The bandages on Ronan’s shoulder were still fresh when the tension between them ignited again that night. The attack had left the mansion on high alert, but inside the master bedroom, a different kind of storm brewed.
Ronan stood by the window, shirtless, the moonlight carving shadows across his muscled torso and fresh wounds. His eyes glowed faintly silver as he watched Faith emerge from the bathroom in nothing but a silk slip. The mate bond thrummed with raw need after the violence—his wolf demanding to claim what was his.
“Enough games,” he growled, voice low and commanding. He crossed the room in two strides and backed her against the bedpost. “Tonight, you submit. Fully. No defiance. No holding back. I want every inch of you, Faith. On your knees. Begging. Mine.”
Faith’s pulse race
