Draven.
"Don't fight it," I said softly. "Picture my hand brushing the hair from your face. My thumb resting just here—"
I touched my own lower lip as if she could feel it through the phone. "—reminding you that you're mine."
She was quiet, but her breathing betrayed her, faster now, as if my words alone reached across the miles and touched her skin.
"You don't know what you do to me," I confessed, my voice husky, unguarded. "Every time you laugh. Every time you argue with me. I want to claim more of you. Not just as Alpha. Not just as husband. But as a man who can't stop wanting his wife."
A shaky sound escaped her—half sigh, half whimper—and it sent a dangerous thrill through me.
"Tell me, Meredith," I pressed gently. "When you lie in bed at night, do you ever wish I were there with you?"
She hesitated, and then, in a voice that trembled with honesty: "…Yes."
The word hit me like fire through my veins. I closed my eyes, tightening my grip on the phone.
