Page 111 of Grace of a Wolf 1
I'm putty.
His mouth travels down to my ear, teeth grazing the sensitive shell before his tongue traces the delicate curve. A traitorous shiver wracks through me, and my fingers curl into the hard planes of his chest.
"I can hear your heartbeat, Grace." His lips brush against my ear with each syllable. "It beats for me."
"It's supposed to beat," I choke out, ruining my attempt at seeming flippant and unaffected.
The wet heat of his tongue dips into the hollow beneath my earlobe, and a soft gasp escapes me before I can trap it behind my teeth. His satisfied hum tells me he caught the sound.
"Your body knows, Grace."
The camper suddenly feels too small, too hot. My chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, each inhale laced with his scent.
"Stop talking," I manage to say, my voice strained. The sound of his voice is unraveling every last millimeter of my control.
"No? I'd rather make you stop breathing."
My heart lurches, and I suck in a swift breath.
He chuckles. "Yeah. Just like that."
Asshole.
His lips trace down the column of my throat, pausing at the frantic pulse point beneath my jaw. He inhales deeply, and the sound is so animal, sowolf, that another shudder ripples through me.
I should be terrified. This man kills without hesitation. He tore through a pack like they were nothing. He told me I was his prisoner.
Yet here I am, melting beneath his touch as if the Goddess herself had handed me to him, wrapped in a pretty red bow.
Caine shifts his weight onto one arm, the movement pressing his hips more firmly against mine. The hard ridge of him strains against denim, and heat pools low in my belly. His free hand slides up my bare side, palm rough against my skin, fingertips charting a path of goosebumps in their wake.
"Your skin is softer than I imagined." His thumb slips under the tight band of my bra and traces the underside of my breast, a preview of his ill intentions. "And I've imagined it every night. Since I first caught your scent."
My breath whooshes out in shock. He could have fooled me, with all of his throat-grabbing and threats.
But he wins, because the admission drags my gaze to his face at last. His eyes burn into mine, pupils blown wide with desire, all pretense of control stripped away. The raw hunger I find there steals what little breath remains in my lungs.
"There you are," he murmurs, satisfaction evident in the curve of his lips. "I was beginning to think you'd never look at me again."
Words fail me. I can only stare, caught in the magnetic pull of his gaze as his whole hand finally sneaks up under my bra to cup my breast fully, his thumb brushing across the sensitive peak. My back arches involuntarily, pushing into his touch.
"So beautiful," he breathes. "So responsive. So perfect."
His hand leaves my breast to trail up my neck, tilting my face toward his. Time suspends as he hovers above me, our breaths mingling in the narrow space between our lips.
Anticipation races along my nerves, leaving them sparking and frantic.
"I'm going to taste you now, Grace," he says, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear. "And after this, nothing will ever taste as sweet."
His words keep wrecking me.
The first press of his lips against mine is gentle—a stark contrast to the predatory hunger in his eyes. Soft. Testing. As if he's savoring the initial contact, memorizing the texture and warmth.
I remain frozen beneath him, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. My indecision lasts only seconds before his tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entry. When I yield—God help me, Iyield—the kiss transforms.
Possession replaces gentleness. His tongue slides against mine, claiming my mouth with the same dominance he wields over everything else. His hand leaves my jaw to slide into my hair, fingers tightening as he holds me exactly where he wants me.
My fingers curl into fists against his chest before sliding up to grip his shoulders, anchoring myself against the tide of sensation threatening to sweep me away.
