Kieran’s hands shake as he strips. “Turn over,” he rasps, voice shredded from hours of snarling commands to the pack. His body is still tense from battle, desire written across every rigid line of him.
I whimper when he manhandles me onto my knees, his calloused palm skating up my spine. “Hurts?” he murmurs against my shoulder blade. I nod, trembling. He licks a stripe up my neck, then bites my mating scar just hard enough to make my cunt clench around nothing.
“Good,” he growls. The head of his c**k prods at my entrance, smearing precome through my folds. “Want you to feel every inch while you’re still sore.” He pushes in slow, so f*****g slow, until my nails tear holes in the pillow.
The stretch burns. Tears leak down my cheeks. Kieran laps them up with a pleased rumble, hips flush ag
