Page 109 of The Wild Wolf's Rejected Mate

I smile. “Yes. All right.”

He tugs me to his chest again and holds me close, stroking my spine as his wolf rumbles and my heat comes over me again as gently as a blanket.

I am so hot. Why am I still wearing clothes?

I wrestle free from Justus’s hold, peel off my shift, and kick off my pants, toeing them out of the nest.

Yes. I can breathe better now. I stretch my arms over my head and roll out my shoulders.

Justus growls. He’s on his knees, and his pants are gone. Good. I’m ready. It’s time.

He strokes his thick cock as he stares at my breasts.

I cup them and squeeze as my nipples tighten. It aches so, so good.

“Are you showing me your beautiful tits, Annie?” he asks, his voice gruff and scratchy.

I hum, hefting them in my palms so he can see them better. Of course he wants to admire me. I’m his mate.

“I want your mouth,” I whine. What is he waiting for?

He shuffles forward and lowers his head to suckle me, his tongue winding around the aching tip, his beard and sharp teeth scratching and nipping my exquisitely sensitive skin. I whine louder, arching my back. I want more.

He switches his attention to my other breast, and I glance down, admiring the red rash he’s left and the glistening, swollen nub. I thread my fingers through his wild hair, holding him close to the place where our bond flows between us like an electrical current.

This male was made for me. The pressure of his hands, the temperature of his breath, the tension and tremble of his muscles against my skin—it’s all exactly right.

I want him inside me.

I want him to ease this gnawing ache, but also, I want him to come back to me. We belong together. Like thread through a needle. I’m delicate, and he’s sharp, and that’s how we’re made. Exactly how we’re supposed to be. Built for purpose.

“Justus,” I sigh, longing, demanding.

“Yes, Annie. Yes,” he murmurs, low and rough, as he hoists me onto his lap, urging my legs around his waist.

This isn’t the way it’s done. Shouldn’t I present?

“Justus?”

“Trust me,” he shushes, the hot head of his cock already notching at my entrance. He flexes his hips and sinks into me, a groan of pure relief torn from his throat. He fills me so completely that I ache where I take him, but I love it.

I pant through the strain, and he gathers me close as he thrusts, cradling me to his chest, kissing my lips, my brow, my cheeks, the tip of my nose. I start to rock my hips in time.

“You’re so beautiful, Annie,” he rumbles in my ear. “So perfect for me. My Annie. Mine.”

I sigh and ride his bucking hips, his cock stretching me until I feel like a glove made for him.

“Come for me, now,” he growls. “Now, Annie.”

Hot cum floods my womb, and his knot catches and swells, tearing a raw shout from my throat. His fingers find my clit while his fangs sink into my shoulder.

I scream, bucking against him, but I’m caught, so he moves with me, hushing me.

I hover another second on the edge, somehow above myself, watching his strong arms tremble as they wrap around me and listening to his strong heart race as he fights for air. And then, like the world is tipped on its side, I’m knocked over, shattered, coming apart in a million, billion beautiful jagged pieces, and when I land, deliciously boneless, I’m whole again and safe in his arms.

He nuzzles my shoulder, mouthing his bite mark clean, mumbling words I can’t quite make out that sound like promises. Like vows.

I burrow into his chest, tuck my head into the crook of his neck, and murmur back at him. I don’t know what I’m saying, but I know what I mean.

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