A/N: How has it been so long since the last update? Thank you for bearing with me. I've been job-searching and interviewing…and finally, after like eight months of searching, I got a new job! It makes enough that I can leave my second job, too, and have some free time again. Yay! :D So, I was inspired and finally picked up the last half of the chapter as I've been intending to do. I hope you enjoy it…it gets rulllll spicy at the end. Enjoy and please let me know your thoughts! I love you all!

LATER THAT NIGHT

Looking back, it was a strange night: time seemed to crawl like a dream, and yet it all happened so fast.

Talking with Paul was weirdly easy; like a leisurely ping-pong game, conversation volleyed back and forth, only stopping due to laughter or the bartender's interruption. She found herself captivated by Paul in a way she never would've imagined…from his cheeky grin, to the teasing glint in his eye, to the way his knees would bump against hers as they chatted…yeah, Paul was something else. Something she wasn't sure she'd ever encountered before.

"Best 80s movie, obviously, is–"

"I can already sense you're wrong," she cut in slyly, before taking a long draw from her drink. It was her second cocktail of the evening and she was– Thank God– starting to forget she was in La Push. The taste of apples and strong vodka coated her tongue. The grim heaviness of the day now seemed far away.

He smirked, then finished smugly: "Terminator, obviously."

"I knew you'd be wrong."

His eyes rounded out. "You're shitting me right now. Did I stutter? Terminator is– you can't fight me on this one, Rach."

"Paul, Paul, Paul." She clicked her tongue, pulling her face into an exaggerated frown. She patted his denim-clad knee patronizingly. "Poor summer baby-child."

His eyes sparked with enjoyment at her teasing.

"The answer is obviously Back to the Future. You've got comedy, you've got drama, you've got an iconic score and lines that are instantly recognizable–"

"Better than 'I'll be back?'" His voice slanted into a faux German accent. "I can't name a single damn line from Back to the Future."

"What about 'Great Scott!' or 'McFly!'"

"Pssshw. Weak."

"Okay, hum the Terminator theme, right now."

"I'm not doing that!" he said with a laugh, then took a swig out of his beer.

She matched his sip with another long swig of her own. "It's because you can't. No one knows the Terminator theme. But immediately you hear– bahm, ba-dah-dum-dah-duh-dummmmm. Bummm. Bahm, ba-dah-dum-dah-duh-dum-dummmm and it's like 'Hell yeah!'"

"I'll let you have that– that it's a good theme– but I still say Terminator is better because we're talking about movies, not music."

"They're intrinsically bound."

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, college. Meaning?"

"Meaning, it's an essential to the whole. They're inseparable from each other. You can't have a great movie without great music and sorry but James Cameron missed the mark on that one. Thus, a weaker movie by comparison, across the board."

His right eyetooth caught the edge of his plump lower lip as he studied her. "Intrinsically bound, huh." He took another drink, then went quiet and thought for a long moment. Just when she thought her argument had gotten through to him, and she had cinched the victory in this little debate…his eyes slid back to hers. "Nah, you're not winning this one. I challenge you to a show-down."

She laughed, head feeling light and fizzy. She'd almost swayed him. As silly as it was, a debate was a debate and a win was a win. She repeated, "A show-down?"

"Let's watch them, together, and see how they stack up. I think if you really gave mine a shot…you'd realize I'm right."

She laughed again. It was just so easy to laugh around him. And, given, she was a touch tipsy, but…well, fuck it. She'd wanted to let her hair down, so why not. Laughing and enjoying herself– hell, even promising a movie night – with a hot, distracting man (ugh, teenager) was only a problem if she over-thought it. "Fine. You're on. I've got at least a couple of weeks here and I'll be thrilled to watch you concede to my better taste."

"Fine." He stuck out his hand to shake on it.

"Fine." She grasped it.

God, his hand was hot. But….in, like, an addictive kind of way. She closed her eyes for a second, letting the warmth of his skin seep into hers as memories of Hawaii assailed her mind. Heat and sunshine, shaking that Washington cold which always seemed to sit in her bones…the kind of warmth that made her lungs expand instinctively. Bringing her to life.

