Page 30 of North’s Claim

And every part of me wants to charge in. Replace her fingers with mine. With my mouth. My dick. Brand her until she knows who she belongs to.

But I don’t.

I watch. She’s beautiful, fragile and burning. Her chest heaves. Her brows draw together. Her lips tremble. She’s close. And when she comes, her whole body shakes with soft gasps, and toes curling. I swallow the growl that rips through my throat and bite down the smirk curling at the edge of my lips. Because damn... She just gave me the hottest goddamn show of my life and she doesn’t even know it.

“That’s my side of the bed,” I mutter in a low voice as I step into the doorway.

She hums, like she’s dreaming. Soft, sweet and innocent. Like she doesn’t know she just fucking wrecked me.

Then her eyes open, and the second they lock on mine, she bolts upright.

“Shit,” she squeaks, dragging the blanket over her legs like I haven’t already seen everything. “When did you get home?”

I smirk, not bothering to hide it. “Now.”

She exhales like she’s been holding her breath for hours. Her cheeks flush, and she scoots fast to the other side of the bed like I might bite. Which is ironic considering what she was just doing with those fingers. And damn if I don’t feel the ghost of it, her moans still rattling in my skull.

I close the distance slowly. Her eyes dart, body tense. Ready to bolt or disappear and yet, she stays.

I reach out and grab her wrist.

She freezes.

I bring her hand to my mouth, and taste. Her flavor hits my tongue like sin and salvation in one breath.

Fuck.

She gasps. But I’m the one who growls, deep, involuntary. That sound that rips out when something sacred brushes your teeth and dares to whisper mine.

Her lashes flutter like she’s ashamed, and she tries to tug her hand away, but I don’t let her.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” I murmur.

She shakes her head, stammering, “I didn’t know… I mean, I thought you⁠—”

“What?” I cut her off. “That I didn’t want you?”

She doesn’t answer but her silence screams everything she’s ever been taught about being wanted.

I breathe hard through my nose, chest rising like a war drum. My ribs fucking ache, my head’s pounding, and still, I can’t stop looking at her.

At the way she’s trying to shrink herself again.

At the way she can’t meet my eyes.

“Nyxa,” my voice edges in steel. “Don’t ever be ashamed of needing something good, of wanting to feel good.”

Her lips part, like she wants to argue, but I lean closer. Not touching. Just breathing the same air.

“I should’ve knocked,” I murmur with a smirk.

“You should’ve,” she whispers back.

In my fucking home. Funny, ain’t it?

Silence stretches between us like a wire pulled too tight.

Then I do the only thing that feels right. I let go of her hand. Step back. Run a palm down my face to shake off the fire crawling up my skin and climb in beside her.