Page 49 of What a Wolf Demands

Then she broke apart.

Her thighs shook. Hot moisture coated his fingers, and she grew so slippery his fingers squelched against her sex as he pumped her.

His cock swelled anew between his thighs. Heat blasted from his head to his hips.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted.

He released her clit, then hauled himself up and slipped inside her again.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, her ankles locked behind his back.

He wrapped an arm around her thigh, holding her in place while he rode her to another orgasm.

The universe shattered. Or maybe he shattered. They shattered, and it just didn’t fucking matter.

This mattered. Just this.

He threw his head back as a shout tore from his chest, and he held himself still, helpless to do anything but let his release pump hot and fierce inside her.

She took it all, her pussy squeezing and milking and feeling so damn good he wasn’t sure if he’d died and ascended into some other plane of existence.

At some point—maybe it was minutes, maybe it was hours—he floated back to earth. He took her with him, summoning just enough strength to roll them to the side, his cock still lodged firmly inside her, one arm heavy across her waist.

And there was something else he had to do. Something he needed to know.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice like gravel. “Is it gone?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice sleepy and satisfied. “Thank you.”

He was too tired to reply. Too tired to heed the alarm that threatened to reemerge from the more logical, responsible parts of his brain.

For now, there was the female in his arms, her slender body warm and soft against his.

And the helplessness was gone again—the slavering beast locked away once more. The madness banished safely to the past.

And that was enough.

8

What had she been thinking?

Lily stood in front of the bathroom mirror, unable to meet her eyes in the glass.

Because she wasn’t sure what she’d see there.

She kept her gaze firmly on the clothes stacked on the counter. A hotel employee had delivered them bright and early, the loud knock on the door jolting her out of a sound sleep. It had taken her a second to comprehend how she’d ended up in the bed—or why she was covered in Dom’s scent.

Then her memory had returned. Heat had seared her cheeks. Before she could stop herself, she’d let out a groan of mortification.

“You all right?”

Dom’s voice had come from the window, where he stood fully dressed, his big body a dark silhouette against the pre-dawn sky outside.

Her cheeks had burned hotter, and she’d clutched the thick comforter to her chest. Her naked chest.

“Um . . .” She’d had to clear her throat. Because it was hoarse from screaming several orgasms. “Yes. Thank you.”

Oh god. Would he think she’d just thanked him for the sex?

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