Page 205 of Primal

She’s laughing when I bring her down—giddy, out of breath, wired on the rush of it. On us.

We hit the dirt hard. She rolls, claws at my mask like she’s trying to tear the man out from under the monster.

“Got me,” she pants, straddling my waist. “What now?”

I sit up fast and grab her hips, flipping her easy. My hand slides between her legs, and fuck, she’s soaked—grinding. Her body’s been begging for this since the last time I split her open and made her thank me for it.

“Now,” I growl, “I remind you what it means to be mine.”

Her breath hitches. “You gonna mark me again?”

“Every inch. Inside and out.”

I shove the mask up just enough to taste her. The skirt rides up her thighs, exposing that strip of skin I’ve worshiped a thousand times with my tongue, teeth, cock—and still can’t fucking get enough of.

My mouth follows instinct. So do my hands. I drag my tongue down her stomach, biting every soft inch I find.

She arches like a little prey catching heaven, every twitch of her hips daring me to ruin her deeper.

Her moan splits the night and I swallow it whole.

“Say it,” I demand, nipping her collarbone.

“Yours.” Her nails dig into my shoulders. “Always fucking yours.”

And right there, in the dirt and the dark, I take her—again, and again, and again—until we forget how to be anything else.

“Fuck … that was … incredible,” she rasps, one arm hooked around my neck, the other fisted in the dirt like she’s holding on for dear life. “You’re lucky I let you catch me.”

“Yeah? You tackled me like a feral raccoon.”

“I won, didn’t I?” She grins, all teeth and fire.

Her hair’s a wreck, one knee already scraped raw.

“Still think I’m your monster?”

Her smile is wicked. “Yes. Only mine.”

I bite down a groan, burying my face in her throat.

She shivers. Sighs my name like it’s a prayer I might actually believe.

The woods don’t give a shit what we are.

The stars don’t see us bleed.

Only the ghosts remember. Tonight, they sing instead of scream.

Chapter One

Target at 6:30 pm on Halloween Eve is a goddamn circus. And I’m apparently the idiot who thought hitting the store right when everyone gets off work was somehow a good plan. The costume aisle looks like a bomb went off. Pretty sure I just watched two moms nearly throw hands over the last unicorn headband.

By the time I elbow through the costume chaos, my cart’s a red flag on wheels. A dozen Magnums. Industrial-strength lube, because challenge fucking accepted. And a knife sharp enough that security actually trails me to checkout.

The cashier scans it all without missing a beat and smirks when she bags the final item—a blindfold.

“Happy Halloween.” What she really means is, ‘Try not to get murdered.’