Page 38 of Crying Wolfe
Sweet. Holy. Christ. She was so fucking wet.
This was something a diligent wife couldn’t pretend. This evidence of her body’s desire, this slick concoction only a woman’s well could spring to make ready for his intrusion.
She stiffened, as if suddenly aware of the situation.
“Oh,” she fretted. “Oh no. Something is wrong.”
Lifting his head from her breast, he said, “No, my sweet wife. Everything is all right.”
“But—”
“It’s supposed to happen…” he soothed. “So I can do this.” Coating the fabric and his finger with the moisture, he drew it up through both layers of her sex until he found the fold he sought.
She jolted as if struck by lightning. Her teeth audibly clacked together, and legs straightened into the nether past the edge of the bed, her toes curled into tight little buttons.
He rotated the insinuated finger this way and that as he returned to stroke and suck at her nipple with his mouth.
“Oh,” she breathed again. “It’s never felt so…ah!” Her back arched off the bed as he ever so gently scraped his teeth against the taut peak while simultaneously threading his finger just beneath the hardened little pearl.
Eli released her nipple, gaping down in disbelief as she bowed up in a supple arc, as if someone had tied marionette strings to her sternum. A high, tight sound escaped as her hips convulsed in strong, brief jerks.
Could she really be this sensitive? Was she truly coming apart after only a couple of twists and touches?
Her throat made little grunts and groans of distress until one of her hands slapped against her mouth, and her teeth bit down on the middle finger.
Wide, wet eyes found him as he continued the miniscule movements of his fingers. He stayed with her, his eyes boring down into hers. Doing his best to convey what he was incapable of saying. That the sight of her pleasure humbled him more than would the presence of God. That he was grateful she broke into his observatory because that led them to this moment. That he was beginning to feel things he couldn’t identify.
Things he didn’t dare profane with something so base as language.
She must have found what she sought, because she gave over to the moment, allowing little tremors to wrack through her until she brought her knees up in order to twist and writhe away from a climax gone too sensitive to bear any longer.
Eli took pity on her, pulling his hand away.
“I—I never knew,” she marveled. “I never… Oh no. What—”
Taking advantage of her movement, he nudged at her bent knees, encouraging her to part them. When she resisted, he increased the pressure.
“Open for me, sweetheart,” he begged. “I have to taste you.”
She lay back, looking up at the canopy, her chest heaving for breaths. “Something…happened. I can feel it. Everywhere. It’s too much.”
“I know, darlin’, but I’ll be gentle.”
“You can’t see,” she said, gripping her knees tighter. “Perhaps I should just…get a cloth or something. Oh please, don’t look. It’ll disgust you.”
Eli bit into his knuckle before he could conjure a reply, clamping his teeth hard enough to nearly break the skin. The pain centered him a little, kept him from just expiring from a scarcity of blood to any extremity but one.
She wasn’t talking about the pleasure being too much. But what the pleasure did to her.
“Rosaline.” He looked down, his chest aching a little at the embarrassment etched into the crease of her brow. “You’re gonna need to trust me, honey. I want you as wet and slippery as you can get, and I’ll prove that to you just as soon as you open up for me.”
Chewing on her cheek, she hesitated, then he felt her resistance abate, and she allowed him to spread her milk-white thighs open.
It was everything Eli could do not to pass out on the spot.
Beneath the swath of fabric, darkened in the place he’d dipped into the pool of her desire, her core bloomed like a rose in a rainstorm. Glistening with the aftermath of her come.
The first of the night.
