Broken Bond (Claimed by Wolves 2)

“Can you hear me?” he asks in a lower voice. His honey eyes gleam in the dim moonlight as his gaze rakes over me, but I can tell he’s not looking at my scars or the magic. He’s just looking at me, a touch of worry in his expression.

I nod.

“Breathe,” he commands. “In, out. In, out.”

I follow his lead, watching his lips form an O as he sucks in air, then releases it. After the first few breaths, I relax against the pillows, and he releases his death grip on my arms. His fingers brush gently over my skin as he continues to coach me through the panic attack using Archer’s usual methods.

His voice is soothing, and his hands on my arms ground me. The calmer I become, the more the black marks fade, until they’re gone entirely. All that’s left is Ridge.

He’s leaning over me, our gazes locked as his hands gently rub up and down my arms. My skin begins to tingle beneath his fingers, and then suddenly, heat rises inside me.

I recognize this heat.

This need.

It’s the same consuming fire that took over me in the cabin, that I felt before the witch transition. But I’m not going into heat this time either—at least, I don’t think so. It’s more like a powerful desire to make Ridge my own.

“Don’t stop touching me,” I murmur, a little breathlessly.

“It’s helping?” His brows pinch together as he puts a little more strength behind his hands.

I close my eyes and focus entirely on the sensation of his hands on my skin. I relish the heat rolling off him, and the hard press of his hip against mine as he leans over me. He’s so close. I silently urge him to widen his playing field. I want his fingers on more parts of my body. I want him to touch everything all at once. I want him over me, between my legs, the way he was in my dreams.

I want to know what it feels like when our bodies merge.

Opening my eyes, I gaze up at him. My lips part as desire and heat roll through me. I can feel when he recognizes the emotions rushing through me. I’m sur

e he can smell my arousal with his preternatural senses.

His hands slow.

“No. Keep touching me,” I rasp, fisting the front of his t-shirt with my hands. “Ridge… touch me.”

His face darkens, and his gaze drifts to my lips as his hands begin to move again. I can tell he’s fighting his own desires—keeping his motions chaste, soothing, platonic. But he’s losing the battle. I can feel it in the way his touch grows a little harder, a little more possessive. Still, his hands won’t budge from my arms. He’s such a goddamn gentleman, and I don’t want him to be.

This might be a bad idea, but I’m beyond caring about what’s smart.

I sit up abruptly, and as his hands fall away from my arms, I kiss him. The moment our lips meet, it’s like a dam breaking.

With a low noise that rumbles up from the back of his throat, Ridge wraps his arms around me, pinning my body against his as he returns my kiss. I can feel his heart thudding against mine as my chest presses to his, and the movement of his lips on mine is hot and almost frantic, starting at one hundred instead of building up slowly.

It feels like falling and flying at the same time. It’s overwhelming, addictive, and everything I need in this moment.

My sexual experience before I met the four shifter men was next to nothing. I don’t get the sense that Ridge has ever been a player, but I can tell he’s more experienced than me. There’s a confidence in the way he holds me, in the way he kisses me, that makes me certain he knows exactly how to draw pleasure from a woman’s body.

Maybe the difference in our experience levels should make me feel shy or awkward, but instead, it makes me feel… safe.

I don’t need to be some perfect sex goddess. I just need to be here with Ridge, following my instincts and reveling in the feelings he draws out in my body. I just need to let go and do what feels good.

So that’s exactly what I do.

My hands roam over the hard, sculpted expanse of his muscles as I touch every inch of him I can reach, groping him without a hint of shame. We end up on our knees on the bed, our bodies pressed together as our lips and tongues grapple. It’s almost like a war, a battle to see who can consume more of the other person.

It’s a fight I want to both win and lose.

When my fingers drop down to the hem of Ridge’s shirt, he finally breaks our kiss, leaning away from me enough for me to draw the dark tee up and over his head. I toss it away onto the floor, tugging my bottom lip between my teeth as I take in the shadowy form of his chest and torso.

I’ve seen this man naked more times than I would have if we were living in human society, with no need to strip down for a shift. I’m still not entirely used to the wolf shifters’ casual attitude toward nudity, but I’ve reached the point where I at least don’t flush bright red every time they discard their clothes or shift back into human form naked. I’m learning to see it as just a part of daily life.