Page 36 of Crying Wolfe
Never in his life had Eli blushed, but goddamned if he didn’t feel red from his toes tothe tips of his ears.
When her hands fell to the band of his trousers, he covered them with his own, pulling her away. “I lied. I can’t take this,” he confessed. He was hollowed out with longing. A bit more of his decency and humanity carved away with each innocent caress. “These come off and I’m…well, I’m liable to forget myself.”
She took a moment to search his eyes, and he could see the exact moment she glimpsed that beast of teeth and claws snarling for a taste of her. Baying to rip her legs open and shove inside of her, claiming her as his own.
Nodding, she let him go and backed away slowly, instinctively knowing not to trigger his predatory instincts.
When the backs of her legs found the bed, she flattened her palms behind her and lifted her backside to rest on the blue velvet coverlet. She sat and studied him, those big eyes alert but not wary. “If you are in need, you can just, get on and—”
“Hush,” he said more sharply than intended as he kicked off his uncomfortable dress shoes and peeled away his trousers, leaving his underthings slung low on his waist.
The creamy cotton did little to hide the shape of his erection, but the barrier was needed for now.
“Look at you,” he breathed.
“I can’t” she answered just as breathlessly, her gaze drifting over him to snag on what was happening below his waist. “I can’t stop looking at you.”
A tenderness underscored the surge of unmitigated need that swamped him as he gazed down at her body, draped in that filmy, silky, shimmering bit of magic someone had the nerve to call a nightgown.
“I’m going to put my mouth on you,” he warned.
“Yes.” She planted her hands behind her, leaning back to lift her face toward his. “Kiss me.”
He came to the bed, standing over her. Feeling like some pagan god about to consume a virginal sacrifice. Cupping her chin in his hand, he was reminded that her bones were delicate as spun glass. “No, little wife. I’m not just going to kiss you, I’m going to devour every secret inch of you. I’m going to taste you in ways you might not yet have imagined, and I want you to make peace with that right now.”
Her face warmed right there in the palm of his hand, turning a brighter shade that he’d yet seen. She swallowed once, twice, the subtle movement of her graceful throat working against his hand.
Once her chin dipped in a nod of acquiescence, he was lost.
She met his kiss with a warm, sibilant welcome, and what he tasted inside of her mouth set his skin on fire.
Need. As big and vital as his, trapped in a much smaller frame.
Nothing else in the world existed outside of her tantalizing flavor. The kiss was all soft groans and silken slides, giving way to penetrating explorations and hot, seductive swirls.
Eli’s lungs felt as if they’d dilated to twice their size in order to take in the frantic breaths they shared, locking them away as part of himself. Yearning to become part of her with such fanatical fervency, he could feel the throbbing of his cock in the curl of his toes, the arteries of his wrists, the chamber in his chest.
His body was one huge, synchronous heartbeat, and he kissed her as if she could save him from this excruciating craving.
Breaking the kiss, she whispered against his lips, “Stop being so careful, Eli. I’m not as fragile as everyone thinks.”
The dam of his self-control shattered, and his hands were on her before she’d finished her admonition. In the past, he’d gone right for the good stuff. Breasts, ass, thighs, pussy, usually in that order.
But, as in all things, Rosaline was different than any other woman.
His fingers found the oddest places wildly erotic. A downy trail behind her ear that led along her swanlike neck. The divot above her clavicles. The eruption of goosepimples hidden beneath the filmy garment as his abrasive skin snagged on her sleeves.
Their lips continued to shape and morph against one another, their heads constantly repositioning as their tongues tested, advanced, retreated, teased.
Eli couldn’t remember why he’d not been fond of kissing before.
Perhaps because no one had tasted like her before. No one had so artlessly and amorously endeared herself to him, so much that he cared enough to indulge in this time-consuming exploration of her gentle mouth, one designed for sin and sensation.
Perhaps he’d be her first lover, but she was his first, too.
The first woman who’d ever shaped both her palms to his jaw and held it as if it were precious. The first to thread elegant fingers into his hair to stroke and sift rather than pull and demand. The first to ever use a word like “exquisite” to describe him.
The first to make him burn with such intensity, the heat threatened to melt the fortress of iron he’d cast around his heart.