"You okay?"

Her eyes fluttered open.

Paul was there, expression curious. He didn't seem upset to still be holding her hand– Good, because it was such a nice feeling– but was searching her face in earnest. In fact, his thumb ran a soft path over her skin…

She tugged her hand away. She mourned the loss of his warmth immediately. "Yeah, I'm good. Just– your skin is so hot."

"I'll sat it again: good genes." He paused, then said in a soft, teasing voice: "You like holding my hand that much, huh?"

She laughed shamelessly, but pointedly didn't answer that question. "Your skin makes me think of Hawaii. Baking in the sun. Just– heat."

He looked back down at his beer, long finger wrapping around the neck of the bottle. "Your sister is there, right? Is that where you wanna end up?"

"Not really, but maybe. Who knows. I guess." She shrugged. Truth slipped past her tongue before she could second-guess herself. "I don't know where I belong. But somewhere I can feel that kind of heat might be a good place to start. I don't know. Maybe I just want to find where I belong."

Paul's gaze lifted to hers, and had she been a little less tipsy, she would've analyzed the strangeness lingering in them– but instead she just lifted her eyebrows and took another sip of her cocktail. Hmmm. Dangerous, beautiful boy.

"Anyway. What about you?"

"Me?" Paul's surprise was deep and rumbling.

"Yeah. What do you want most?"

He was looking at her again in that weird way and his jaw worked as if he was chewing on words. A full minute passed, to the point where the silence began to sober Rachel's glib curiosity. Had she overstepped? Maybe her answer had made him feel weird, or had brought up bad memories. Or maybe he didn't have an answer. Regardless, something significant began to flutter in her chest, cutting through her tipsy revelry.

"Look, you're young and don't have to figure it out now. I guess I'm having like a Pre-Life Crisis or something…"

He interrupted, "I think I want to belong, too. I have a place I belong, but…but there's something else that makes me think, y'know, I belong with– I belong there, too." He wasn't looking at her, but his eyebrows were drawn together. "I don't know how to explain it to you right now. I can someday, I think, but not right now.

Rachel's chest fluttered with that foreign feeling. There was something vulnerable and… significant about this moment, even in his inability to give it voice. Suddenly, she felt very not tipsy. Clarity was prickling at her senses– a realization of some kind. But of what?

Perhaps it was because Paul rarely allowed even that much of a peek into his psyche. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she was certain that this sort of openness was unfamiliar to him, too. Feeling humbled and sobered, she lightly touched his knee. "That's okay. I get it."

His eyes met hers again.

It was mesmeric, this attraction that seemed to be weaving around her limbs and beckoning her closer to him by the minute. Not physically– no, physically, she remained a respectable distance away– but something other, something deep and transcendent.

Perhaps something like gravity–

"Last call. You two want another?"

Rachel practically jumped out of her skin. She turned to face the bartender; she felt Paul's gaze on the side of her face, making her cheeks pinken.

"I'm good. Just the bill. You good, Paul?"

"Yeah." She was tempted by the sound of his deep voice, to turn and see if that spellbinding moment was truly over or if she could just as easily fall into it again…

The bartender laid the tab on the table, and Paul's reflexes were just as impressive as his speed earlier in the night. He intercepted it with finality.

Rachel shook her head, discombobulated from both their moment and his crazy spooky reflexes. "Let me pay for mine," she said. Her voice was too soft though, and lacked its usual insistence.

"Nope." He popped the 'p' sound at her, with a grin. "Happy Graduation, Miss Perfect."

She smiled, rolling her eyes at the name as they stood from their seats. "Well. Thanks. You didn't have to."

"I did. Had to celebrate."

"Well it certainly marked the occasion. Thank you, Paul."

When they stepped outside moments later, Rachel was once again reminded how damn cold even July rainstorms could be, here on the Rez.

"You good to drive?"

"I am." She used the clicker to unlock the van, watching its headlights snap to life and illuminate the rainpour. "You ready to run?"

"Always."

