Chapter 199 – The Lesson of Control

Chapter 199 – The Lesson of Control
Jace

The cold seeps into me from below. An unforgiving contrast to the furnace that burned between us before we were too tired to keep going and passed out in each others arms.

It's not the biting cold of the storm anymore, but the deep, damp chill of the ancient stone radiating up through the thin blanket. My muscles are tight, humming with the thick, glorious ache of the aftermath.

I open my eyes and the sight that meets me makes the breath still in my lungs. Hazel lies next to me, her body curled into mine, her skin catching the light of the dying fire. She’s perfectly exposed, and the sight of her drives a heavy, thick ache of possession through my groin.

I prop my head up on an elbow, breathing deep, savoring the musk of sweat, sex, and rain that still clings to her. Even in slumber, I felt the victory, but now it burns with the heat of a thousand suns.

The relentless wolf I unleashed has done its work. The General is back in charge for now, but the wolf’s satisfaction is absolute.

She reaches out without opening her eyes, her hand tracing the harsh line of the scar that runs from my ribcage up to my shoulder. It’s thick and white and I can’t even remember which battle earned me this one.

I’m in my forties, twenty years her senior, and every part of my body tells a story of war, loyalty, and brutal, measured control. Control that she shredded last night with her wide eyes and shy words.

I fell for the warrior she is, but that hint of vulnerability completely undid me. I would have died to protect her even before we were intimate. Now I think I’ll kill anything that even considers posing a threat to her.

Ronan’s possessive jealousy makes perfect sense to me now. I was far too judgmental before. I had no idea love this deep and fierce was possible.

I know Hazel is awake, but she still hasn’t said anything or looked at me. There’s only the gentle movement of her hand on my skin.

Last night, there was no quiet. There was only the storm, the fire, and the sound of her submission ripped raw from her throat. She was reduced to a whimpering gift beneath me. The quick-witted master of sarcasm, gone, washed away by my territorial focus.

Her eyes open. Just a slit at first, dark and heavy. She doesn’t move. She simply looks at me steadily, waiting to hear what I’m going to say.

I see a flicker of fear that she’s doing her best to hide. I don’t intend to have her wonder what we are to each other in the cold light of day.

“Good morning, Captain,” I rumble, my voice thick with sleep and the truth of what finally happened between us. No smile. No compliment. Just the weight of my full attention.

She swallows, sudden shyness overcoming her again. “Good morning, General.”

I reach out, my hand finding her hip, tracing the bruise I left there. A sign of my claiming. I feel the primal surge of ownership that makes my center clench.

“You’re still wet,” I say, my thumb pressing deep into the curve of her hip bone, dragging across the slick sheen that covers her inner thigh.

She flushes. A raw, embarrassing heat that spreads across her chest and makes me want to pull her under me and shelter her.

“The cold…” she tries lamely.

“Not the cold, Hazel.” My gaze is absolute. “You. Your sex. It’s wet for me.”

She breathes deep, forcing the warrior back to the surface. She pushes herself up on her elbows, ignoring the ache she must feel. She leans in, her hair falling over my face, breathing my scent.

“You said you like obedience,” she whispers, her voice steady despite the raw pounding in her ears. “I didn’t give you nearly enough of it last night.”

My jaw tightens at the insult to her, even when it’s coming from her own glorious mouth.

“You were perfect.”

“I can be better.”

Holy fuck, she’s perfect. I fight hard not to overreact when she straddles my hips, ignoring the sudden, shocking thickness of me already pressing against her belly. Her hands settle on my chest and she pushes me flat onto the thin blanket. The move is deliberate and assertive. I let her do as she pleases. For now.

She watches me, those dark eyes burning with barely controlled fire.

“Show me how good you can be,” I command.

She slides down the length of my body, her thighs brushed by the rough hair of my legs, until she settles between my thighs, staring hungrily at my cock. I’m already straining, a thick, glowing rod against her skin.

She pauses for one exquisite second, letting the sight of my raw, exposed need sink in. This is the general, reduced to pure, unthinking hunger.

She leans down, her mouth finding me, and the sound I make is not a growl, but a long, shuddering gasp that rips from my chest. Her breath on my swollen tip is exquisite agony.

She takes her time. She is meticulous. Every stroke of her tongue is a command of its own, an exploration of the quiet storm that rages beneath my taciturn exterior. I am on the edge of combustion, and she worships the sheer heat of me.

My hands fist in the blanket beneath me, the veins standing out like cords on my arms. My control is a gossamer string, barely holding.

She pulls back just an inch, breathing a thin, hot stream of air over the crown, before dipping her tongue into the slit and suckling gently. I groan. A harsh, wounded sound crawling out of my chest.

“Hazel,” I grit out, my voice low and dangerous. “You have to stop playing with me.”

