Page 112 of White Wolf

Her undressed her. Slowly, reverently. A part of her waited for the ripping and the pawing, and she shut her eyes against the memory, feeling only the gentle skim of his knuckles as he unbuttoned her shirt and trousers.

He rested his forehead against hers. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Don’t stop.”

Her clothes hit the floor with a soft sound, and she stepped out of them, naked too now, shivering in the chill.

“Are you cold, I’m sorry.” His hands were warm and kind when they rubbed at her neck, her shoulders, chasing away the goosebumps.

It was…it wasfrustrating. How could a man be so patient? So careful and considerate? If he wanted her, how had he refrained from throwing her down on the bed and tearing open her clothes? How…

“Katya.” He eased back a fraction, lifted her chin with a crooked finger. When she met his gaze, his eyes were dilated, his expression a strange and open portrait of restraint and tenderness. “You’re waiting for me to attack you, and I’m not going to.”

Because the throwing down and the tearing of clothes wasn’t how it wassupposedto happen.

She felt the pressure of welling tears. “But I’m just…”a girl.

“Perfect,” he said. “And I don’t deserve you.”

But hedid. Because she wanted him. Wanting was the thing that made all the difference, and the heat flared to life inside her, hungry and insistent.

She slid her arms around his neck and stretched up to kiss him. Only this time they were both naked. Slide of skin against skin. Perfect, he’d said. Yes, it was that. She couldn’t think he was anyone else like this, get lost in her nightmares, because he waswithher, stripped down and fragile.

“You can touch me,” she said between kisses. “You can – oh please. Touch me.”

And he did. Everywhere. Down her arms and down her sides, careful fingertips over the fretwork of her ribs. He cupped her breasts and she gasped into his mouth, arching into his hands. Touched her belly, her bottom. She was quivering all over by the time his hand slid between her legs, and then she jerked in helpless reaction.

His kisses grew sloppy and then tapered off. He let his lips trail across her cheek and jaw, and he tucked his face into her throat, breath wet and uneven against her skin as he probed at her sex with questioning fingertips.Can I? Is this alright?There had only ever been pain before, and she hadn’t known she would be so sensitive, so slick. That it would feel so good.

She dug her nails into his shoulders and made a wordless sound of encouragement.

His touch grew bolder, parting her folds, and she was throbbing there now, hot, and swollen, and even wetter. And then his thumb skimmed through her curls and found a place that –

“Oh,” she breathed. “That –God.”

“Can I…” he started, but was already dropping to his knees.

“What are you…Nik…you…”

He did it slow, lips skimming down the slope of her breast, her belly, warm puffs of air across her skin. And then he was on eye level with her sex. And then he leaned forward andput his mouth on her.

It was…

“Oh my God.” She widened her stance and clutched at his head, holding herself upright, keeping him there. It was shameless and she didn’t care, she just didn’t ever want it to stop.

His tongue. The faint rasp of stubble. His hands – clutching at her thighs, leaving little fingerprint bruises. Her fingers were tangled in his hair and she realized she was driving her hips forward in tiny little thrusts, chasing the rhythm he set. It was so good, so good, so good, a chant inside her head. She wanted more. Please, please, please.

She felt a slow, relentless pressure at her entrance: his fingers, two of them. The way was wet and he slid inside. No pain, only stretching, the wonderful feeling of being filled when she was so hungry for it.

He thrust into her with his fingers, and he closed his lips around that place he’d found before, and –

She came.

She closed her eyes and thought she might have fallen, might have fainted. A perfect, golden surge of pleasure, and she wanted to drown in it.

She was dimly aware of Nikita catching her around the waist, standing up, pulling her so she rested against him. He kissed her forehead and his mouth was slick.

He scooped her up and carried her to the cot. She was too tired to protest, her whole body pulsing with pleasure, the exhaustion a foreign and welcome kind.

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