She suspected he slowed himself down for her sake as they both threw themselves into the van simultaneously, shaking off a fresh wave of wetness on their still-damp clothes.

Paul laughed as she pawed at her hair. Whatever style she'd managed to preserve through the day was long gone. "Welcome back to La Push."

"A warm welcome indeed." She was trying to sound sarcastic, but her voice came out throaty. It sounded…flirty. And if her damn heart wasn't thundering from his proximity and the sight of those raindrops clinging to the russet skin of his regal cheeks, she could've maybe convinced herself that there was nothing suggestive in her tone. Instead, she cleared her throat, trying to ignore the way his lips curled.

Like he knows what I'm thinking.

Rachel turned the ignition. It was just hormones and a long day and a good time and the temptation of a sexy guy. And hormones. If she didn't rein herself in, soon enough she'd be playing with fire. "Alright, how do I get you home?"

He dutifully guided her back to his house, and when Rachel pulled up, she had to admit that her chest felt twisted up with twine. She knew she should be logical, that she should shoo him out of the van and head home.

But, damnit. She didn't want her time with Paul to end.

They sat quietly for a moment, rain pelting the windshield.

"You said your dad isn't home?"
"Nope." Paul paused for a second. Rachel felt that fluttering sensation in her chest again.

"Do you ever get lonely, being home alone?"

"Not usually but…" Paul cleared his throat. Their eyes met again; she suspected that the same vulnerability she found there was mirrored in her own. "I'd like it if you came in."

"You would?" It came out somewhere between a statement and a question. Oh, this was so unwise. Playing with fire. But…Rachel's heart gave a double-thump nonetheless.

"Yeah. If you want to."

"Umm. Well."

"I can make you another drink." His voice lilted up in playful offer, but his eyes bore into hers with such scorching intensity that she nearly stopped breathing.

I want to feel your heat on my skin again. Oh, this was reckless indeed. With every heartbeat, desire curled through her veins.

Instead, she whispered, "I could probably use some water." There, that was rational. Reasonable. She just needed some water.

"Sure."

"Right."

Paul's house was clean, but there was a natural disarray to it. Cans of food were stacked on counters instead of tucked into cupboards; the scuffed dining room table was surrounded by three mismatched chairs. She'd heard the term "woman's touch" many times, and rather figured that her own childhood house was somewhat plain now that her mother had been gone so long…but it was apparent that this house had never had anyone inside who attempted to make it homey.

"Sorry about— well, the place," Paul said as he poured water from a filtered pitcher in the fridge. The tips of his fingers brushed hers when he handed her the cup.

She took a deep sip. "I appreciate the water."

"You're not drunk though," he clarified.

"No, or I wouldn't have driven." She was feeling off-kilter for a whole different reason, but the effects of the Washington Apple were long, long gone. She rather wished it wasn't. A nice buzz that allowed her to sin and indulge carefree, would be…

Playing with fire. She gulped down more water.

"Mmm. Well, I'd be happy to make you a drink if you want."

"No, I'd better not. If I have another drink, I'll just try to debate Back to the Future again."

Paul's mischievous smile came back full-force. Even when he scowled (his standard expression), he was objectively handsome. When he was relaxed and grinning at her, it was a sight that could knock the breath out of a girl. "Well, shit. I'm not ready for that. I need some time to regroup, Rachel. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the whole 'intrinsically bound' thing."

"Then I'm doing you a favor. Lucky you."

His smile receded into a somber, earnest expression. "Yeah, I have been pretty lucky today."

Playing with fire. But she craved heat, apparently, so even as she knew it was unwise, she pressed, "Oh?"

"Yeah. I got Miss Perfect to come out with me, didn't I?" Her heart did a double-thump. He reached out to gently brush some hair out of her eyes. When she didn't flinch away, but instead held her breath in anticipation, his fingers traced the curve of her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed. "And," Paul continued in a rumbling purr, "I also got her to agree to not one, but two movies over the next couple weeks."

"I'm glad you're so looking forward to my victory." Did that throaty tone belong to her? He noticed, too, must be, because now he cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing her bottom lip…and lingering there.

