The cabin door eases open so softly that I think I've imagined it. If it wasn't for the easing of the tug in my chest, the visceral evidence that Beau is near, I might have ignored it. Might have curled back into the blankets I'd piled onto the leather and continued staring into the cup of coffee I made waiting for him. The cup is untouched, cold. I couldn't find it in me to dump it out and replace it.

But I didn't imagine the soft sound of the door swinging open.

Beau fills the doorway, chest bare, wearing a pair of jeans he hadn't bothered to fully button. His skin is slick with sweat, streaked with dirt. Edged in moonlight, eyes golden, he looks wild.

"Beau," I start, voice barely a whisper over the crash of my racing heart. I don't see any injuries on him, though there's a smear of blood by his chin, on his hands. He doesn't move at first, just watches me as a stand and set down the mug, as I approach. I can almost see the shadow of the wolf rippling beneath his skin.

"They ran," he says finally, voice rough. There's no relief in his tone. It's sharp and angry. Frustrated. He steps forward, closing the door behind him. Gently. Locking it. He's never worried about it before—can't carry keys in wolf form, he'd teased—but before I can ask, Beau closes the distance between us. He buries his head in the crook of my neck. He's vibrating with a barely restrained energy that calls to the wolf in my chest.

"Are you hurt?" I ask. "Did anyone—"

His mouth nips my skin, silencing my words, my thoughts. He bites a little harder, rumbling with that pleased purr that makes my brain stupid. I whimper. The sting of his teeth, the hot comfort of his mouth makes my blood pool low in my belly. My fingers curl against the heat of his bare chest, threading through the coarse hair there, my palms against his slick skin.

I know I should pull away, should make him talk, but the bond between us is unbearably heavy, like an unescapable gravity. Though she can't control my limbs or shed my skin, my wolf has taken over my brain. Touch. Taste. Mark. Her impulses drown out rational thought. So I pull him closer instead.

"Beau," I groan as he pulls my hair, hard, so that he can give attention to the other side of my neck, my jaw, the sensitive spot under my ear. He growls softly, pulling a little harder before his other hand drop to my hip, fingers bruising and possessive.

"Not hurt," he murmurs roughly, lips still against my neck. "Just angry."

He abandons my skin and presses his lips to mine. Kisses me deep. Hard. I arch into him, desperate for more, even though I know this is dangerous. Because I want this physical reassurance, this comfort, this release. I want it more than anything.

Beau pulls away just enough to meet my eyes. His thumb brushes my jaw gently, almost reverently, at complete odds with the feral, wicked gleam in his eyes.

"Tell me to stop," he whispers. But there's not alpha command in his words. Just the plea he won't let himself speak as he brushes his thumb traces my lower lip. His muscles are taut, shaking, like he's holding himself back with the last restraint he has. "Tell me."

But I don't. I can't. Instead, I nip at his thumb, lathe it with my tongue when he lets it slip into my mouth. His eyes turn to a pure, molten gold when I suck. I wonder if my pupils are as dark and wide as his are.

"Fuck, Rhea," he rasps. My name sounds wicked, like a dirty word, on his lips. He pulls his thumb free and replaces it with his mouth, crushing against mine hard enough to make my teeth hurt. He kisses me like he wants to steal the air out of me, like he could never get enough of the tiny moans he coaxes from my throat. His tongue meets mine in a hot, dominating press, like he's still daring me to stop him. To say no.

He slips his hand under my shirt, fingers rough against my bare skin, raising a trail of gooseflesh and heat. His touch cups under my breast and I hiss as it brushes across my nipple. Then, I fight him. Not to stop him, but to try to tear my shirt off, to press my naked flesh against his. To be closer.

Beau rumbles into my mouth, yanks the shirt over my head, returning his lips in a hungry, branding claim. It's not sweet. It's not slow. It's all heat and tongue and teeth when we get too fast. Because I want him just as wildly as he wants me. His fingers caress my breast roughly, dig into my hip. Mine twist into his hair, cling to his neck, tug at his jeans.

My enthusiasm is like a match to gasoline. Beau pushes my back into the wall with a hard thud. I grunt into his mouth and writhe against him, pushing my hips into his, wrapping my legs around his waist. His hand fists in my hair, forcing me to bare my throat to him.

For the briefest moment, his skin seems to shiver, to tighten, but he only growls in low approval, dragging his mouth down the column of my neck. Biting. Licking. Breathing me in like the promise of what's to come is the only thing holding him together. My wrists are pinned a second later. His fingers wrap tight around them, pressing them up against the wood above my head.

"Say no," he growls in a voice too rough and unused to be anything other than wolf. "Say stop and I'll stop."

