Page 38 of Wanderlust With Wolves

I tease between her thighs, drawing slow, tormenting circles that make her whimper, shift, clutch at me.

I pinch her nipples, rolling them between my fingers, watching her squirm, watching the way she bites her lip, eyes dark with growing need.

And when I slide my fingers inside her, pressing deep, curling just right, her hips buck, her breath stuttering into a desperate moan.

I don’t stop.

I work her open, bringing her higher and higher, until her body is shaking, writhing, begging.

Until she is completely undone beneath me.

Only then, when she is spent and wrung out, her body boneless and satisfied, do I pull her against me, wrapping my arms around her as if I could hold her together.

Because she holds me together, too.

Chapter Eighteen

A WILD THING, CLAIMED

Maya

I’m a wanderer,a wild thing never meant to stay.

The road has always been my constant, the only thing I’ve ever truly trusted, my only promise to myself.

But here, in the hush of the snow-dusted forest, wrapped in Ronan’s warmth, something tilts inside me.

His amber eyes lock onto mine, intense, unwavering, like I’m something precious.

Something his.

He’s not just looking.

He’s asking.

Waiting.

Claiming.

The world outside is silent, snow drifting lazily past the windows, the forest holding its breath?—

Waiting.

Just like him.

My heart pounds against my ribs, trying to find a rhythm that matches his—steady, certain, grounding.

His scent curls around me, wrapping me in something more than warmth.

Woodsmoke.

Pine.

Something wild and unshaken—a silent vow whispered against my skin.

He holds me close, his heat a palpable thing in the cold night.

His fingers trace my skin, slow and reverent, soft touches that make my breath hitch, make my pulse thrum.

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