"How do you know I won't dominate?" he asked. She opened her eyes to find him smiling at her with such affection…but under that baiting, teasing twinkle in his gaze, the implication was sinful. The heat from his skin quieted the incessant voice of discipline that ruled her every action. In its silence, temptation roared.

She was about to step over the line. It was a deep and resonant knowledge, earthen and ancient in a way she'd never felt before. Tonight, things were going to go too far, and she was more than ready to fling herself into it. Regret was tomorrow's problem; for now, certainty cradled her.

Her own hand rose to wrap around his wrist. "I'm not the submissive type."

Paul's breath hitched; he was staring into her eyes like she was the only woman to have ever walked the earth. "Why am I not surprised?"

"That a problem, Lahote?" She nipped at the pad of his thumb, still feather-light on her lip. He went utterly still, his pupils dilating.

"Not at all."

"Good."

"Rachel," he rasped in prayer-like reverence. Like she was something sacred.

She kept her eyes on his, because if she looked at the defined slope of his shoulders, she was pretty sure she was going to try to rip his shirt off and lick the muscles there. Whoa.

But his eyes weren't a reprieve, either. In fact, they made her feel all the more breathless. Her head was spinning from the power of his gaze, and the myriad of emotions that dwelled in those green eyes. How had she never seen them before? How had she ever been simple enough to see only defensiveness and anger? There was so much vulnerability there. A man capable of tenderness, of kindness, of gentleness, and maybe somehow of love.

She whispered, "Do you want to kiss me?"

For a moment, time suspended– each holding their breath at the moment of precipice, as something wild and quiet pulsed to life.

Then: "More than anything," he murmured, and his mouth descended to hers. Her lips parted immediately, and his tongue pressed against hers so reverently, so tenderly, that she felt her knees go weak.

Oh, holy fuck.

Rachel had been kissed before, by a handful of guys at varying levels of commitment and chemistry. Not a single one of them could compare to kissing Paul.

Her hands slipped over his hard chest to curl around his shoulders. His mouth worked against hers slowly, deeply. His kiss embodied such colors of passion– tender, earnest, ravenous– that she'd never experienced in one partner before. Her lower body throbbed in response as any final semblance of the real world fell away for good.

His lips drifted from hers, over her jaw and neck while she clutched him close. His hip pressed into hers, where something even harder and more insistent than his granite-wrought body strained against his jeans. Her own sex clenched in primal recognition.

"Where's your room?"

He pulled back. "You sure?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't."

He tilted that smirky-grin her way. "God, you're everything."

Warmth suffused her body at the phrase; she was pleased by it, even if his meaning wasn't entirely clear. She didn't overthink it though. She extended her hand, which he took– placing a kiss on her knuckles– and backed out of the kitchen to lead her through the darkness.

Because the Lahote house was tiny, it wasn't much of a journey to Paul's room. She decided to ignore the obvious indicators of his youth– the untidy disarray, the rumpled bedcovers, the stupid big-breasted Sports Illustrated bikini poster on his wall. She moved to the bed.

Paul remained in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the room. "I'm sorry about the mess," he said tersely.

"It's fine." She almost said– You're a guy, and you're young, and even college guys live like slobs, so I didn't expect otherwise. But, as his jaw shifted tightly from side-to-side, she realized this wasn't mere self-conscious bravado. He was actually embarrassed.

"It's okay, Paul," Rachel reiterated. "I want you. So– just ignore the rest."

Those green eyes practically glowed in the dim light; just when she was sure he was about to pounce on her the way she hoped…he instead stalked over to the girlie poster. He tore it from the wall and crumpled it up.

Weirdly hot. "Setting the mood?"

"Best I can. That's– just about the only thing I can change right now." He turned toward her again. His shoulders looked even more swoon-worthy when he was backlit by the light down the hall. "I want you too, Rach."

"Then…what are you doing way over there?" She knelt on the bed, unzipping the damp hoodie she'd thrown over her dress. She shrugged it off her shoulders.

