The fire had burned low, leaving only glowing embers as Derek carefully scooped Stiles into his arms. Her naked body was limp and spent, marked with red handprints, bite marks, and the sticky evidence of everything they’d done. Cum still leaked slowly from both her holes, trailing down her thick thighs. She clung to him weakly, head resting on his tattooed chest, heart pounding wildly—this is wrong, so wrong… but god, it feels so right. Jackson’s snores echoed faintly from the living room as Derek carried her down the hall to his bedroom.

He laid her gently on the king-sized bed, the silk sheets cool against her overheated skin. Sliding in behind her, he pulled her close—big spoon to her little one—his strong arm wrapping around her waist, hand splaying possessively over her soft belly. His lips brushed her neck in slow, sweet kisses. “Sleep, baby,” he whispered. “You’re safe with me. Always.”