Page 41 of Crying Wolfe
If only her very first climax hadn’t stolen her ability to form coherent sentences. She might have told him how magnificent he looked just now. His surplus of muscle locked with tension, the gold of the lantern gilding the fine, crisp fleece on his chest and illuminating the arrow it made down his large torso before disappearing into his waistband. With all his talk of being rough, she found most of his skin surprisingly smooth. She’d tell him that someday. Someday when he wasn’t looking down at her as if trying to decide which part of her to devour first.
Instead, she laced their fingers together on her parted thighs, drawing them wider, higher, offering herself as an altar to his abiding lust. Wishing he’d not ceased the magic he wrought with his mouth.
Who knew her body had been capable of such consuming pleasure?
As if reading her mind, he settled back between her legs, spreading the folds of her sex once more with that seeking, probing,oh soskillful tongue of his.
He was slow. Relentless. Teasing and tasting as if he’d no sense of how the little bud of her sex was desperate for this inexorable tension to spill over into release.
His breath was hot, feathery and his movements sinuous and ultimately sensual as she did her best not to squirm and writhe this way and that in order to get him just where she needed. To that place he always seemed unable to find.
Yes. Right there. No.There.No, dammit, if he’d hold his head bloody still, she’d just find it for him and—what had he called it?
Ride my lips like a wild pony.
She couldn’t imagine that she would at the time, but that was before he insisted on making her work this hard to keep him where he ought to stay.
Thus far he’d been a dominant lover, and she’d found that soothed her fears. Now he seemed intent on driving her mad. He’d slide through slippery, pliant flesh making strange, possessive noises. Whispering words against her sex she couldn’t imagine, let alone identify. But when it seemed he would approach the place that promised to turn this throbbing torment into another soul-searing, earth-shattering climax, he danced away.
If she didn’t know better, she would think he tortured her on purpose.
Upon one such disappointing maneuver, she’d released his hand to clutch at his hair and guide him the minute distance to the left that she needed.
A low, growling chuckle vibrated against her, hiking her demanding need even higher.
“I’m being cruel, aren’t I?” he asked between scintillating licks. “Having my fun with you, forgetting how fevered you are. How fucking easy it is to send you over the edge.”
“It’s not easy,” she panted, the muscles in her belly burning and trembling with strain. Her thighs quivering from the endless tightening and releasing. “I’ve been trying so hard.”
“I know.” He sucked at the little flanges of flesh with a wicked, distressingly wet sound. “Your pussy is just so pretty. So fucking delicate and delicious.” He dipped his tongue low, so low against the place that throbbed and clenched around emptiness.
“Please,” she whispered, hating the plaintive note in the word, though it seemed to ignite an ungodly light in his dark eyes.
“This is why you are dangerous,” he groaned as he traced a sinuous trail up the inside of her thigh. “Because, it seems, I can’t deny you a goddamned thing.”
His mouth returned to the exact crest of flesh he’d been avoiding. Kissing and suckling, balancing her on the edge of a frighteningly tall precipice.
A gentle pressure distracted her from flinging herself over the cliff with wild, willful abandon.
A fingertip. Testing her tensile opening. Probing forward, slidinginside.
Her every muscle tightened at the intrusion, at the foreign nature of the sensation. Dear lord, if his finger felt this big, how was she going to take the girth of what pressed against the fabric of his underthings?
All thoughts of worry evaporated as his tongue found a magical spot, sucking her entire hood into the heat of his mouth. She gave a hoarse cry as her hips left the bed, working his finger deeper. Deeper. Until his knuckle rested against her.
He stroked her from the inside, finding places that made her gasp and writhe, lifting her again toward the precipice.
Right as she spied the edge in the distance, his clever finger pulled out of her, eliciting a sob of frustrated desperation.
Almost immediately the pressure returned, gliding wetly inside. Only this time the intrusion was more insistent, stretching her with patient but relentless pressure.
He’d added another finger.
“Christ, you’re tight,” he rasped.
She opened her mouth to apologize, but then his lips did something so incredible she could only sob his name in absolute wonder. Moaning, she tilted and strained against him, twisted her hips and dug her heels into the bed.
He stayed right there with her, gliding those thick fingers against her most intimate flesh, his tongue flicking and sucking at the place where all nerves seemed to coalesce.
