Page 22 of Echo Of A Wolf

“Astrid,” he breathed. “You feel so good.”

As his movements grew more frenzied, I cried out his name. My nails dug into his shoulders, leaving crescent moons behind as he pushed me higher and higher toward ecstasy. His fingers found their way between us, circling my clit and rubbing it gently while he continued to work his hips.

That was all it took.

Moans turned to cries of pleasure as our climaxes collided like an explosion. My body convulsed around him in pure bliss as he groaned out my name in satisfaction. With waves of pleasure coursing through us in unison, we collapsed onto his bed beside each other. His chest heaved as he pulled me close, wrapping his strong arms around me. I nuzzled into his neck, inhaling his musky scent as my racing heart slowly returned to normal.

For a while, we lay there in content silence, basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking. My fingers traced idle patterns onhis sweat-slicked chest while his hand stroked up and down my back soothingly.

I couldn’t remember ever feeling this content, this utterly stated and cherished with someone.

Eventually, Dean pressed a tender kiss to my forehead and then tilted my chin up so I would meet his warm gaze. “That was…” he trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Amazing,” I finished for him with a soft smile. “Earth-shattering. Life-changing.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “All of the above,” he agreed, brushing a stray curl away from my face.

He dipped his head and kissed me. It was a tender kiss—beautiful.

Home.

The word vibrated through my mind with an unshakeable certainty. This man was home to me and my raven. He was what we’d been searching for all along without even realizing it.

Dean broke our kiss first, a coy smirk twisting his lips. “I could go again.”

“I think I’m going to need something to eat first.” I chuckled.

“You’re hungry?” He pulled away to look at me, concern flaring through the bright blue of his eyes.

“Starved, actually.”

“Let’s eat, then,” he said, rolling out of bed and pulling on a pair of boxers.

I slid into my dress and followed him into the kitchen.

“I’m big on eating meat and proteins—it’s the wolf in me,” he said, casting a smirk my way from over his shoulder as he headed to the fridge. “What about you? Please tell me you’re not a vegetarian.”

“No, I eat meat.”

He chuckled, tossing me a heated look. I realized then what I’d said, and my face flamed.

“Good to know,” he murmured before shifting his attention back to the contents of his fridge. “Which sounds better—a fajita bowl or chicken and pasta?” he asked, pulling out two Tupperware containers and spinning to face me.

“You meal prep?”

“Why do you sound so shocked by that?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems like something only fitness freaks would do.”

“And what about me says I’m not a fitness freak?” He stacked the containers in one hand and flexed the opposite bicep.

His muscles were massive.

“Right. I have no idea what I was thinking,” I said, unable to tone down my grin.

“I work out, but that’s not why I meal prep. I’m a cook for a living. By the time I get home, the last thing I want to do is cook dinner. My options are to eat out, eat like crap, or not eat at all. Since none of those are particularly good options, I meal prep as much as possible.”

That made perfect sense.

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