Page 26 of Witch's Wolf

He takes a step back, pulling me away from the trunk. Releasing my left thigh, he reaches around, our gazes locking. But the feel of his hardness pressing at my entrance shatters my focus. My eyes squeeze shut as my head tilts back, a loud moan spilling from my lips.

“Fuck me,” I command, his hand grabbing and holding on to my ass cheek.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he praises, burying his head in my breasts. I feel the warmth of his beard on the underside of my tits as his mouth lays a long, fiery kiss in the tiny gap between them.

I grip his shoulder blades one last time, before letting my fingers slide back up to his shoulders. Thick inches plowing in, he splays his fingers over my lower back to support me.

His tongue moves over my nipple, my body rocking in his arms. I can’t believe how strong he is. Holding on to my hip, he pushes me up with unbelievable ease and then drops me onto his swollen shaft. He repeats the motion, while grazing his teeth over my nipple. My eyes snap open, taking in a view of the half-moon in the sky.

“Harder!” I cry, as he buries himself deep inside.

His steady pace turns frantic, each thrust driving me harder against him. The sound of our bodies colliding echoes through the woods. Our tangled silhouettes stretch tall in the moonlight, a raw display of need. I throw my head forward, wrapping my arms tight around his neck, holding on as moan after moan spills from my lips.

My orgasm hits with incredible force. I press my mouth to the side of his neck, in an attempt to stifle my cries of pleasure. Even so, the sounds I make are far louder than his grunts.

He lifts me up and off, reaching his own climax. Drenched in his juices, his throbbing cock bumps up into my ass as thick veins in his neck pulse underneath my forearms.

I tip my head back, our heavy breaths synchronizing.

“Together?” I gasp, scanning his handsome face.

“Together”,” he agrees, flashing a sexy smile.

I don’t need to hear another word. I lean in, my fingers curling loosely around his neck, the warmth of his skin centering me. A storm has raged inside me for the past twenty-four hours. Confusion, grief, chaos, but here, in his arms, the noise finally fades.

The man who’s kept his distance, who’s resisted me at every turn, is finally here, and I’m not about to question it. Fate, luck, or sheer madness, I don’t care. He’s a gift, one I never saw coming, wrapped in heat and muscle, with temptation stitched into every inch of him.

15

ERICA

Morning light filters through the open blinds coaxing me from sleep. For once, I don’t wake up cursing the sun, rolling over with a groan and burying my face in the pillow. Instead, a lightness lingers in my chest, a hum like the fading echoes of a song.

I stretch; the sheets cool against my bare skin and let my gaze drift to the window. The hills rise in the distance, bathed in golden light, the forest rolling over them in a sea of green. Wisps of clouds smear the sky, but they don’t stop the sun, or the brightness filling the room. A tune stirs in my mind, soft at first, then louder, more insistent.

It’s a beautiful day.

I huff out a quiet laugh, brushing tangled hair from my face. Freddie Mercury? Really? Maybe the universe has a sense of humor after all.

My attention goes to the empty space beside me. Reaching over, the sheets are cold without any lingering warmth. No imprint of a body that should still be there. I curl my fingers into the fabric.

“You’re an amazing lover, Sammy,” I murmur to the quiet, but he’s not here to hear it.

Something unsettles in my stomach, twisting beneath the satisfaction still clinging to my limbs. Last night wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t only some reckless, heat-of-the-moment mistake. I felt it in the way he touched me, in the way his body answered mine like a long-lost piece snapping into place.

So why is he gone?

I push the thought away, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and reach for my clothes. The day is young. There are still hours to fill, and a gig waiting for me in the city. As I dress, pulling fabric over skin marked by his touch, I can’t shake the feeling that something has slipped through my fingers.

I step out of the bedroom, an itch urging me toward his workshop. The pull is instinctive. I need to see him. Need to know last night wasn’t some fleeting moment he’s already regretting. But as I walk into the kitchen a movement stops me cold.

Shit. Monica.

She leans against the counter, a red mug pressed to her lips, the other hand idly stirring the contents of a second cup. Her gaze flicks up, catching mine before I can slip away unnoticed.

“Sometimes, I wish I could forget my upbringing and try to be you for a change,” she muses, her voice casual, but there’s weight beneath it.

I blink, my brain sluggish, all tangled in thoughts of Sam.

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