I need to be inside her. Now.

Her eyes grin up at me, before she swallows me deep, fast, pushing me to the edge, then drawing back again, before repeating the process. My balls are throbbing, my cock swollen to capacity.

I can’t take it anymore.

With a sudden, explosive movement, I grab her shoulders, hauling her up until she’s straddling my hips again. My eyes are black holes, dark and feral.

“Enough.” The word is pure command.

She gasps as I slam my mouth onto hers, devouring the air, the fire, the taste of my own heat on her tongue. I push her hips down, guiding her onto my rigid thickness. The sensation is overwhelming. Fast, hot and immediate. I don’t simply enter, I claim.

“Eyes on me,” I demand against her lips.

She obeys beautifully. Her face is raw, exposed, the control gone, leaving only the relentless desire I crave.

I lift her slightly, then slam her back down onto me in a deliberate, measured pace that steals her breath. Hard. Deep. Total. I drive my hips up, burying my entire length and feeling her slick heat grip me.

“You think you can take control, Captain?” I growl, thrusting up and pinning her hands behind her with one wrist. “You think you can dominate me?”

“Yes,” she pants, the sound shredded with submission. “I can.”

I grind my hips up, a punishing, deep stroke that makes the cry rip from her throat. “Wrong. I control this. I control your climax. I control your breath.”

I move then, with a terrifying precision, hitting that deep, sensitive spot with every measured, powerful stroke. She’s riding me, but I’m leading the exercise. My dominance is relentless, heavy, and absolute.

She’s coming apart already. The pleasure is too much, too immediate. She clenches around me, her body going rigid.

"No. Wait," I command, my voice a low, rough command. "Stay right there. Don't move."

I stop dead, burying myself deep, and hold her there, suspended on the edge. The agony is exquisite. The pressure is a beautiful, taut stretch inside her.

“Tell me what you are,” I demand.

“Yours,” she gasps, tears pricking her eyes. “I’m yours, Jace. Please let me come.”

I move. A violent, final thrust, and the wave hits her, blinding and complete. She screams into my mouth as her body locks around mine, squeezing my shaft in tight, frantic spasms that milk my pleasure.

I ride her climax, my body clenched and powerful, my own release coming with a low, guttural roar against her neck. I spill into her, heavy and hot, filling her completely.

We collapse together onto the blankets and I roll on top of her, my large, solid weight crushing her into the floor. I want to stay buried inside her, but the cold is seeping into our bones, and I crave a warm bed. Maybe some silk ties. Food, fire, comfort and hours with my sweet, sexy Delta.

I finally pull out. Acting against the immediate demand of my body to stay where I belong. Not being inside her leave me feeling hollow and aching. The sooner we get home, the sooner I can bathe her tenderly and then fuck her furiously.

I’m suddenly in a hurry to leave. I rise, pulling on my still damp, wrinkled trousers, and start methodically packing our gear. We have to get home. Now.

I turn, tossing her tunic to her. “We’re leaving, Hazel. And when we get back to camp, you’re moving into my cabin.”

“Yes, General,” she says, the submission now comfortable, laced with deep affection.

My mouth twitches. “And you walk beside me at all times, where I can keep my hand on your ass.”

We shift and run flat out all the way home. We arrive at the Blackthorn Pack house mid-morning, slipping into the main yard.

Eli is already there, leaning against a post, his face split by a huge, knowing grin.

Hazel walks straight to him. Her legs must be stiff, but she maintains her posture. She glares at Eli. “You’re dead.”

“Worth it,” Eli says, his eyes flickering from her flushed face to my dark, unreadable expression. He knows.

Ronan steps out onto the porch, his Alpha energy heavy, his mouth curled in a predatory smirk. He takes one look at me, sees the deep satisfaction in my eyes, the slight shift in my posture, and then locks eyes with Eli.

His voice is a low growl of absolute command. “You’re on kitchen duty for a week. And you’re sorting the compost every night after dinner. I told you to leave things alone.”

Eli beams, utterly unaffected. “Still worth it. Every single smelly, beautiful minute. Get a whiff of the pheromones surrounding these two.”

Ronan’s forehead wrinkles for a moment, and I can almost see his thoughts. Nobody will have more pheromones than them. “Go to the cabin, we have some things to discuss,” he grunts at Eli, who’s grinning like a loon now.

I turn to Hazel, my hand finding the nape of her neck in a slow, possessive squeeze. The gesture is deliberate, a final claim in front of the Alpha and his Omega. I look down at her, and this time, the intensity is unmistakable.

“Go home, Hazel. We’re taking the day off to… rest.”

“Yes, General,” she agrees immediately. She turns to leave, a small, satisfied smile breaking through her guarded expression.

She’s bruised. She’s sore. And she’s finally, wonderfully, mine.