Page 25 of Fetch Me A Mate (Shifter Mates of Hollow Oak #1)

DIANA

T hat kiss on the stairs was a promise, soft and sure, and it wasn’t enough.

Rowan’s hand found hers, his fingers lacing through hers as he led her down into the quiet, sleeping inn.

He didn’t lead her to the parlor with its ghosts of their first frantic encounter, nor up to a bedroom.

Instead, he guided her into the kitchen, a space of nourishment and heart.

He pressed her back against the cool, smooth tile of the wall, and the contrast of its chill against her skin and the furnace of his body pressing into hers made her gasp.

His mouth found hers again, and this kiss was different.

It wasn’t the desperate, storm-fueled claiming of before.

This was a slow, deep exploration, a conversation without words.

It spoke of relief, of coming home, of a rightness that settled deep in her bones.

She learned the weight of his hands as they moved from her waist to her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks with a reverence that made her want to weep.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “For ever making you doubt. For pushing you away.”

“It’s okay,” she breathed, her hands tangling in the thick hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re here now.”

“I’m here now,” he repeated, the words a solemn vow.

Then his mouth began a slow, worshipful journey.

He kissed her eyelids, her temples, the frantic pulse at the base of her throat.

With painstaking deliberation, he began to unbutton her shirt, his lips following the path of newly revealed skin.

Every touch was an apology; every kiss was a declaration.

Her empathic sense was on fire, flooded with the pure, undiluted adoration pouring from him.

It was overwhelming, a tidal wave of emotion—his regret for his harshness, his terror at the thought of losing her, and a profound, soul-deep devotion that left her breathless.

He slid the shirt from her shoulders, his gaze drinking in the sight of her in her simple lace bra.

“Beautiful,” he rasped, his voice thick.

He unhooked the clasp and let the garment fall away, his hands cupping her breasts with an almost holy reverence before he lowered his head, taking a nipple into his warm, wet mouth.

Pleasure, sharp and shocking, shot through her.

She cried out, her fingers tightening in his hair.

He suckled her gently, then harder, his tongue laving the sensitive peak until she was arching against the cool tile, a helpless moan escaping her lips.

He gave equal attention to her other breast before trailing a line of open-mouthed kisses down her stomach.

He knelt before her, his hands finding the button of her jeans.

He slid the zipper down, his knuckles a warm pressure against her lower belly.

He eased the denim and her panties down her legs in one smooth motion, leaving her completely bare before him.

The moonlight silvered her skin, and the look on his face—pure, unadulterated worship—was the most erotic thing she had ever seen.

“Rowan…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Let me,” he said, growling. “Let me show you. All of you.”

His mouth found her then, his touch reverent in the dark kitchen.

He didn’t claim her with demanding force, but with a worshipful exploration that unraveled her.

His tongue, warm and wet, traced the delicate folds of her pussy, learning her shape with a devastating patience.

The cool tile against her back was a stark contrast to the fire he was building between her legs.

Diana gasped, her hands flying to the wall behind her for support as he dipped inside.

The physical sensation was exquisite, a sharp, coiling pleasure that started low in her belly.

But it was the emotional torrent she felt from him through her empathic gift that was truly undoing her.

It wasn't just lust; it was a flood. His emotions poured into her as if a dam had broken. She felt his profound awe, the almost sacred reverence he held for her body. She felt his fierce, desperate need to give her this pleasure, to erase every moment of doubt she’d ever had.

And underneath it all, she felt his pure, unadulterated joy in her surrender, as if he’d been starving and she was his first true meal.

The feedback loop was impossibly intense; his pleasure in pleasing her magnified her own, which in turn magnified his.

“Oh, God,” she cried out, her voice shaky.

The pleasure was building into a tight, coiling knot of heat deep inside her, threatening to break.

Her fingers left the smooth tile, tangling in the thick silk of his dark hair, holding him to her.

The slight rasp of his stubble against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs sent another wave of sensation through her.

“That’s it, Diana,” he encouraged her, his voice a low, guttural murmur against her slick flesh. His tongue became more insistent, stroking and circling with a skill that told her he was mapping every nerve ending. “Let go for me. Show me.”

She did. With a strangled sob, she surrendered to the feeling.