"Just can't believe my luck," he said roughly. "I just– how far do you want to go tonight?"

"I didn't come in here just to give you a show, if that's what you're asking."

A tremor rippled over his shoulders. "Take off your dress, Rachel."

She quirked a brow. "Interesting. Didn't know you were here for a show. I thought you'd be a little more hands-on."

"I intend to be."

"Then your shirt first."

It was off in seconds and–

HOLY FUCK.

She'd seen him shirtless earlier, and it was enough to bring a woman to her knees, but now– when sexual energy seemed to pulse off every inch of him, and his eyes glowed with that near other-worldly intensity– she was struck with the absolute perfection of his form. He was crafted by the gods.

"Take off your dress, Rachel," he repeated. Her stomach fluttered at his tone, at the intensity of his rapt attention.

"I don't like to take orders," she said in a low voice, but her fingers were already unlooping the fabric-covered buttons down the front of her dress. "I'm not one of your little hook-ups looking to be bossed around."

"I know."

"Good." The five buttons were now undone, the material gaping. His focus was unbroken as she slipped her hand beneath the cloth of one side, pushing it down and freeing her arm from its strap. Then, the other side. It bunched at her waist for a moment before she pulled the entire garment over her head.

One moment, Paul was in the doorway– the next, he was standing beside the bed, his fingers in her hair and palms cradling the back of her head as he captured her in another universe-tilting kiss. Her own hands slid greedily over his shoulders, his biceps, his pecs and back and abdomen.

"I can smell you," he whispered against her mouth.

She paused, the peculiarity of the statement just barely infiltrating the sexual frenzy that was burning away all logic. "Smell me?"

"You smell amazing," he growled, kissing her again and again. "I want to taste every inch of you."

She moaned. The tips of her fingers slipped just a centimeter beneath his jeans' waistline before her thumb found the button of his fly. The bulge just below was big so the button was already straining – when she pulled it free, his jeans fell open immediately to reveal he was commando–

Another rush of wetness fluttered between her legs at the sight of his gorgeous cock. It sprang free and stood erect, its head already beading with pre-come. Her mouth watered at the sight. She pushed his jeans out of the way, which he briefly stepped out of while she devoured the sight of him. "Oh, Paul."

"It's all yours," he murmured. His fingers carded through her hair, his thumb lingering at her lips again. She sucked the tip of it lightly, before resuming her hands' exploration. Her fingernails lightly traced down the perfectly cut muscles of his abs to his groin, where she cupped the hefty weight of his ballocks as she eyed the impressive shaft that jutted from the dark patch of hair there.

Paul's dick was big. Fully extended, he had to be seven or eight inches long. The flushed tip brushed his belly button as she explored the length of him.

Apparently, his arrogance was well-founded. And her mouth was watering.

She leaned forward, not bothering to ask for permission as her mouth sought his cock. His guttural groan was the confirmation she already knew as she tasted the smooth skin of his cockhead. Her mouth enveloped him fully. His grasp in her hair tightened minutely; she knew he was resisting the urge to push himself further between her lips.

Good boy. This is my pace.

"Rachel. Oh, Rachel," he groaned.

She was wetter than she remembered ever being, but she staved off the temptation to touch herself. Instead, she gripped the tight muscles of his ass to better direct him. She enjoyed the slide of him against her tongue, and relished the sound of his pleasure as she took him further, until he was solidly pushing against the back of her throat. She bobbed back and forth, keeping his length partially swallowed and using her head to create the smooth movement. He panted, "Rachel, your mouth is– fuck, it's heaven– are you trying to swallow me whole?"

If she could've she would've smiled at the masculine breathlessness of his voice. She withdrew, letting his gorgeous cock pop free of her mouth slowly. When she smiled up at him saucily, she was gratified to see Paul's expression as never before: slack-jawed, green eyes drinking her in like she was the vision of a lifetime and he was simply not comprehending her existence.

She'd never felt more beautiful in her life.

"I'd do anything for you," he said in a low voice, eyes glowing with reverence. "Whatever you want or need, it's yours– I'm yours."

