Falling For The Demon Wolf-Chapter 61: In his bed

They were talking inside—low voices I could barely make out. Jade’s sharp tone, Violet’s softer one. I didn’t intend to listen, but my ears caught fragments.

"Is there an attraction now that you’re marked?"

"...my body doesn’t know the difference between safety and danger anymore..."

A tightness bloomed behind my ribs.

I hadn’t expected her to welcome the bond. Hell, I’d barely been conscious of the decision when I marked her. But hearing the way she struggled with it—it stirred something savage and possessive in me, something I barely kept leashed.

She was mine. Whether her mind accepted it yet or not, her body already knew.

Still, I forced myself to step back. She deserved time. She deserved choice. Things that had already been taken from her once.

I would not be the one to steal them again.

But I would keep her close.

No matter what.

Violet Pov

The moon had long since risen when I stirred again.

The air was cooler here—crisper, quieter than the infirmary. And softer. Everything was... softer.

My fingers brushed against the silk of the sheets as I sat up, heart thumping in a slow, uncertain rhythm. The room was dim, lit only by the low flame in the hearth and the sliver of moonlight bleeding in from the open balcony doors.

Zain’s scent was everywhere.

Earthy. Deep. Masculine. Impossible to ignore.

I glanced around, and it didn’t take much to realize I wasn’t in the infirmary anymore. The bed was massive. The walls lined with books and dark wood. Heavy curtains and polished stone floors. This was a place of power, not healing.

His room.

My breath caught.

There was a chair in the corner—empty now—but the throw draped over the armrest looked freshly used. As if someone had been sitting there. Watching me.

Or guarding me.

The door creaked open behind me, and I didn’t have to look to know it was him. My body already recognized his presence, the way the bond came alive with a slow, deliberate hum under my skin.

He didn’t say a word as he stepped into the room.

Just stood there.

I turned slowly, and our eyes locked.

He looked... tired. And dangerous. Like he’d been holding back a storm for hours and was one breath away from letting it loose.

"You moved me," I said, voice low.

He nodded once. "You weren’t safe in the infirmary."

"And I’m safe here? With you?"

That finally earned a reaction. A flicker of something hot passed through his eyes. "Always."

The silence stretched.

He didn’t come closer. But gods, it didn’t matter.

The tension was already thick—coiled between us like a live wire. Every breath I took felt charged. Every glance a pull I couldn’t resist.

I shifted under the weight of his gaze, the silk sheets suddenly too thin, too revealing. I wasn’t sure if it was the mark... or just him, but my body was no longer mine. It responded to him, anticipated him, craved something I hadn’t dared name.

He took a slow step forward.

My breath hitched.

"I can hear your heartbeat," he murmured. "It spikes every time I walk into a room."

"Maybe it’s fear."

"Maybe," he said, his voice a rasp. "But it’s not."

He stopped at the edge of the bed. Close, but not touching.

Gods, he was so still. So contained. But I could feel the war inside him, the heat rolling off his skin, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for me—but didn’t.

"I didn’t mean to mark you," he said suddenly. "That night... it wasn’t planned."

"I know." My voice trembled. "I was dying."

"And I was losing my mind."

I swallowed hard, unable to look away. "I should hate you for it."

"Do you?"

I hesitated.

Everything in me screamed to say yes—to protect myself, to keep the wall up—but my body betrayed me. My thighs clenched. My lips parted. And he knew. He saw it all.

"No," I whispered.

His jaw clenched, and he leaned in just slightly. Close enough to feel his breath fan against my cheek.

"I would never take from you what you’re not ready to give, Violet," he murmured, his voice like velvet over fire. "But don’t lie to me. Not about this."

I didn’t move. Didn’t dare. His hand lifted, hovering near my face, but he didn’t touch me.

"You want to know the worst part?" I breathed, eyes locked to his. "It’s not the mark. It’s not the bond. It’s how my body wants you even when my mind is screaming to run."

His throat bobbed. "Then don’t run."

"I’m not strong enough to stay."

"You don’t have to be strong. You just have to be honest."

I swore the bond pulsed between us like a heartbeat.

He leaned in—closer, closer—his lips a whisper from mine.

But he didn’t kiss me.

Not yet.

His voice was ragged now. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

I looked into his eyes—stormy, hungry, waiting—and said nothing.

