Chapter 158
Mason
I've never experienced this kind of pleasure, ever.
It's immense.
I can't stop, spilling into him. Over and over, it feels endless, like the bond itself is wringing me dry, demanding every drop I have to give. My body won't let up, my knot pulsing, locking me so deep inside him that the thought of ever letting go makes my chest ache.
Harry trembles against me, still shuddering from his release, his skin hot and slick in my arms. I lower my head and look at the bite—the mark—my mark. Red, swollen, beautiful. I can't stop myself; I lick over it again, slow and soothing.
He whimpers each time, a tiny noise, not from pain but from the sensitivity of the new bond humming under his skin. My tongue moves again, and another whimper escapes him. It shoots straight down my spine, but I force myself to be gentle.
"Harry…" I murmur.
No response.
I shift as much as I can with the knot still holding us together. He's limp, small in my arms, lashes trembling against flushed cheeks. When I tilt his face toward me, I realize—he's out cold.
For a second, panic grips me. But his breathing is even, his body warm, his scent steady. Just exhausted. Just spent.
Relief floods me.
Slowly, carefully, I adjust our position without pulling free, rolling us to our side until we're spooning. His back fits against my chest perfectly, his hair damp against my chin.
I wrap an arm around his waist, pulling his tiny body tight to mine.
I bury my face against the curve of his neck and inhale. His scent is everywhere—ours now.
Forever, huh.
The thought brings a smile to my face, small and unshakable.
His body shifts faintly in sleep, pressing back against me as if his subconscious is answering that thought. I tighten my arms around him, holding him closer. My smile deepens.
I'm a lucky bastard, aren't I?
***
Harry
I open my eyes to the weight of a large arm around my waist. For a moment, I'm disoriented, muscles sore and heavy, the room dim with morning light sneaking through the curtains. Then I register the scent—warm, sharp, his—and it all comes rushing back.
Mason.
His arm is banded tight across my stomach, holding me like I might vanish. His chest rises and falls against my back, each breath slow and deep, and the solid warmth of his body makes me want to melt back into him and never leave.
Shiftingslightly, testing my muscles, and a quiet sound escapes me—half whimper, half sigh.
His knot has softened, but he's still inside me, heavy and hot.
I try to wiggle away, thinking maybe I should slip free, but the friction sparks low heat in my belly. The wiggle becomes a roll of my hips, and suddenly I'm not trying to escape at all.
Mason stirs behind me, his breath hitching. His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
"Harry…" his voice is still rough with sleep, warning and hungry at the same time.
"I didn't mean to wake you," I say, though my movements are bolder now that he's awake, rolling my hips back against him on purpose.
"I'm certainly awake now," he groans, his breath hot against my neck.
Arching against him, greedy, needy, and Mason growls softly. His hips shift, pressing against me with unmistakable intent, and the drag of him makes my head fall back onto his shoulder.
"What type of alpha would I be, if I couldn't satisfy my omega?" he says, his voice rough with possession.
But the way he says my omega—like it's sacred,my whole body shudders, the words sinking deep into places even his touch hasn't reached.
I grip his arm where it's wrapped around me, nails digging into his skin. "Say it again," I whisper, breathless.
His lips brush my temple, then my jaw. "Mine," he rumbles. "My omega. Always."
Mason flips us, pressing me flat against the sheets before hauling my legs over his shoulders. And then he gives me exactly what I need. His pace is relentless, each thrust deep and unyielding, leaving me undone and gasping for more.
And I love it.
*
Later, when the storm finally breaks and we're nothing but sweat-slick limbs and tangled sheets, I lie sprawled across his chest, boneless, still trembling faintly. His heartbeat pounds steady beneath my ear.
I can't believe I did it. We did it.
"I can hear the gears turning in your head," Mason murmurs, brushing a hand lazily up and down my spine.
I laugh breathlessly, pressing a kiss against his chest. "Well, I can't believe it… and I'm so happy."
He tilts his head, looking down at me with a softness that makes my chest ache. "I'm happy too."
There's a pause, filled with warmth and steady breathing. His fingers find the mark on my neck, tracing it gently as if committing it to memory.
Then, in a voice low but sure, he says it.
"I love you."
I look up at him, and it's in his eyes—clear, steady, undeniable. He means it.
For a second, the old doubts flare up. The part of me that whispers I don't deserve to be loved like this, not after everything, not after what I've been through. But I push it down, bury it where it can't ruin this moment.
"I love you too," I say. My voice cracks just a little, but the words are true.
His arms tighten around me, his lips brushing the top of my head.
"I don't regret it," I add softly. "Not any of it. Not tonight. Not us."
He exhales, a sound equal parts relief and joy. He presses a lingering kiss against my temple, warm and reverent.
"Thank you," he murmurs. "For trusting me."