Page 100 of Ravaged Wolf
As we walk out into the crisp evening air, my panic finally ebbs. I’m burning up, but there’s also a mellow warmth lingering in my belly. I belong to this pack. To this family. We’re surrounded with love and support.
We’re blessed by Fate because, in this case, saying makes it so.
Trevor seems calmer, too. Our steps are quicker as we make our way down the path to our cabin. The fireflies are out, floating along beside us on our way. My heart pitter-pats, but it no longer threatens to burst out of my chest.
Somehow, despite the enormous sack he’s carrying over his shoulder, Trevor manages to scoop me in his arms when we get to our front steps. I have to turn the doorknob, though, and he kicks it open, carrying me across the threshold like a human bride. He takes me directly to our bedroom and dumps both me and the sack in the middle of the bed.
He grins, pleased with himself. “I’m going to get food and water. I’ll just be in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”
I’m not even listening. I have work to do. I untie the sack and sort through its contents, sniffing each piece, tossing a few into the corner that smell a little too strongly of other male. Everything is clean, but some males’ scents will cling despite a good washing.
Some female scents cling, too, and I’m surprised they don’t bother me, but they smell like pack, not like a threat.
I heap the good blankets into the middle of the bed and then work from the inside out, making myself a comfy divot in the middle and arranging the rest from the center. It’s hot work. I peel off my clothes and add them to my creation. It’s wonderful, fluffy and soft and colorful. Everything is exactly right.
Except that purple scarf. I growl, and from the doorway, Trevor’s wolf rumbles anxiously in response. I blink up. He’s leaning against the wall, watching me. He’s still dressed.
“Shirt.” I stick out my arm and open my palm.
He smiles, grabs the back of his collar, and peels it off one-handed, baring his perfectly ripped chest and abs. I grumble as my lower belly twists. He knows what he’s doing.
He innocently passes me his shirt. Now I have to worry about thisandthe purple scarf. I growl at him to take the rest of his clothes off. I mean to ask, maybe not nicely but with words, but my wolf is in my throat.
He observes me fuss with these last few items, hismuscles taut, his eyes smoldering, and a fond smirk playing at his lips. Part of me knows I must seem unhinged, crawling naked to and fro on the bed, scrunching and piling and fluffing, but mostly I’m concerned that everything is exactly right.
It was so wrong last time. The past hovers, closer than usual these days, and I know Trevor feels it, too. I can scent it on his skin.
He doesn’t need to worry. I know what I’m doing.
“Come now,” I tell him as I arrange the last pillow just so. I offer my hand.
His smirk melts into the softest, most beautiful smile. “Are you inviting me into your nest?”
I growl at him to get a move on. He takes my hand and climbs in.
My wolf has her rump high in the air with her tail raised. She’s fussing at me to present, but Trevor and I always look at each other when we’re together. At first, it was so that I could reassure myself by tracking that his blue irises didn’t bleed to black, but as time went on, it became more about the connection. It’s like a seventh sense when our eyes are locked as we hurtle over the edge, like we’re souls shooting into outer space together.
I don’t care if it’s cheesy. That’s how it feels.
“How are we doing this?” he asks, his voice almost smoky, it’s so deep.
“I’ll show you.”
His smile cracks wide into a delighted grin. “You’re the boss?”
My wolf yips grumpily—I’m not sure whether at me or him.
I walk to him on my knees. As soon as I’m close enough, I push his chest. He topples onto his back, still grinning like a cat who got into the cream. His fall is cushioned by mywell-made nest. Satisfaction swells in my chest as I admire the sight—my beautiful mate, his strong, gorgeous body, his kind, patient, and loving eyes.
I am blessed.
He’s more than ready. His cock stands at attention, thick and flushed, twitching in the air as more blood rushes down as I admire him.
“You gonna touch me, Izzy?”
“In a minute.” I’m not done looking. His stomach tenses, deepening the muscles that form the V pointing down his hips. I lick my lips. He stifles a moan.
I don’t like that. I want to hear him. I want to know that the gnawing need stoked in my belly has its claws into him, too. I throw a leg over his waist and settle myself on top of his hard thighs. He tracks my every move, his breath quickening.
