Crucible of Fate
and—”
“I’m okay,” I said, opening my arms for him.
He rolled over on top of me and wrapped his arms under and around me, and then he shoved one hand down the back of my pants.
“I know tears of joy when I see them,” I said, trying to be sensitive even as I bucked off the bed, grinding my groin into his. “But it’s not like you to go all maudlin on me.”
“I’m just tired,” he rumbled, hand on my thigh lifting my leg over his hip. “And you’re saying good stuff like you love me and—”
“Oh, baby, I love you.” I laughed softly, playfully, squirming under him, pushing him off me just enough so I could get to the snap of my jeans and my zipper. “I love you so much.”
He scowled and I lost it, laughter rolling up and out of me, full of relief and happiness. Amazing that being in bed with this man changed everything in so many ways. I owed him, and I was happy to repay him for the rest of my life.
“You don’t love me.” He huffed indignantly, shucked my jeans and underwear and then tossed both away as I yanked my T-shirt over my head. “You just wanna get laid.”
“I do love you,” I said honestly, twisting under him, reaching for the nightstand as I heard the jingle of his belt buckle.
“The lube is under your pillow.”
I met his hot gaze. “Is it?”
“What? Why am I being teased now?”
“Because I can’t believe you! You’re giving me grief for not being romantic when you stashed lube under the pillow!”
“I—what?” He was laughing as he stood up on the bed to get his jeans off faster.
I grabbed the lube and tossed it to him as he stepped down off the bed to the floor.
“Me? Are you sure?”
“Oh yes,” I whispered, and I saw the effect my words had on him. All his playfulness was instantly replaced with raw, primal hunger. “Oh please.”
He slicked his cock fast; I was never that rough with his flesh, more careful because he was mine. I understood the haste, though, and his absolute need.
“Come here.” His voice bottomed out with the command, and I scrambled over to him and lifted my legs in invitation.
He dropped the lube, gripped my thighs, and jerked me toward him. He then spread me wide as he positioned himself between my legs.
“I’m okay,” I assured him. “You don’t have to be careful with me.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, don’t you dare be gentle.”
He draped my knees over his forearms as he nudged against my entrance. “You’re not in charge here, my semel.” His voice hitched as he began pressing forward. “Never here.”
I arched off the bed, head back, mouth open, panting as he slid inside me.
“You belong to me, Domin Thorne,” he growled as a surge of heat tore through me. “And only me.”
“Yes,” I gasped as he pushed deep and my body opened and welcomed him home. “I’ve only ever been yours.”
“This is your vow to me,” he said as he lifted me higher and curled his arms around my thighs. “Your promise.”
“Oh yes,” I breathed, raising my arms, reaching, wanting, aching to touch him. “Give yourself to me.”
And his smile—the blinding, heart-stopping joy I saw on his face—let me know that whatever sliver of doubt had remained in the man was gone. When he bent to let me wrap him in my arms and seal his lips to mine, I knew he was finally, and undeniably, my mate.
“You’re mine,” he whispered.
There was never any doubt.
About the Author
M ARY C ALMES lives in Lexington, Kentucky, with her husband and two children and loves all the seasons except summer. She graduated from the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California, with a bachelor’s degree in English literature. Due to the fact that it is English lit and not English grammar, do not ask her to point out a clause for you, as it will so not happen. She loves writing, becoming immersed in the process, and falling into the work. She can even tell you what her characters smell like. She loves buying books and going to conventions to meet her fans.
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