I arch into him instead, pulling his hips closer to mine, frustrated—almost angry—that there's still layers of clothing between us. "Don't stop," I pant, trembling and so full of fire that I think I might burn to ashes. "Don't you dare fucking stop"

Beau goes entirely still for a moment, like he's surprised, but he rumbles again and crashes his mouth against mine again. My arms stay pinned above me as he rips away the sweatpants I'd rolled at my hips, as he dips his finger to where I'm hot and dripping. He swallows my moan, circles my clit before pumping his fingers into me.

The sound it makes when he feels how wet I am is loud. Filthy. He pulls back just long enough to rip my pants off my legs, the elastic burning my skin as they tear. Then I'm bare, a leg wrapped around him, his mouth hot at my ear and his fingers plunging back into me.

His breath grows ragged. Teeth graze my lip, the edge of my ear as his fingers work inside me. His palm presses hard against my clit, making my legs shake as I try to chase the orgasm. I whimper, bucking my hips to find the friction I need, pulling away to pant. To whine. I need him deeper. Harder. More.

"You're so fucking pretty when you beg." His voice is low with wonder and hunger. His eyes all golds and shadows as he slows his rhythm to examine his fingers. "So fucking wet for me."

Before I can plead or swear or cry from the aching emptiness, he pushes them back into me. Hard. Knuckle-deep. Curling them wickedly. Then adds another, stretching me. I cry out. His mouth moves down to the base of my throat, where he alternates teeth and tongue as his coaxes my body closer and closer to the edge.

"You're gonna come for me," he says, curling them again until I feel lightning shoot down my spine. "You're gonna come hard and sweet. Right here. Just like this. Gonna soak my hand before I even get close to fucking you."

I'm trembling, panting, whimpering. I try pull my hands frees, to find some sort of stability as my legs start to shake, but he just holds me tighter, pumps harder, mouth dragging hot across my throat.

"Let me have it," he murmurs against my skin. He bites, hard, but without breaking skin. Licks. Kisses. Sucks.

Like that spot on my neck is connected to my clit, my orgasm crashes though me, tearing a cry from my throat as I clench around his fingers. My head drops back against the wall with a dull thud as my legs buckle. My hips jerk uncontrollable as he works me through every second of it.

"Just like that," Beau groans, lips pressed to my neck. "Good girl."

He doesn't give me a second to breathe. His hands are already shifting, pulling me to his chest, kissing me hard as he lifts me, as he drops me onto the bed. I yelp, lightheaded, still trembling with the aftershocks of my orgasm.

"Beau—"

But he's already on his knees.

His hands are rough on my knees, dragging me open, spreading me wide, holding me down. He doesn't tease. Doesn't nip or lick. Hot and wet and desperate, his mouth is on me in an instant. He holds my shaking legs tight and licks and tongue fucks me between harsh sucks and slow, deliberate licks. It's heaven and torture when all I need to be filled, to have him closer, deeper.

"Beau—I want—please—"

He pushes his calloused fingers back into me, focusing his mouth on my clit. It's everything. It's not enough. My begging becomes wordless.

"One more," he promises. "Give me one more, and I'll fuck you."

He presses his mouth hard against me, groaning as my hips twitch. He finds that pumping rhythm again, sucking hard as his fingers curl against the raw bundle of nerves buried behind my pubic bone. I cry out again, back arching, heels digging into the bed as he devours me

"One more," he repeats, voice guttural, muffled between my thighs. "Come for me, Rhea."

Not even Beau can command it out of me, so he increases the pace. The noises he makes are sloppy, wet, as he pumps his fingers into me. My skin burns, my legs twitch as I pant like I can't get enough air. My body's begging for more as the pleasure keeps building and building.

I sob his name, trying to twist away, but Beau holds me tighter, locking my hips in place. His mouth stays locked to my clit, his tongue relentless, until the pressure breaks and threatens to tear me apart completely. But Beau doesn't let me over that edge, not completely. He keeps me right there, hovering in an almost painful, disorienting bliss until I see stars, fisting the sheets like I'll break into pieces if I don't hold on.

When my thoughts return, Beau's standing, naked, erect. He strokes himself slowly, spreading the lingering wetness. His cock isn't small, but it doesn't seem monstrous. It's nice. Normal? Thick. Veined. The head flushed and slick where he's dragged my arousal over it, but it certainly doesn't look like it's going to get stuck. I honestly don't care what he has between his legs at this point, I just want him.

He watches me carefully, gray and gold, like he's waiting for me to stop him.

"Fuck me, Beau." My voice is barely more than breath. "Please."