Elena pov:
My wolf surged, clawing to the surface, howling to ease him. To take him. To let him mark and mate and fill us so deep we'd never forget what he tasted like.
And gods help me—I wanted it too.
So much.
His lips claimed the underside of my jaw as his hand slid down my spine, fingers trailing fire. He didn't speak, didn't need to. Every breath, every low growl, every shuddering exhale against my skin screamed what he wanted.
Me.
All of me.
"Damon…" I panted, pressing closer, my hips instinctively seeking friction.
His teeth grazed my throat and I gasped, the hot water sloshing between us. I was half in his lap, soaked, trembling, legs tangled with his.
"I can't—" His voice cracked, his forehead falling against my shoulder. "I'm trying, Elena. I'm trying not to hurt you."
I should've been afraid of that raw, feral edge in his voice. But I wasn't.
I was melting for it.
"You won't," I breathed. "I trust you."
