Was she surprised that Ryan argued against her point? No. He was too freaking stubborn to admit he was wrong. So stubborn that he’d continue to hang around for months and months, waiting for the nonexistent bond to make an appearance. That wasn’t fair to either of them. It was possible that all that time together would spark the imprinting process—the selfish part of her wanted to grab that opportunity with both hands. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she would be stealing him from what fate had in store, from someone better suited to him.
Yet, she didn’t fight him when he took her to the ground and draped himself over her. She didn’t object when he pushed up her dress and settled between her thighs. Didn’t tell him to stop when he snapped off her panties and slipped a finger between her folds.
Once more, she told herself. She’d have him once more. Then she’d let go what was never hers to begin with.
Ryan should have been relieved when she suddenly threw herself into the kiss and arched into his hand, but it felt wrong. He’d been balls deep in Makenna more times than he could count. She could be defiant, mischievous, and wild in bed. But the way she clung to him now . . . there was something desperate about it.
“This isn’t a farewell fuck, Makenna.” Her eyes turned glossy with unshed tears. “Don’t cry,” he growled. He couldn’t be sensitive or patient right then. He was pissed at her for being willing to walk away. Pissed at the bond for being just out of his reach.
“I’m not who fate gave you.”
“You think I give a fuck about fate? I make my own decisions. I choose my own path. I choose you.” To punctuate that, he drove a finger inside her. He grunted as her claws dug into his back.
“You wouldn’t find that so easy to say if you weren’t convinced we were mates.”
Yes, he would. Ryan didn’t care about her because she was his mate; he cared about her because she was Makenna. Strong, brave, protective, loyal, playful, and a little crazy. She was under his skin, and there would be no getting her out. “You and me . . . There’s no going back, Kenna.” He twisted his hand, rubbing her G-spot. Bucking, she gasped into his mouth. “You don’t get to walk away.”
She bit down on her lip as he shoved a second finger inside her. Despite the topic of conversation, she was wet and aching for him. That didn’t surprise her. Her body always responded to him, was even turned on by being pinned down with his body weight. “It’s you who’ll walk away.”
“Why would I walk away?” He tugged down the top of her dress just enough to bare her breasts. The material bunched up beneath them, raising them to his mouth.
Her breath caught in her throat as his tongue curled around her nipple. “When you realize you’re wrong, you’ll—”
“Makenna, you’re not fucking hearing me.” This had nothing to do with whether he was right or wrong. “No matter what, you belong to me.” Withdrawing his fingers, he pulled off his T-shirt and snapped open his fly. His cock sprang out, heavy and throbbing. He needed to be in her, dominating her, driving home the truth. Ryan grabbed her hips and eased a little of his cock inside her. “Arms above your head.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“You don’t get to touch what’s not yours.” He almost smiled at her growl. “You’re mine, Makenna. Make no mistake about it. I own you. I’m going to take what I own. Are you going to accept that? Are you going to accept that I’m yours?” She didn’t respond. “Then put your hands above your head.” She did as he ordered—but very, very slowly.
“Good girl.” He lapped at a mark on her neck as he moved in and out of her with slow, deep thrusts. She felt so fucking good. Smelled so fucking good. Every one of his senses was filled with her and on drunk her. “Can you feel how tight your pussy squeezes me, Kenna?” He nipped her throat. “Like it never wants me to leave. That’s what scares you, doesn’t it? That I’ll leave.” He hiked one of her legs up higher, allowing him to go even deeper. “I told you I won’t. Don’t you trust me?”
She fisted her hands in the grass. “I know you’d keep your word if I asked for it.”
Ryan got it then. She worried he’d find out they weren’t mates but stay with her anyway . . . merely because he’d sworn he would. He could understand that. He wouldn’t want her to be with him for the wrong reasons. He was about to say as much, but then she tried to move her arms. “No.”
That one word vibrated with authority and power. It impressed her wolf. And it triggered that defiant switch in Makenna’s brain. She snarled, “I want—”
“I know what you want.” For him to fuck her rough and fast. “But you can’t have it.”
So Makenna fought him. She kicked, shoved, and struggled to be free, but the bastard pressed more of his weight on her and collared her throat. The dominant hold was firm and tight, but not tight enough to hurt. Just tight enough to remind her who he thought was in charge right then. It was instinctive to freeze. “Let. Go.”
He thrust hard. “What’s wrong, Kenna? Is this too slow for you? You want it faster?” She just grunted her assent. “Tough. I’ll fuck this pussy however I want. Because it belongs to me.” He lunged deep once, twice. “Now . . . hands above your head.”
Not at all intimidated, Makenna fought him again. Well, she tried. It was kind of hard to fight someone when you could barely move and there was a strong hand wrapped around your throat. But she didn’t give up—biting, scratching, and squirming. His grip on her throat flexed just enough to make her wheeze a little. When she stilled, his thumb drew a soothing, almost rewarding circle.