The moon hung heavy and full, spilling silver across the wood floors like spilled mercury. Crickets chirped beyond the open window, the cool Southern night air brushing Willa's bare shoulders as she sat on the edge of the bed, sleepless, wired, haunted.
She hated quiet. It left too much room for ghosts.
Her fingers curled around the hem of her tank top, damp with the sweat of dreams she hadn't had time to interpret. She shifted, trying to find comfort. She didn't find it.
Then the door creaked open.
No knock. No warning.
Just him.
Cade stepped in, shirtless and barefoot, sweatpants slung low on his hips. The shadows kissed the hard lines of his chest, the way his muscles flexed as he paused just inside the doorway. His eyes glowed in the dark—not wolf, not yet—but full of something feral and focused.
She didn't turn. "What, no hello?"
"You weren't sleeping," he said simply.
"I didn't say I wanted company."
"You didn't say don't, either."
That had her glancing over her shoulder, arching an eyebrow.
Cade was already moving closer.
His heat reached her before he did.
She held still, as if moving might break the spell.
"I should be mad at you," she murmured. "You get under my skin."
"You want me there," he said. "You just don't want to admit it."
He brushed her hair back from her shoulder, fingers grazing her skin like a brand. His touch made her eyes flutter, lips part.
She hated that.
He loved it.
"I came to check on you," he said low against her ear, "but now all I can think about is how damn good you look in that tank top."
"I'm not yours," she said, throat tight.
"Not yet."
She turned, suddenly standing, facing him—chest to chest. Their breath mingled.
He searched her face.
She searched his soul.
"I'm poison," she said.
"I've survived worse," he growled.
And then she grabbed his shirtless chest with both hands and shoved him back into the wall.
He let her.
She didn't say a word as she grabbed the waistband of his sweats and dragged them down with rough purpose. He grunted, surprised, aroused.
Her mouth crashed into his—fierce, unrelenting. He responded in kind, hands running up her sides, cupping her ass, lifting her without effort. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he walked them blindly to the bed and dropped her onto the mattress.
She reached for him—he caught her wrists.
"You sure about this?" he growled, breathing hard.
"No," she whispered. "That's what makes it real."
He kissed her then—this time slower, deeper, his tongue sliding over hers like he was tasting something forbidden. His body moved over her, between her thighs, grinding against her heat.
She gasped when he slid his mouth down her neck, teeth grazing her skin, hands pulling her tank top up and over her head. Her breasts arched into his touch, nipples tightening as he brushed his tongue over one, then the other.
"Cade…" she whispered.
"I know," he said. "I feel it too."
He hooked her panties and dragged them down, slow, watching her face the whole time.
She opened for him, trembling and furious with herself for wanting this, for needing this man.
His fingers teased first—two of them stroking deep, his thumb circling her clit until her head fell back and her thighs shook.
When he finally slid into her, thick and deep and perfect, they both cursed aloud. Her hands gripped his shoulders like lifelines, her legs locking tighter as he started to move.
It wasn't sweet.
It was punishing.
Delicious.
Their bodies collided like a storm—skin to skin, sweat and groans and whispered filth between kisses.
She scratched down his back.
He bit her shoulder.
She cried out when he hit that spot inside her that made the world disappear.
He slowed suddenly, keeping deep pressure inside her as he hovered above her, panting.
"You were made for this," he said roughly. "For me."
She bit her lip, defiant—but her eyes betrayed her.
He flipped her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up, and slammed back into her with a rhythm that had her moaning without shame.
She came hard, shaking, back arching—his name spilling from her lips like a confession.
And then he followed, cursing her name into her neck as he broke apart inside her.
For a long moment, all they could do was breathe.
She was the first to speak.
"I'm still not yours," she said, muffled into the pillow.
Cade rolled to his side, pulling her with him.
"That's fine," he murmured, dragging his knuckles down her spine. "I've got time to change your mind."
She didn't answer.
But she didn't pull away either.