, each stroke a vow.

“Say it,” he rasped, lips against her throat. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she moaned. “Yours, Rollo. Always.”

The world narrowed to this—heat and breath, moans and murmurs, the soft slap of skin, the scent of sex and rosemary in the moonlit air.

When her cries grew higher, sharper, he let the bear rise—not fully, just enough. His claws lengthened, eyes glowing faintly gold. The shift trembled just beneath the surface, held back by love and need.

With a groan, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to her shoulder, then lower… just above the swell of her hip.

She cupped his face, nodding. “Now,” she whispered. “I’m ready.”

His claw traced the rune over her skin—a mark of bond, not pain.

Then he sank the tip in, swift and sure.

Blood welled, a faint ruby against her golden-brown skin. Magic surged.

Delilah gasped, eyes wide, spine arching as the bond locked into place—not just soul and spirit, but blood and body.

Her pussy clenched around him, orgasm crashing into her a second time, and he growled, deep and wild, as he spilled inside her, his cock pulsing, his heart laid bare.

Rollo kissed the mark, lips gentle against her skin.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’ll always have you.”

She stroked his cheek, tears glittering in her eyes. “And I’ve got you.”

They lay tangled together, sweat-slicked and shaking, the bond humming between them.

No words were needed.

The sanctuary held its breath.