Page 30 of Wanderlust With Wolves

She moans softly, pushing back against me, taking everything I give her, whispering my name like a secret only meant for us.

I roll my hips, dragging long, slow pleasure from her body, each thrust sending shudders through her limbs, her breath catching, breaking, reforming into something utterly wrecked.

And I take my time.

Because there is no rush.

Because tonight is only for her.

Her fingers twist in the sheets, knuckles white, back arching, body tightening, and I know she is close—so close. I press my mouth to her shoulder, whispering soft, filthy praise, feeling her breath stutter in response. Her body clenches around me, nails sinking into my forearm, her cries muffled by the blankets as she shatters.

And when she finally falls apart around me, when her body clenches tight, dragging me into her own pleasure, I follow her into the abyss?—

A low, reverent growl spilling from my chest, my hands gripping her hips tight, anchoring myself to her.

To us.

To this moment, unbreakable and unshaken.

I let my weight settle over her for a moment, breathing her in, feeling the way her body fits against mine as if she was carved for this—for me. Then, with what little strength remains, I shift, pulling her into my arms, gathering her against my chest like something precious.

She is damp with sweat, limbs tangled with mine, her skin still flushed, glowing in the dim light. She sighs, sated, her breath warm against my collarbone.

I press a kiss to her temple, lingering, letting my lips ghost over her skin as I whisper,

“You’re mine now, little red.”

Her sigh is sleepy, content.

But her fingers tighten around my wrist, as if to remind me—she caught me too.

And I let myself be caught.

Chapter Fourteen

MORNING DEVOTION

Maya

I waketo the glorious sight of Ronan.

Naked.

Stretching in the early morning light, his muscles shifting beneath fur and golden skin, his body thick and powerful, the sharp lines of his back leading down, down, down to his sculpted ass and the half-hard length hanging between his thighs.

I swallow.

Oh, wow.

And then I see the table.

Breakfast.

A spread of fruit, smoked meat, thick slices of toasted bread, a steaming mug of something rich and dark.

He’s made me breakfast.

The thought sends a warm, giddy thrill through me, something unexpectedly tender amidst the wreckage of last night’s passion.

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