Page 55 of Daddy's Mail Order Mate

“Makes you what?”

I see a subtle twitch move through his features and a darkening of his eyes. The next breath from him is raw and ragged, and the animalistic quality of it makes me shudder. His other hand comes up to trace calloused fingertips along my jaw, and I delicately tilt my head up at the touch, welcoming it fearfully. The man before me looks like he’s in some sort of trance, with how his eyes have grown hooded and the intoxicated quality to his expression. It’s too obvious to the point that even I can’t deny that at least in this moment,he wants me.

And god damn it, do I want him.

Thorn leans in closer. I can feel his breath on my flushed face, heat on heat. My mouth feels so insanely sensitive now, every nerve ending alive with anticipation.

We hover there, barely an inch between us. His hand on my face begins to settle in; it’s no longer an exploratory, leading touch. Instead, he starts to cradle my jaw in a way that makes me feel coveted in a way I never thought was possible. It makes me feel like I’mhis.His thumb caresses my cheekbone and that sets off a choked whimper that’s deafeningly loud to my own ears. But that sound seems to pull away his last reserve because right after, he grips my arm and his lips collapse onto mine with a ravenous hunger.

I moan into his mouth with such desperation that I might normally feel ashamed after. But there’s no room for me to think twice about it because he pulls me into him and buries his handinto my hair, and that just leaves me lost to whatever this has become.

My hand uncaptured by his possessive grip goes to wrap around his neck in turn, and I savor the feeling of how the powerful tendons there taper down. I follow down to his shoulder and the sensation of fabric against my hand sets off a strange infuriated urge in my mind—there should benothingbetween us. I crave the feeling of his skin again, raw and real. I want to run my hands over every inch of him to the point I could traverse his body blind and recreate it from memory, down to every last curve of muscle and ridge of scar tissue.

He appears to feel a parallel instinct, because he runs his hand up my arm in a way that feels as though he is savoring the feeling of my skin. It feels like beingworshiped. As we begin to interlock and mold into each other, his coat slips from my shoulders and falls onto the porch with an airy thud. But neither of us respond or care. The fresh wash of cool night air just sharpens how sensitive my whole body feels and urges me closer into the delicious warmth of his body that radiates through our clothes.

I don’t know if it’s one long kiss or a hundred different ones blurred together. All I do know is that our mouths mingle in wordless passion ceaselessly, as though we are both starved. It feels almost like both of us have some sense that if we pull away, we will never get another chance—so we have to get an entire lifetime’s worth of each other right here, right now. Lips press and slide indiscriminately. There’s a clattering of teeth here and there, but neither of us are deterred. His tongue is invasive and almost cruel in how it assaults me, forcing me to keep up with his ferocious pace and fight for every inch. When I manage to slip myself properly past it to taste the silky interior of his mouth,Thorn groans in a way that makes me dizzy and suddenly both of his hands are gripping my hips and hoisting me up into him.

I blindly oblige and spread my thighs to hook them around his hips. His belt digs painfully into me for a moment, but then I slide down and through our respective pants I feel him hard and ready against me. His mouth pops off of mine with a trail of saliva and a noisy growl. I’m whirled around and find myself pinned up against the wall of the house, trapped in by his body. I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to.

But I don’t. I want to always be like this. I want to behis—

My hands scour down his shoulders, follow his sides, and start tearing his shirt out from where it’s been neatly tucked in utter desperation to touch him. He seems to understand my intent, because in one smooth act he presses me higher into the wall with his hips and uses one hand to start messily slipping the buttons out in a blind urgency. Our faces linger close to one another, panting in each other’s air, neither of us saying a word.

Thorn pulls back from me just long enough to tear both the button up and the undershirt off, and I ogle at him with delirious desire. He really is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. And now I’m here, getting to touch him, feeling him touch me…

I slide my hands along his torso and he watches in panting silence. When I graze over his heart, I feel how his pulse is hammering away. My eyes flicker back up to his, and we share a wordless look before he pounces me again.

I’m better prepared this time, and with a whetted appetite. I arch into him and wrap my arms around his shoulders, which gives me a better vantage for writhing my hips with very insistent intent against him. He groans in answer and pulls me off the wall, which lets me get my legs back underme. We don’t stop kissing, but our hands move in an instinctual scramble to each other’s lower halves. I fight his belt for a second before I get it slid open, and a sound of need escapes me when he unbuttons my jeans at the same time.

Without words, purely from intuition and chemistry, we work in tandem to get every scrap of cloth off of me and even my boots chucked off to join his coat on the wooden deck beneath us. If I was in a more clear-headed state, perhaps I might have felt self-conscious about being completely naked on his front porch, but maybe I’ve gotten used to it these days. He still has his trousers on, but his belt is invitingly split open and allows for the eager bulge to show through his boxer briefs.

There’s a moment where he just seems to take me in, and rather than shy from his gaze, I let myself feel admired, evenbeautiful. You don’t look at someone like that if you don’t think that they’re beautiful.

He reaches towards me and I lean into the touch, gasping slightly when he cups my breast between his palm and my ribs. We both breathe in enraptured silence together as he strokes my nipple with his thumb in a gentle rhythm. It feels so lovely and unexpectedly tender that my eyes nearly start to burn with unshed tears.

But then his hand roves down, and in one burning path it wanders over my skin to cup between my thighs. I gasp at the contact and brace my hands on him to keep my balance; if I don’t I might just fall from the dizzy pleasure that alone causes.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs in a way that’s somehow comforting and darkly thrilling at the same time.

I nestle forward into him with a nod and tuck my face in the dip of his neck and shoulder. His fingers run a slow line between my lips, coaxing them open. Then they start to curl inan explorative, coaxing rhythm, their movements smoothed by how wet I already am. He isn’t even inside me but I can feel just how soaked his fingers are. My hips do a little seizing jerk when he starts to put pressure on the sensitive little nub there at the same time—it’s maddening, just how perfectly controlled his movements are.

“Good?”

I mewl out a noise that I mean to be some sort of affirmative response, and the fact that he continues implies that he somehow understands me. My hands fight for purchase around his back to keep me upright, and when he starts to slideinsideof me my nails start to curl and dig into him.

There’s the briefest pause in his movement but I just grip tighter.

“Don’t stop,” I urge.

A husky noise of lust and longing is his answer. That and the fact his fingers suddenly hilt in me to the knuckle. I gasp and whine, overwhelmed yet desperate for more, to the point that I rock into his hand like an animal in heat. Thorn’s hand quite quickly goes from its sensuous approach to something far more passionate, with the deep and merciless pace he takes to seamlessly match the maddened movements of my hips. It doesn’t take long before I feel myself clenching rhythmically around his fingers, and as good as they feel, I needmore.

“Please,” I whisper into his neck. “Thorn,please.”

I’ll lay myself bare before him, I’ll offer my neck, my life, my soul—

I’ll submit in any way he or his wolf wants, if it just means I get to feel him inside of me, get to be claimed by him, anything,everything—

Thorn holds me close with one arm and keeps ruining me with the other, and I hear how he’s already panting. It’s not from exertion, no; it’s the sound of a beast over a kill. I’m too far gone to feel any shame about howloudit sounds when he moves his hand against me. I can feel my eyes roll back into my head and with how potently my body’s getting away from me and how urgently I need him to trulytakeme…

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