I pulled back from the kiss, my lips swollen and stinging, tasting the metallic tang of blood on his lips and the heavy heat of his submission.
I didn't move to cover myself. I wanted him to see the wreck he'd created.
Alexander lay there, pinned to the furs by the sheer weight of his own release. The Great Wolf of the North, the man who was one with the shadows, was currently nothing more than a panting, marked animal at my disposal.
His black eyes were still glazed, fixed on me with a terrifying, religious fervor.
"Look at you," I mused, my voice a sharp, clinical blade that sliced through the thick air of the room. "The Marquis, reduced to a shivering mess of bruises and sperm. Tell me, Alexander... how does it feel to be hollowed out by a 'delicate' lady?"
"It feels… Like being reborn," he rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over broken glass. He didn't try to move.
