The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate novel Chapter 441

Chapter 441: Skin On Skin, Heat On Heat, No Space

"Finnick Shadowclaw. You just promised me that you wouldn’t rip."

Fin didn’t respond, his lips back on her mark while he pulled down his pants.

Before she could say anything else, he was pressed against her entrance, hot and thick. In one brutal thrust, he pushed inside her, then started pumping his hips, like he couldn’t wait a second longer.

She gasped, having not expected it to happen that quickly or that hard. That was a new one. The stretch was overwhelming, immediately burning her. For a second, she lay there, just taking it because it was too much.

Her back arched off the bed and her fingers dug into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. He was so deep it registered in her chest. Her thighs tensed around his hips. Every muscle in her core locked. The fullness was staggering, the kind that made her body fight between pulling him closer and pushing him back, and before she could decide, he was already moving.

He didn’t slow down whatsoever. In fact, he sped up. The pace punched the breath out of her on every stroke. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, eliminating the air between. That also did not slow him down.

He needed her. She could feel it through the matebond, raw and unfiltered, the need of a man who had spent three hours sharing her with four hundred people and was done sharing. She was his again. Just his. And the force of the thrust said he intended to make sure she remembered that.

His chest was flush against hers. She could feel his heartbeat hammering through his ribs into hers, fast and hard and matching the rhythm of his hips. The contact was everywhere. Skin on skin. Heat on heat. No space left.

Each stroke found a place inside her that made her vision blur at the edges and pleasure began to thread through the ache. Her hips started to meet his on their own.

The angle shifted when she moved with him, and the shift hit a spot that made her gasp so hard her throat clicked. Her fingers curled into his hair. Her legs tightened. The pleasure went from threading through the ache to drowning it.

The ache was fading. What replaced it was heat, spreading outward from the place where he was deepest, and the heat was his, carried through the matebond, his pleasure feeding hers until she couldn’t tell where his body ended and hers began.

She could feel herself clenching around him with every thrust, involuntary, her body gripping him like it was trying to keep him there. The friction was unbearable. The wet sounds between them filled the room, and the sounds made her face burn, and the burning made her clench harder, and the clenching made him groan louder, and the cycle had no exit.

"Fuck yes. Just like that. Your pussy is so fucking perfect," he groaned.

His forehead dropped against hers. His eyes were open. Watching her. The gold in them had swallowed the hazel entirely, and the look on his face was wrecked.

He knew her body. Every angle. Every sound she made and what it meant. The precision of him, even at this pace, even this desperate, was Fin through and through. He wasn’t just fucking her. He was telling her something with every stroke, and the something was: you are mine, you were always mine, and I waited all night to remind you.

The combination of his gaze, the stretch, and his relentless pace, built pressure fast in her core. Her breathing started to go ragged.

Her legs started to shake. The trembling started in her thighs and spread upward, involuntary. Every muscle below her ribs was coiling tighter with each stroke, and the coiling had passed the point where she could slow it down.

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