Page 35 of Broken Pregnant Mate
“Emaline,” I return, and I think that this entire night might just be us trading names, reminding one another that this is really happening.
I touch her, and touch her, sliding my fingers through her folds, teasing her with a press of my knuckle to her entrance, getting so lost in the movement of it, the clutch of her hands to me, that I don’t even realize what I’m doing, drawing her to the edge and pulling back, not letting her tip over it.
“Aidan,” she whimpers, holding on to me for dear life, her breasts pressing into the fabric of my t-shirt, and I realize I’m still fully dressed, standing stock-still in the middle of this room, my hand buried in her.
I slip a finger inside her and watch as her body pulses with pleasure, her head falling back, her lips parting slightly. Pumping, I feel inside her, those warm walls closing around me, tightening over my fingers suddenly.
She shakes with an orgasm. I feel transfixed, like I’m really outside of my body, elevated to another plane of existence from the mere knowledge of her gratification.
When she’s finished and she releases me, she’s breathing hard.
Moving with intention, I pull back from her, strip my shirt off over my head, and roughly wipe my fingers on it before throwing it to the other side of the room. The pants come off just as quickly, and when I look up, catching her eyes, wide and watching me, dark with want, a growl emerges from my throat.
I will be gentle with her, I remind myself.
Wrapping one arm around her back, I reposition her, lowering her down to the bed on her back. I run my palms over her, squeezing her breasts, then her hips, before running down the length of her inner thighs. Applying gentle pressure, I push her legs open, shaking with the amount of restraint required already not to thrust forward, take her.
“Aidan,” she whispers, and in the next moment, her hand is wrapped around my cock. She lets out a little noise—something like surprise, maybe even appreciation—and I drop my forehead to her chest, sucking in a quick breath, trying to steady my body.
“Emaline.” I’ll say her name a million times if that means this never has to end. Gently, with my palms, I push her legs open while she strokes me. With her, the most common sexual acts feel like something new, the touch of her palm on my cock practically obscene. Dirty, fucking insane.
Swallowing, I run my hand down her arm until I find her hand. I pull it from my cock, lace my fingers together with hers, then gather her other hand and hold them above her head. Her chest rises and falls quickly, and when I meet her eyes, I ask the silent question,Is this okay?
She nods in response, holding my gaze for only a moment before her eyes trail back down my body, lingering suspiciously on my cock, which is throbbing now, harder than I’ve ever been in my entire life.
Even as a teen, going through changes, hiding them away from the girl in front of me.
I notch myself in her entrance, and she drops her head back against the pillow, like that move alone is enough to get her to orgasm again. Slowly—so fucking slowly I’d lose my mind if there wasn’t an end in sight—I take her.
Emaline starts to writhe beneath me, bucking her hips, clearly asking me for more—more speed, more force—but I can’t. If I let go of this control, I might let go completely. And if I lose this control, I’m not sure I’ll be able to get it back.
When I’m fully inside her, that’s where I stay, sucking in breath after breath, desperately trying to control myself.
I’ve been training full-time for months, honing every aspect of my body. Getting stronger, faster, smarter, actually fighting an alpha leader and getting closer every time to holding him off.
And yet, this is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.
Slowly, carefully, I start to move, watching as her breasts follow the movement, wanting to swallow the noise she lets out at the gentle friction, her legs coming up on either side of my hips, closing like a vice grip.
“Aidan.” Her hands are desperate on my shoulders, my back, and I wrap my arms around her, hold her to me, our chests pressed together. I want her to feel, in the tightness of my hold, that I have her. That I’ve got her, and I’m not going to let her go.
I’ll take care of her until the day that I die.
Which might end up being very soon, but that’s the best promise I can make right now.
I move in and out of her, the gentle friction of it delicious and infuriating all at once. The wolf doesn’t want slow and controlled; he wants violence, to assert dominance, to take and take and take.
But I don’t need or want that. With Emaline, she’ll always have control, no matter how I fuck her. My knot starts to grow inside her, and I worry for a moment that it might hurt her, but she lets out a rough, unfiltered sound at the extra pressure.
She was built for this. Built for me.
Arms wrapped around her, I drop my face into the crook of her neck, so our bodies are wound around one another, her legs around my waist, my forearms against her back. Like we’re trying to come together even without the mating mark.
When she breaths, I can hear the air entering her lungs.
And when she comes, letting out a low mewl that reverberates through my body, her walls clenching around my knot, I growl in response.
Then, the world is coming apart around me. I’m sucked out to sea on the waves of satisfaction and pleasure coursing through me, and it’s all I can do to hold tight to Emaline, keep anchored in it.
