Chapter 319: Mark Him

Chapter 319: Mark Him
My hands rose without permission, cupping the soft weight of her breasts. She arched into my touch with a soft gasp that went straight to my groin.

"Harder," she whispered, her head falling back. "Touch me harder."

I obliged, my fingers kneading her flesh with increasing pressure. She moved against me, her hips grinding down in slow circles that made my vision blur.

I could feel myself hardening beneath her, straining against the confines of my pants. She felt it too—I could tell by the way her breathing hitched, by how her movements became more deliberate.

She reached down, working at my belt with nimble fingers. The leather slipped free. My zipper came down with a sharp rasp.

When she freed me from my boxer briefs, the cool air against heated skin made me hiss through my teeth. But her touch was anything but cool. Her palm was warm, soft, perfect as she wrapped her fingers around my length.

"God, Lysandra." My voice cracked on her name.

She stroked me slowly, experimentally, watching my face for reactions.

I was losing the ability to think, to speak, to do anything except feel. Every nerve ending was focused on her touch, on the heat of her body above mine.

She lifted herself slightly, positioning us so that I could feel her wetness against my tip. The sensation was electric, overwhelming. I gripped her hips, fighting the urge to thrust upward.

"Please," I managed.

She leaned down, pressing her lips to my ear. "Tell me what you want."

"You." The word ripped from my throat. "I want you."

"Then take me."

She sank down slowly, taking me inch by inch until I was fully seated inside her. The feeling was indescribable—heat and pressure and perfect friction that made my eyes roll back.

For a moment, neither of us moved. We stayed frozen like that, joined completely, breathing hard in the dimly lit room.

Then she began to move.

The rhythm started slow, hypnotic. She rolled her hips in figure-eights that had me gripping the couch cushions. Her hands braced against my shoulders for leverage as she rode me with increasing intensity.

I couldn't look away from her face. The way her lips parted with each movement. How her eyes fluttered closed when I hit just the right angle. The flush that spread across her chest as her arousal built.

My mouth found her breast, tongue circling the peaked nipple there. She cried out at the contact, her back arching to give me better access. I sucked hard, grazing her with my teeth, and felt her inner muscles clench around me in response.

"Yes," she gasped. "Just like that."

I switched to her other breast, lavishing the same attention there while my hands roamed her body. Every touch seemed to unlock something inside me, some buried instinct that knew exactly how to pleasure her.

The pace quickened. She moved faster now, more urgently, chasing something just out of reach. I could feel her getting close—the way her breathing turned ragged, how her movements became erratic.

"Come for me," I commanded, surprising myself with the authority in my voice.

As if my words had triggered something, she threw her head back with a sharp cry. Her body went rigid above me, inner walls pulsing around my length in waves.

The sight of her climax, the feel of her contracting around me, pushed me over the edge. I followed her into that blinding white space where nothing existed except pleasure and connection and the sense of coming home.

In the aftermath, as we both fought to catch our breath, she leaned down and pressed her lips to my throat. What started as a gentle kiss became something more. I felt the sharp pressure of her teeth against my pulse point.

Then she bit down.

Hard.

She marked me.

My world exploded.

Memories crashed through my skull like a tidal wave, each one sharp and vivid and devastating:

A ten-year-old girl with tangled hair pushing me toward the trees. "Run! Run before they come back!"

The same girl years later, walking down an aisle in white silk. Hope and joy warring in her green eyes as I lifted her veil.

Our wedding night. The way she'd trembled when I marked her.

The rejection ceremony. Blood at the corners of her mouth. The way she'd looked at me like I was a stranger.

Finding her again after five years.

The beach vacation. Building sandcastles and feeling like a family for the first time.

The warehouse. Rylan's knife at her throat. The moment I thought I'd lost her forever.

Every memory, every moment of love and loss and desperate longing—it all came flooding back in a rush that left me gasping.

"Lysandra. Oh God, Lysandra. I remember. I remember everything."

She pulled back to look at me, tears streaming down her face. "Tristan?"

I cupped her face in both hands, thumbs brushing away her tears. "My brave little wolf. My Lyss. How could I have forgotten you?"

The smile that spread across her features was radiant. "You're back. You're really back."

"I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry." My voice cracked with the weight of everything I'd forgotten, everything I'd lost. "How could I forget you? Forget our children? Forget everything we've been through?"

I kissed her face—her cheeks, her forehead, the corner of her mouth. Trying to make up for every lost second, every moment of coldness and rejection.

"I love you. I've always loved you. Even when I couldn't remember, my heart was searching for you."

Her hand found my cheek, thumb brushing away tears I didn't realize I was shedding. "I know. I always knew."

But something deeper was stirring inside me. My wolf, fully awakened now with the return of my memories, was clawing at my consciousness with desperate need. Her mark on my neck burned with pleasant heat, but our bond felt incomplete.

Mark her back. Complete the bond. Make it whole.

"Lysandra." My voice dropped to a growl. "You marked me and brought me back. Now I need to mark you in return. Because the bond needs both of us to be complete."

Her breath caught. "Complete the bond..."

"Will you let me?" I cupped her face in both hands. "Will you let me answer your mark with mine? Make us truly one?"

Lysandra went completely still beneath me. Her breathing stopped. The soft warmth in her expression vanished, replaced by something that looked like panic.

Before I could process what was happening, she pushed against my chest and scrambled off my lap. The sudden loss of contact felt like ice water in my veins.

"No."