Page 37 of Wolf

The door leading to what I now see is a bathroom opens and standing before me in nothing, but a towel is six feet of glorious masculinity.

His arms, flexed to hold the towel, blaze with the tattoo art painting his yummy, tanned skin. His abs have abs and holy crap, I think I might swoon.

With my jaw at my knees no doubt, I follow a droplet of water down his pecs, over the ridges of his six-pack, and into the dark hair at his navel before I’m drawn to the burgeoning bulge under the towel.

Absently I hear Wolf clear his throat, but I can’t move. I’m frozen. I’m pretty sure there’s a snake underneath that towel because holy Jesus.

Only when he stalks toward me do I raise my gaze, sucking in a breath when I meet his glittering stare.

Flames lick along my skin and I shiver, squeezing my legs together. His eyes flare and he leans over me, forcing me to tip my head back.

With his lips a breath from mine he rasps, “You’re a naughty little girl, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes,” I whimper. Strangely, his words send a zing of pleasure through me while my mind battles all the words Mama has drilled into us over the years.

When he growls, pushing me back against the bed and leaning over top of me, I have just enough time to wonder where the towel went before his mouth is on mine.

Instant fire. His warm soft lips are like heaven and when I gasp, he licks inside, swirling his tongue around my mouth before sucking my tongue. The sensation makes me writhe and I grab his shoulders dizzy under the onslaught.

The hard lines of his chest brush against my aching nipples and I pulse all over when his mouth curves in a grin. I ache to feel the rasp again but stifle my disappointment when he pushes me back.

His fingers dance over my core and I feel the heat through the rough fabric of my jeans.

“Do you taste as sweet as you look, baby girl?” he rasps.

Oh my god. What am I doing? What he’s saying should be so wrong, but the husky rumble sends tingles along my nerve endings, and I buck my hips, feeling the burn.

I need him to slake it—now.

Absently, I note the ease with which he helps me remove my pants before he pauses, and I glance down. Why did he stop?

He’s staring at my underwear with a crinkle in his brows before he shakes his head and says something I can’t make out beyond, “…fucking crazy.”

Is he disgusted by my plain old panties? I may be sheltered but I’m not naive. I’ve seen the lingerie our parents would die before letting us wear. Shoot.

The desire buzzing through me fades under my embarrassment and I inch away with my eyes closed. This is humiliating enough but I will die if I have to see amusementor worse disgust on his face. As I go to draw away though, he presses his palm against my core.

“Oh,” I groan, falling back and shamelessly spreading my knees.

“Look at me,” he growls, and I meet his glittering stare as he rips my panties from my body and drops between my legs.

My stomach whooshes as though a thousand butterflies swirl madly within, and I resist the urge to cover myself…down there. Simultaneously, tingles erupt between the juncture of my thighs and with a quiet sigh, I tilt my hips.

His answering chuckle creates goosebumps that cascade along my skin and I shiver when he leans in and inhales.

“Oh god,” I breathe.

“Not god, baby girl. Me. And you smell fucking amazing.” After the dirty proclamation, he licks between my folds.

I don’t know whether to move away, tilt my hips or just lay here but all that fades away and I can’t concentrate on anything but the way his wicked tongue explores and caresses the most intimate part of me.

Up, down, around he goes before he slides inside.

I never thought it would be like this. Not in a million years. I can’t control the urge for more and buck below him, moaning desperately.

“Fuck,” he groans and pumps until I shout, arching into his mouth. Absently, I note if this is a sin, I don’t want to be anything but a sinner.

When he pulls back, I feel the cool air and mourn the loss until he brushes his fingers against my entrance while caressing his tongue between my folds. His rough finger brushes my walls, while I writhe mindlessly below him, the slight burn no match for the feeling cascading through me on wings of fire.

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