Page 26 of Wolf Fated

More.

I ache for more.

I don’t realize I’ve actually spoken until his eyes flare with heat. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. Whatever you need.”

He kisses me deeply, tongue sweeping between my parted lips. The taste of him is more potent than his scent.

“May I…may I touch you?” he rasps, his voice low and gravelly with barely restrained desire as his smoldering gaze finds mine, silently seeking permission.

“Yes!” There is no second guessing. No regrets making me think again.

With trembling fingers, Mitch glides his hands beneath the hem of my shirt, his calloused palms brushing against the soft swell of my breasts. A shudder of pure, unadulterated need ripples through me at his feather-light touch, causing my nipples to bead into tight, aching peaks.

He slides my shirt from my shoulders and off my body, his movements slow and reverent. As though I’m precious. Someone to be treasured. The fabric falls away, baring my flesh to his searing appraisal, and I flush beneath the weight of his regard because I’m not society's perfect ideal of what a woman should look like. I’m not paper thin. I have breasts. And hips. And my stomach and thighs are soft.

His gaze roams over every inch of exposed skin, drinking in the sight of me with an intensity that borders on possession. There’s no judgment in his eyes, only naked longing that steals the breath from my lungs.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, the word a hushed exhalation laced with a hint of awe, as if he can scarcely believe that I’m real, that I’m here in his arms.

His hands tremble as they ghost over the swell of my breasts, the pads of his fingers trailing feather-light paths that ignite trails of liquid fire in their wake. I arch into his touch with a needy whimper, pleading for more.

With a low, rumbling growl that resonates deep within my core, he lowers his head, his lips trailing a blazing path along the valley between my breasts. And then, without warning, he captures one taut peak between his lips, his tongue swirling over the sensitive bud in a way that has me crying out in pleasure.

“Mate,” he growls, the word a primal incantation that sends a shudder of pure, unadulterated need rippling through me. “Mine.”

For a fleeting moment, his eyes glow with an otherworldly light. Golden light swamps his face and over my body. But then he blinks, and the strange luminescence is gone, leaving me to wonder if it was nothing more than a trick of the light or a figment of my overactive imagination.

Not that it matters, not when his mouth is trailing a path along my neck and over my chin to capture my mouth again while his hands tease first one breast and then the other.

A fleeting thought of Mark tries to intrude, a lingering shadow of heartache and betrayal, but it’s quickly swept away, as Mitch groans against my lips and his hand trails down between my thighs.

My legs fall apart when he slides his fingers along the seam of my jeans and grinds the heel of his palm against my clit. Suddenly my jeans are too tight. Too restrictive. I need to feel him. Skin to skin. Everywhere.

I gasp against Mitch’s lips and fumble with my buttons. “Need…them off.”

Mitch rears over me and helps slide my jeans off my hips and down my legs, capturing my underwear at the same time, before he tugs them off. His eyes float down my body to rest between my thighs with a weighted stare.

I’m so wet, I’m slick, and with a boldness that comes from nowhere, I part my thighs, a needy whine working up my throat. “Please.”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. He bends over, easing his broad shoulders between my parted legs to stretch me wider. I should be embarrassed. I should be ashamed that his face is right there, but I’m so aroused all I feel is an overwhelming need for him to touch me.

The word mate echoes through my mind, growing louder and more insistent with each stroke, until it’s a resounding cadence that reverberates through every part of me.

He murmurs something under his breath before he leans. His fingers ghost along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, a move that has me clenching my core with need.

And then, without preamble, his mouth is on me, his tongue swirling over the slick folds of my sex in a way that has me keening with pleasure. I fist my hands in the sheets, my back arching as he sucks my aching bud into the scorching heat of his mouth, his fingers simultaneously easing into my entrance with a delicious stretch.

The sensations are overwhelming, a maelstrom of desire and unbridled ecstasy robbing me of coherent thought. All I can focus on is the way his tongue works me, the way his fingers curl and stroke against that hidden bundle of nerves that has me teetering on the precipice of oblivion.

It builds within me, a crescendo of pleasure that tightens every fiber of my being, until finally, with a guttural cry, I shatter. Waves of pure, unadulterated bliss crash over me, leaving me trembling and utterly undone.

Mitch doesn’t relent, doesn’t give me a moment to catch my breath before he surges up my body, his lips claiming mine in a searing kiss that tastes of musky desire and raw need.

The hard length of his arousal nestles against the slick heat of my core. I wind my legs around his waist, cradling his hips between my thighs as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Please. I need you, Mitch. All of you,” I whisper.

“You have me, sweetheart.”

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