Page 63 of Wolf.e

“Mmm,” he groans into me. My whole body quivers with the vibration of his mouth on me.

“You’re my favorite fucking flavor, Brinley Rose.” Gabriel makes it his mission to prove his words.

I don’t stand a chance. He pulls me even closer, and I give in. He spreads my thighs wide and loses himself to me, sucking my clit into his mouth, like a man starved.

I look down at this intimidating viking of a man between my thighs and my insides churn with raw desire at the sight. Every part of me feels like it’s on sensory overdrive. Gabriel works his tongue with perfect pace and pressure. He lifts my legs up over his shoulders and strokes my thigh with one hand as he adds two fingers to my needy pussy. Only moments pass before I feel myself starting to lose control.

“Fuck, Brin, you taste so fucking good. Open your eyes and look at me while I make you come.”

I do as he says, tipping my head up and forcing my eyes to his. My legs shake, my cries grow louder but he never stops and before I realize what’s happening I’m coming over his face shamelessly. Calling his name out, rocking my hips into him, taking what I need, whatever feels good without thought. Something I’ve rarely done with any man.

The thing is, Gabriel doesn’t make me feel self-conscious, he makes me feel beautiful, encouraging me to let go, encouraging me to be me, whoever that is.

“Yes,” I cry. I begin to mumble incoherent things as he doesn’t let up on my still so sensitive clit and it wrenches a second orgasm from me in mere moments.

I think I’m yelling “more, please, Gabriel, please” as he holds me tight, taking over my being, making the choice for me. All I can think is, God, if I remember any one feeling for the rest of my life, please, let it be this, falling apart with Gabriel Wolfe between my thighs.

I shut the water off as she comes down from the high of her orgasm and the water runs cold over my back. Cracking the shower door, I slip a thick towel around Brinley’s shoulders then wrap one around my own waist.

Brinley’s room is dark and quiet when we enter. She shivers as she sits down on the bed. Picking up my t-shirt, she tosses it over her head and reaches into a drawer, pulling out a pair of panties that look like little shorts. They cover only about a third of her perfect ass, and unbelievably I’m already thinking of taking her again.

“You look dangerous in my shirt.”

“It's warm and I want to study the ink on your skin without one.”

I raise an eyebrow. “If you’re going to study me, I’m gonna need a drink.”

“All I have is my father’s old bourbon collection. It’s still locked in the cabinet in the den. Two rooms down.”

I nod. I noticed the space earlier but there’s no need to remind her I memorized every step of this place during my search for her.

“He saved it in that dark room for a special occasion and never even opened it,” she says as I make my way out of the room.

“Sad, if you ask me. Waste of a good scotch,” I tell her.

“Agreed,” she says, following.

The den is dark when I enter. I flick on a lamp that sits under a big picture window. It’s an old library of sorts with black out drapes. I pull them back, the moonlight and her vast property fills my sight. There’s an old desk on one wall, it looks antique and expensive, and a wall-to-wall liquor cabinet. Chalked full.

“Key’s in the second drawer.” Brinley enters behind me.

I fish the key out and unlock the cabinet, pulling out a forty-year-old Boralini scotch that must be worth ten thousand dollars.

“I don’t believe in special occasions,” I tell her as I pop the cork and swirl the bottle.

Brinley shoots me a smirk. I don't think she intends to be sexy, but she is. She has this whole freshly fucked glow about her. Her hair is still damp and her face is free of any makeup. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, and she doesn’t even realize it.

“Neither do I, so… bottoms up?” she asks, making her way to an open shelf and grabbing two crystal glasses down.

I tip it back, drinking it straight from the bottle in a twelve-ounce curl.

“My dad is probably rolling over in his grave.” She giggles as she watches me swallow.

Fuck me, that’s good.

“What happened to them?” I sit in a leather chair in front of an old stone fireplace, genuinely curious and still surprised I care. She sits in the one across from mine and we face each other at arm's length.

“My dad died when I was eighteen, I’d just left for college. He went to work that morning—he was a lawyer,” she tells me. “Although, you probably know that.”

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