The power and authority in his voice hit her deep in her core, sending her tumbling into a climax so vicious it tore a scream from her throat.
Ryan snarled as her claws sliced into his back, branding him, just as her pussy clamped down on his cock, rippling and spasming. It was too much. Sinking his teeth into her throat, he rammed himself deep and exploded, shooting jet after jet of come inside her. Soul-deep satisfaction settled deep in his gut. He might not have claimed her officially, but he’d claimed her in his own way with his body, his teeth, and his come. For him, at least, it was binding.
Makenna Wray would never be free of him.
CHAPTER TEN
Staring at herself in the bathroom mirror the next morning, Makenna sighed. Hell. She was covered in brands that pretty much broadcasted “Ryan has been here.” There were little bites on her neck, shoulders, and breasts. There were claw marks on her hips, stomach, and upper arms. And there were fingerprint bruises on her hips, ass, and thighs.
She wished she could say they pissed her off. They didn’t. Nor did the fact that she was sore and tired. She felt taken, sated, and very well fucked.
She had been well fucked. Ryan had taken her in the shower, on the floor of the bathroom, and from behind as she braced herself against the wall. Then—while she’d been limp as a noodle—he’d bathed her, ate her out, and put her to bed. In the middle of the night, she’d woken to feel him fucking her slow and hard.
Their first time had been so wild and frantic that she’d missed what the next few rounds with Ryan had shown her—the guy had a big thing for control. Not to the extent that he expected her to be submissive. No, he liked that she was defiant. He even liked that she made her own demands . . . he just ignored them.
Hell, the night itself had branded her.
Her wolf liked wearing his marks, liked that he’d felt the need to display such possessiveness. What she hadn’t liked was the amount of scars on his body.
It hadn’t been until they showered together that Makenna saw them. They weren’t battle scars. No. The scars, lesions, and burns told her that he’d been subjected to horrific torture. And she fucking hated that. Her wolf had lunged to the surface with a growl, making Makenna’s eyes turn wolf. Ryan had kissed and licked her neck, soothing the animal and calming her. Makenna had wanted to ask about them, but it didn’t seem right to do it while he had three fingers buried in her. There was a time and a place for conversations like that. It was—
A flicker of movement in her peripheral vision alerted her that she wasn’t alone. Ryan was in the doorway, staring at her, eyes inscrutable as always. Naked, he was a sight to behold with all those sleek, hard muscles and a set of fantastic abs. She met his gaze through the mirror. “You do realize I look like the victim of an assault, right?”
Moving to stand behind her, Ryan cupped her hips possessively, eyes roaming over her brands. “I don’t think my back looks much better than your front.”
Recalling the amount of times she’d clawed him, she’d have to agree with that. She’d also bitten his shoulder a few times. “We need to learn some self-control.”
Ryan usually had that in abundance. He was rough during sex—it was the way he liked it. But he never lost control. Except with Makenna. “You need another bath.”
Makenna made a show of sniffing her armpit. “I don’t smell that bad.”
He ignored that. “Even though you had one last night, you still have to be sore.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t mind.” It was a reminder that he’d been there, a reminder of their night of endless hot sex.
“You should still have one.”
His gruff voice made her smile. He was trying to take care of her. “I need to eat first.” As if to express its agreement, her stomach rumbled.
“Then we eat.”
Despite how hungry she was, Makenna wasn’t at all looking forward to breakfast. The Phoenix wolves were bound to say something about the brands, since her T-shirt wasn’t going to cover all of them. Not one to procrastinate, however, she got washed and dressed.
On the way to the kitchen, they knocked on Zac’s door. A grumpy, sleepy voice called out, “Go away.”
“Zac isn’t a morning person,” Makenna warned Ryan as she picked Zac’s lock with a hairclip. Swinging the door open, she shouted, “I hope you’re not naked, kid, because I’m coming in.”
“Ah, Makenna, it’s early,” he slurred. They found him in bed, curled up under the quilt. Makenna opened his curtains, and Zac shrunk away from the daylight like he was a vampire. Dragging the covers over his head, he whined something incomprehensible.
“If you don’t get up, you’ll miss breakfast.”
“Grace goes all out,” added Ryan. “There’ll be bacon, eggs, toast, biscuits and gravy—”
Zac shot up in bed and peeked at them out of one eye. “Biscuits and gravy?”
Ryan nodded. “But Marcus is here. He never stops eating, and he loves biscuits and gravy. If you don’t hurry, there’ll be none left.”
It was almost comical when everyone did a double take at the brands on Makenna’s neck and upper arms when they walked into the kitchen ten minutes later. If their shock was anything to go by, Ryan hadn’t been lying when he said he wasn’t usually the possessive type. Zac hadn’t seemed that surprised by the brands; he’d merely smirked.
The Phoenix wolves recovered quickly enough from their shock, greeting Zac warmly and behaving fairly amicably toward Makenna. As they took their seats, no one made any teasing comments about Ryan’s display of possessiveness, although it looked as if Trick was eager to say something. Maybe he was holding back because Zac was present—she wasn’t sure. In any case, it meant that the meal wasn’t the uncomfortable affair she’d expected. Until Greta spoke.