"You're dangerous, Lahote," she whispered, her hand curling around his cock– still slippery with her saliva– to give it a long, slow pump. "A girl could be addicted to a guy like you."

"I'm the one in trouble," he told her. "Let me touch you, anywhere– Rachel, I've got to touch you."

"I'll take this off." She unclasped her bra. When it fell away to reveal her breasts, Paul was on her instantly. She fell back against his pillows as his thumbs lightly brushed across her nipples, eliciting full-body quivers.

"You are perfect," he breathed. She adored the light pressure playing at her nipples; how intentionally at odds the gentleness was, coming from such a granite-hard man with a scorching, ruinous gaze. Rachel moaned and writhed as he kissed his way from her neck to the dusky tip of her left breast. His mouth closed around it as his hand continued to tease her right nipple into stiffness.

She moaned loudly, unable to resist rubbing her thighs together to alleviate the wetness which had pooled in her panties. She was aching to touch herself, but Paul's mouth on her breast– now lavishing her right breast with its due attention– was just too good.

Intrinsically bound. The phrase cut through the haze of pleasure as if it had been sung; strangely, Paul's eyes jerked up to hers at the same moment, shining with such untold emotions that she almost felt he was thinking the same thing.

She wanted to say something– even took a breath to speak, but found no words.

Paul, whose stare was practically unearthly in its intensity, asked in a low voice, "Can I…?"

She nodded, wordlessly, and he sat back on his knees. She expected him to peel her panties away immediately, but instead his scorching eyes were trained on them as his hands framed her hips. "Good God, Rach. You're soaked."

"Is it that obvious?" she murmured archly, throatily.

"You've basically ruined these panties."

"No– you have." She wriggled her hips, still caught in the grasp of his huge hands. "You're responsible for this. So what are you going to do about it?"

"I told you– I'm going to enjoy the taste of you." He lowered his head– and oh, Jesus, his mouth was moving against her clothed center, against the sopping material of her underwear. Rachel felt light-headed from pleasure as she watched his head move between her thighs, as the press of his mouth against her center– only held back by the thin material of her panties– made her limbs go tingly.

"Paul, you're–" an animal, a god, a dream come true– "you're driving me wild." Her thighs actually trembled from the effort it took not to hook around his shoulder and force herself closer. "Kiss my pussy, please."

He huffed a hot breath against her. "I love hearing you say such filthy words."

"Show me how much you love it. Now."

"Yes ma'am," he replied with his naughty grin, pulling back to ease her panties off. As he dragged them down her legs, he kissed her thighs, then calves, then ankles…before resuming his position at the apex of her thighs.

Just before his mouth descended, he cast her one long, smoldering look. Then–

Rachel's eyes rolled back in her head.

—-

PAUL'S POV

He'd gone down on girls before; not every time– the mood had to be right, the girl had to be right, all that– but he was certainly no first-timer.

But being with Rachel, it sure felt like he was.

Was this because of the imprint? That everything– every look, every sensation, every breath he took– felt like he'd only just inhabited this body and was still adjusting to the incredible reality of being alive, of discovering the extent of pleasure he could experience.

All because of Rachel.

He tasted her pussy and groaned at the softness between her folds– a softness that made his cock ache. She was so wet, so ready for him. The wolf within was pleased to know its mate's desire; the scent of arousal that teased the air earlier and suffused with Rachel's general floral scent was enough to make the wolf ravenous. It was ready to claim and mate. To ensure that Paul knew the most intimate secrets of his mate and would be able to find her anywhere, to smell her and feel her no matter the distance between them.

Never again. He'd never again be alone, now that he had Rachel.

She was everything. She was home.

And he was going to be her future. What a happy future they'd have, too. He just knew it, a bone-deep knowledge that had been inscribed since the earliest Ancestor.

"Paul, now."

He loved that his resolute little mate was just as commanding in bed. With one last flat sweep of his tongue against her clit, he rose to his knees again between her thighs to grip himself.

What a sight she was.

