Chapter 44 A moment 1

Chapter 44 A moment 1
Emily didn’t sleep.
After the confrontation in the war room—after the word god-like had landed like a bomb in her chest—she’d retreated to the guest room again. Door locked. Lights off. Blanket pulled tight around her shaking body.
But the bond wouldn’t let her rest.
It hummed beneath her skin, low and insistent, like a heartbeat that wasn’t entirely her own. Every time she closed her eyes she felt them—seven distinct presences circling the edges of her mind. Not pushing. Not demanding. Just… waiting.
Wanting.
Her wolf paced inside her chest—restless, aroused, proud. Every time she tried to push the thoughts away, memories flooded back: Logan’s mouth on her nipple, Lucas’s slow tongue tracing circles, Liam’s thick fingers curling inside her, the way they’d edged her until she screamed.
She was wet again.
Aching.
Empty.
She pressed her thighs together, bit her lip hard enough to taste copper.
It didn’t help.
Around two a.m., she gave up.
She slipped out of bed wearing nothing but the oversized T-shirt she’d stolen from Logan’s drawer days ago. Bare feet silent on the hardwood. She padded down the hallway toward the living room—toward the wide sectional where she knew at least one of them would still be awake, watching over her even when she tried to hide.
She found Lucas first.
He was sitting in the dark, moonlight spilling across his bare chest, tablet forgotten on the coffee table. His head lifted the second she appeared in the doorway.
“Em.”
She didn’t speak.
Just crossed the room, climbed onto his lap without asking, straddled him so her knees bracketed his hips.
His hands settled instantly on her waist—warm, steady, reverent.
“You okay?” he whispered.
She shook her head.
Then she kissed him.
Slow.
Deep.
Needy.
His mouth opened for her immediately. Tongues slid together—wet, languid, tasting of mint and midnight. His fingers slipped under the hem of the T-shirt, tracing the bare skin of her back in long, soothing strokes.
She rocked against him—slow grind of her lace-covered core against the hardening length behind his sweatpants.
He groaned into her mouth.
“Emily…”
She pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips.
“I need you.”
His eyes searched hers—dark, endless, full of everything he never said out loud.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
He lifted her like she weighed nothing, carried her to the couch, laid her down gently on the soft leather.
Then he worshipped her.
He started with her mouth—kissing her like she was air and he’d been drowning. Slow drags of lips, gentle suction, tongue stroking hers in lazy circles. His hands roamed—palming her breasts through the shirt, thumbs brushing her nipples until they peaked into hard points.
He kissed down her throat—open-mouthed, sucking soft bruises into her skin. Nipped the hollow at the base of her neck. Licked the salt from her collarbone.
When he reached her breasts he pushed the shirt up and off, baring her completely.
His mouth closed over one nipple—warm, wet suction that made her arch off the couch.
He took his time.
Licking slow circles. Flicking the tip with his tongue. Scraping his teeth just enough to sting. Switching to the other breast while his hand cupped and kneaded the first—gentle, adoring.
She was whimpering by the time he kissed lower.
He hooked his fingers in her panties, slid them down her legs, tossed them aside.
Then he settled between her thighs—broad shoulders spreading her wide.
He looked up at her—eyes burning.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “Every inch.”
Then his mouth was on her.
Slow.
Languid.
Tongue flat against her clit, pressing, circling, never rushing.
She threaded her fingers through his hair, hips lifting to meet him.
He ate her like she was dessert—long, savoring licks, soft suction, the occasional gentle scrape of teeth. When she started trembling he slid two fingers inside her—slow, curling against that perfect spot while his tongue never stopped.
She came quietly—back bowing, mouth open in a silent cry, thighs shaking around his head.
He didn’t stop.
Just gentled his touch—soft kitten licks until she came down, then started building her up again.
By the third orgasm she was sobbing his name.
When he finally crawled up her body, kissing every inch along the way, she pulled him down and kissed him—tasting herself on his tongue.
“I love you,” he whispered against her mouth.
She kissed him harder—desperate, grateful.
He rolled them so she was on top.
She sank down on him slowly—inch by inch—until he was buried to the hilt.
They moved together—slow, deep, rocking. His hands on her hips guiding her. Her palms braced on his chest. Eyes locked.
When she came again it was soft—shuddering waves that rolled through her like warm tide.
He followed—quiet groan, hips lifting, spilling inside her with her name on his lips.
They stayed like that—joined, breathing together—until she finally collapsed against his chest.
He held her.
Kissed her hair.
Whispered how perfect she was.
How loved.
She fell asleep in his arms—safe, sated, heart cracking open just a little wider.