Her climax ripped through her, a shattering, full-body convulsion that bowed her back off the table.

A scream tore from her throat, her vision whiting out into a pure, blinding flash of light as he drank her sounds and swallowed her release.

Just as the waves began to recede, she felt his triumphant satisfaction crash into her as if it were her own.

It was a wave of pure, possessive delight, a silent, wolfish roar of victory in her soul that he, and only he, was the one to give her this.

The shared ecstasy reignited her own pleasure, dragging her under for a second, deeper peak that left her utterly spent, trembling in the powerful circle of his arms.

Before the last tremors of her climax had even faded, he rose, moving away from her.

For a terrifying second, she thought he was leaving again, but he only went to the center of the kitchen where the moonlight pooled on the floor.

He stood there, his chest rising and falling heavily, and simply looked at her.

Then, with a deliberation that felt both reverent and raw, he kicked off his heavy work boots.

He unbuttoned his flannel shirt, his movements slow, his eyes never leaving hers.

He shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor, revealing the expanse of his chest and shoulders.

The moonlight painted his skin in shades of silver and shadow, highlighting the corded muscles, the light dusting of dark hair, and the faint, silvery tracings of old scars that told stories she didn't yet know.

The sound of his belt buckle being undone was unnaturally loud in the quiet room, followed by the rasp of a zipper.

He pushed his jeans and boxers down his powerful thighs, stepping out of them until he stood before her, completely naked, completely exposed.

He was magnificent, all hard planes and sculpted muscle, his cock thick and fully erect, pulsing with a need that was aimed entirely at her.

He returned to her then, lifting her as if she weighed nothing.

The cool, solid wood of the sturdy oak kitchen table met the skin of her back, and she gasped at the sensation.

He positioned himself between her thighs, his hands gently guiding her legs to wrap around his waist. He entered her then, his cock sliding into her still-clinching, wet heat with a single, perfect glide.

He filled her completely, a perfect, seamless joining that felt like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.

She met his silver gaze, their faces inches apart, their breaths mingling.

“You feel me?” he asked, his voice rough with an emotion that was deeper than lust.

“Always,” she choked out.

He began to thrust, a slow, deep, deliberate rhythm that was the antithesis of the frantic, storm-fueled passion of their first encounter.

This was not a desperate taking; this was loving.

This was a claiming of souls. His hands came up to frame her face, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones as he moved within her.

With every powerful push of his hips, he seemed to be embedding himself deeper within her, erasing the memory of every lonely moment she had ever known.

“You’re mine,” he said, the words a guttural statement of fact, a vow sealed with a deep thrust that touched her womb. “In here. Always.” He pressed a hand flat over her heart, and she could feel the truth of his words not just with her ears, but with her entire being.

Tears she couldn’t explain tracked down her temples.

She could feel his entire soul focused on her, his wolf’s fierce possessiveness now perfectly harmonized with a profound, human tenderness that wanted to cherish and protect.

He was showing her everything he was, holding nothing back, and the raw honesty of it was breaking her open.

The pleasure began to build again, coiling in her belly, faster this time, sharper.

His slow, worshipful rhythm began to change, his thrusts becoming more demanding as he felt her body begin to quicken around him.

“Rowan, I’m close,” she gasped, her nails scoring crescents into his powerful shoulders.

“I know,” he said, his own control shattering, his voice a low growl. “Come with me this time.”

He quickened his pace, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, driving them both toward the edge.

He drove into her with a primal, focused intensity, the sound of their bodies meeting a pagan rhythm in the quiet kitchen.

He watched her face as her second orgasm seized her, her body arching off the table as she cried his name in a shattered, breathless prayer.

The sight of her, the feel of her pussy clenching around his cock in wave after wave of pleasure, was all it took.

With a final, deep thrust that buried him to the hilt and a guttural roar that was more wolf than man, he poured his release into her, his own climax a violent, shuddering surrender.

He collapsed against her, his forehead resting on hers, their ragged breaths mingling in the quiet kitchen.

The only sound was the steady drip of a faucet and the frantic beating of their two hearts, finally in rhythm.

He didn’t pull away. He didn’t retreat. He just held her, murmuring her name like a man who had finally, against all odds, found his way home.