He'd always been so cynical of imprinting….hell, of love in general. On some level, he thought himself incapable of it. He'd lived it vicariously through the memories of his packmates and even then, was skeptical of its weight.

Until his own world had been so thoroughly consumed. His eyes drank in the sight of her.

His spirit-wife.

Rachel's eyes were probing his, and he felt the hot rush of her emotions in conjunction with his own. It was like trying to separate pools of water– impossible. They were already one, and now–

Rachel whispered, "Take me, Paul."

His cock slipped through her wetness with ease; there was only slight resistance to his size as he felt her inner muscles adjust to accommodate. She moaned low in her throat, eyes closed in pleasure as he pushed himself deep. When he finally bottomed out, his body fully wedged into that of his mate, he released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His head dropped into the crook of her neck; the smell of her skin, the heat and plushness of her sex, their hearts beating in-time like a drum in his ears– it was nearly too much.

Her fingertips dug into his shoulders. "I need you to fuck me, Paul, or I'll– go crazy." She shuddered beneath him. "I've never wanted anything more."

He obeyed, his hips' movement teasing at first until he was delivering full thrusts. He captured her mouth again, and entwined his fingers with hers. Rachel canted her hips to wrap her legs around his waist, so that he had no quarter to ever truly pull out. He wanted every inch of her.

"I'm going to play with my clit," she whispered at his ear. His cock jerked at her tone; his pace didn't stutter as she slipped her hand between them, as he felt her fingers slipping against herself. Paul memorized the moment in excruciating detail as she nipped his earlobe. "You're so big, it's not going to take me much longer. You're amazing, Paul. I've never felt so good– oh my God–"

Her words – and being submerged in all things Rachel– sent him over the edge. He felt the possessiveness of the wolf claw its way to the front of his brain, and he surrendered to nature. His hips thrust twice more, deep and relentless, and his brain's only thought was mark mate, claim mate as he locked his teeth around her neck in primordial urge. He bit down– not to cause pain, but to claim.

As soon as he did, Rachel cried out, her thighs suddenly stiffening around him. Her pussy clenched tighter than a fist, and then there was a gush of heat over his length as her body writhed all around his. He released her neck, hips rocking in-time with her orgasm; he was blissfully trapped in the body of his mate as her sex clenched and unclenched and clenched around his cock, as if trying to milk his come from him–

Oh fuuuuck.

Paul groaned, and in a singular fleeting instant of responsible awareness, he jerked himself out of Rachel just before he ejaculated. His vision went dim as he spilled hot pulses of come over the low of her belly. The Universe imploded except for the perfect brilliant color of his mate beneath him.

When the world slowly pieced its way back into his awareness, Paul was overcome with masculine pride at the sight: she was laying placated against his sheets, eyes a bit dazed and limbs loose. He eyed the impressive mark blooming against her neck, then the evidence of his orgasm coating her stomach. "I'll be right back."

When he returned with a warm wash cloth, Rachel wasn't much changed; she was dazed and seemed to be happily so. She smiled at him as he dabbed at her stomach. "Wow."

"You said it," he whispered softly in reply. His heart felt so full. He'd never, ever felt this way after sex before. If he wasn't careful, he'd get emotional about it….goddamnit, were these all his emotions, or hers too? He dropped the cloth on the floor at the foot of the bed, then climbed in beside her.

"Do I have to leave right away?" she asked softly, and Paul's heart nearly broke at the idea.

"No. Stay. Stay with me, here, tonight." He crawled into the bed beside her, pleased when she turned over and allowed him to pull her in. She nustled close, his body curling around hers. "Let's sleep, Rachel. It's been a long day."

She made a sound of agreement and after pressing a quick kiss to his hand, entwined their fingers. Spooning his Imprint after the best sex of his life– it occurred to Paul: for the first time in a very long time, he felt like he was home.

—-

A/N: Methinks drama-rama awaits—especially when one party thinks it was a One-Night-Stand and the other basically mated for life. And I heard a rumor that Jacob Black is making an appearance soon. Baby bro is coming back to town! Hehe. Thanks again for reading and please comment!