Because I didn’t want him to stop.

Not tonight

"No," I said, voice thick with need. "I want you. All over me. Kissing me, touching me..."

Zain stilled, his eyes fixed on mine like he was trying to make sure he’d heard me right. Then, in a heartbeat, the dam inside him broke.

He crushed his mouth to mine—not soft, not slow, but desperate, devouring. His kiss stole every breath I had left. He tasted like fire and danger and something I could no longer run from. His hands gripped my thighs and pulled me against him until there was no space between us, until I could feel every hard, aching line of him through the thin barrier of my clothes.

I whimpered against his mouth, and that sound made him growl—low and primal. "Don’t make that sound," he hissed. "Unless you want me to lose whatever control I have left."

I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "Then lose it."

His gaze darkened like a storm breaking. "You don’t know what you’re asking for violet, you just barely survived."

I kissed the corner of his mouth, slow and deliberate. "Yes, I do, and I want you to shatter me."

With a savage sound, he pushed my shirt up, baring my stomach and chest. His hands were everywhere at once—rough, reverent, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to worship or claim. His mouth followed, hot and demanding, trailing over my skin with kisses and bites that made my back arch off the bed.

I was gasping, writhing beneath him. And when he took my nipple into his mouth, sucking hard while his hand teased the other, I cried out—half pleasure, half agony.

"Zain," I breathed.

He looked up, eyes glazed with lust. "Tell me if it’s too much."

"It’s not enough."

He growled again and stripped off the rest of my clothes like they offended him. Then he stood, pulling his shirt over his head in one swift motion and unbuckling his pants, his body all hard muscle and raw power, his erection thick and straining.

My breath caught. I should have been nervous, but all I felt was need—so sharp it bordered on pain.

He crawled back over me slowly, like a predator stalking prey he already owned. His hand slid between my thighs, and when his fingers found how wet I was, his jaw clenched.

"This is what I do to you," he murmured. "Without even touching you properly."

I trembled as he rubbed slow circles over my clit, watching my face like he was memorizing every gasp and shudder. My legs shook, and when I reached for him, he pinned my hands above my head with one hand, his other still working me with ruthless precision.

"You don’t get to rush this," he said low. "Not tonight. You asked for me. You’re going to feel all of me."

His mouth found my throat, biting just hard enough to make me moan, and his fingers slid inside me, curling and thrusting until I was arching off the mattress, crying out, unraveling.

"Zain—please—"

He growled, pulled back just enough to look me in the eye as he lined himself up at my entrance. "Look at me."

I did. And when he pushed into me—slow, thick, deep—I saw stars.

My back bowed. I gasped his name. The stretch burned, but it was perfect.

He stilled once fully inside, trembling above me, every muscle straining with restraint. "You feel like you were made for me."

My fingers scraped down his back. "Then move, Zain."

He did.

And it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was deep, punishing, perfect. Every thrust sent heat licking through my veins, every snap of his hips forcing broken cries from my lips. The bed creaked beneath us, the air thick with sweat and need and that unmistakable pull of the bond between us, vibrating with every connection of our bodies.

He kissed me through it—hard and hungry. His teeth scraped my bottom lip. His hands held my hips in a bruising grip, grounding me as he drove deeper, faster.

"I should’ve waited," he rasped. "Should’ve let you come to me. But fuck, Violet, I need you—"

"I’m here," I moaned. "I’m yours."

That shattered something in him.

He flipped me onto my stomach, pulling my hips up, and plunged back into me from behind with a raw groan. The angle made me cry out, my body pulsing around him with each hard thrust. One of his hands tangled in my hair, the other wrapped around my throat—not choking, just holding.

Claiming.

"You are mine," he growled, teeth brushing my ear. "Say it."

"Yours," I gasped. "Zain—oh God—"

My orgasm ripped through me like wildfire, my body locking up, vision going white as I screamed his name. He followed with a hoarse, guttural moan, spilling into me, his hips jerking once, twice, before collapsing over my back, breathing hard against my skin.

For a long time, we just lay there—tangled, trembling, undone.

He pulled me into his arms, pressing kisses to my shoulder, my spine, the mark he’d left days ago.

And in that quiet, breathless space, I knew.

This wasn’t just lust.

It was inevitable