Drake's POV:
After thoroughly fucking the hell out of my mate, I leaned back against the tree, catching my breath. Leila was still bent over, her body trembling slightly from the intensity of what we'd just done. The air around us was thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and satisfaction. I couldn't help but feel an immense sense of pride in what I'd done to her—she was mine, completely and utterly, and that thought alone sent a shiver of possessiveness through me.
I tugged my shirt off and handed it to her. "Here," I said, grinning as I watched her put it on. It hung loosely around her petite frame, the fabric barely covering her hips.
Leila shot me a playful glare, knowing full well why I was smiling. I couldn't help it. She looked like a mess—her hair wild and tangled, her cheeks flushed, and the way she walked, well, it was obvious. Anyone who saw her now would know exactly what had just happened. And I couldn't be more proud of myself for it.
