Chapter 147
Ellie's POV
His kiss consumed me—urgent and claiming and everything I'd been craving through weeks of tension and fear. Jackson lifted me from the couch without breaking contact, hands firm under my thighs as he carried me toward the bedroom. My fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugging upward, needing skin against skin.
We stumbled through the doorway. His back hit the wall and I pressed closer, finally getting the fabric over his head. My hands mapped his chest—the lean muscle earned through brutal training, the fresh bruises darkening along his ribs.
I paused, fingertips hovering over a particularly nasty mark.
"These will heal," Jackson murmured against my lips, catching my hand. "But right now I just want to feel you."
The words sent heat pooling low in my stomach. We made it to the bed in a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothing. I wanted to rush—to strip away every barrier between us—but Jackson had other plans.
His hands caught mine when I reached for his belt. "Slow down."
"Why?" Frustration edged my voice. "I want—"
"I know what you want." His thumb traced my lower lip. "But I want to make you ready first."
He guided me onto my back, settling beside me. Then his mouth found my neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of my throat while his hand slipped beneath my shirt. When his palm cupped my breast, I arched into the touch.
"Jackson—"
"Shh. Let me take care of you."
He took his time removing my clothes—each piece of fabric a deliberate unveiling. His lips followed the path of his hands, mapping territory like he wanted to memorize every inch. The curve of my collarbone. The sensitive skin below my ribcage. The hollow of my hip.
By the time he'd stripped me completely, I was trembling. Not from cold.
His fingers traced patterns on my inner thigh, maddeningly close to where I needed him but never quite touching. I squirmed, trying to guide him higher.
"Please—"
"Not yet." But his voice had gone rough with barely controlled want.
When he finally slid one finger through my folds, I gasped at the contact. I was already wet—had been since he'd carried me from the living room—and his touch sent electricity sparking through every nerve.
"God, Ellie." His breath ghosted against my ear. "You're so ready for me."
He circled my clit with gentle pressure, and the sensation made my hips buck involuntarily. Thalia stirred beneath my skin, responding to the pleasure with a possessive purr that felt almost feral.
Jackson added another finger, pressing deeper. The stretch was foreign but not painful—just intense enough to make me gasp. He worked me slowly, building sensation in gradual waves while his thumb maintained steady pressure on my clit.
The pleasure mounted until I couldn't think straight. My hands fisted in the sheets, my breath coming in short pants. Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire.
"I need—" I couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't articulate the desperate ache building inside me.
"What do you need?" His fingers curled inside me, hitting some spot that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
"You. Inside me. Now."
But instead of complying, he withdrew his hand. I made a sound of protest that died when I saw him removing the last of his clothes. Then he was naked beside me, and the sight of him—hard and wanting—made my mouth go dry.
I shifted, straddling his hips before he could take control again. My body knew what it wanted, even if my mind hadn't caught up.
"Ellie—" His hands found my waist, steadying me. "We should—"
"I'm ready." I reached between us, wrapping my fingers around his cock. He hissed at the contact, his hips jerking slightly.
He felt substantial in my hand—thick and hard, so much bigger than the two fingers he'd used to prepare me. A flutter of nervous anticipation ran through me, but I pushed it aside. I can do this.
I positioned myself, starting to lower down. Just the initial pressure of him against my entrance made me pause. Even at the tip, I could feel the difference—the stretch so much more than his fingers had been.
I took a breath and continued, trying to relax. But the moment I began to sink down, my body seized up in protest.
Pain.
He was too big—so much thicker than I'd been ready for. The stretch burned, my body fighting the intrusion even as I tried to force myself to accept it.
Every muscle locked up, my thighs trembling with the effort of holding myself in place.
I bit my lip hard, trying to push through it. This is supposed to be good. Just need to—
"Stop." Jackson's voice cut through my determination. His grip on my waist tightened, preventing me from moving further. "Ellie, stop."
"I can do this—"
"You're hurting." Not a question. His eyes had darkened with concern, all traces of desire replaced by worry. "Come here."
He lifted me gently, settling me beside him. The loss of contact should have been disappointing, but mostly I just felt relief.
And then embarrassment crashed over me. "I'm sorry. I thought—"
"Don't." He turned onto his side, cupping my face. "You have nothing to apologize for."
"But you wanted—"
"I want you to feel good." His thumb stroked my cheekbone. "That's all I've ever wanted."
He pressed a kiss to my forehead, then my eyelids, then found my mouth. This kiss held none of the urgency from before—just gentleness and reassurance.
"I don't need to be inside you to make you feel good," he murmured against my lips. "Let me show you."
Before I could ask what he meant, his mouth began traveling down my body. He kissed the hollow of my throat, the valley between my breasts, the soft skin of my stomach. Each touch was deliberate, unhurried.
When he settled between my thighs, realization hit. "Jackson—"
His breath ghosted against my inner thigh. "Tell me if it's too much."
The first brush of his tongue against my clit stole every thought from my head.
"Oh—"
The sensation was so intense it almost hurt. Nothing like his fingers—this was direct, wet, impossibly focused. My hips jerked involuntarily and his hands gripped my thighs, holding me steady.
He started slow, exploring with gentle licks that had me gasping. Then he sealed his lips around my clit and sucked, and I nearly came off the bed.
"Jackson—wait—"
It was too much. The pleasure bordered on painful, so overwhelming I couldn't process it. My hands found his hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.
He paused, lifting his head. "You okay?"
"I don't know." My voice came out shaky. "It's so intense—"
"Do you want me to stop?"
Everything in me screamed no, even as my body felt like it might shatter from the stimulation. "I just—it feels like too much—"
"Breathe." His thumb traced soothing circles on my inner thigh. "Your body can handle more than you think. Trust me?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
This time when his mouth returned, he started even gentler. Building the sensation gradually, giving me time to adjust. My initial panic faded as pleasure began mounting in slow, rolling waves.
Then he slid two fingers inside me while his tongue worked my clit, and the dual sensation made my back arch off the bed.
"Fuck—"
The orgasm built faster than I expected. My thighs began trembling, muscles tightening as pressure coiled low in my belly. Jackson's fingers curled inside me, stroking that same spot from earlier, and suddenly I was right at the edge—
I tried to warn him, but the words dissolved into incoherent sounds as the climax slammed into me.
Pleasure exploded through every nerve ending. My inner walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers, pulsing in waves I couldn't control. Thalia surged to the surface—not shifting, but present in a way that felt like complete submission and absolute claiming simultaneously.
The wolf in me recognized this moment as primal and essential. Mate. Mine. His.
Jackson didn't let up, working me through each pulse and tremor until I was gasping his name, hands fisted in his hair, completely undone.