Page 42 of Crying Wolfe
Stars exploded behind her eyes, blinding her with brilliant, white-hot pleasure that flirted with electric pain. She was catapulted into the cosmos, flung past beloved constellations whose appellations she’d somehow lost. There was only one name she could remember, and it was torn from her tongue in helpless pants and ebullient sobs.
And, finally, in quiet, quivering cries for mercy.
A mercy he granted by abandoning her altogether.
She collapsed to the bed, a boneless puddle of pleasure, still plagued by the occasional thrill and pulse that animated her limbs.
How it was possible to be both empty and replete, she wasn’t certain, but the entrance to her body still felt dilated and demanding.
He left her for only a moment, returning to bend over her and draw the soaking nightgown over her head. She was as limp as that empty gown, limbs heavy with a lovely exhaustion.
“Yes,” he murmured, his big body hovering above her. “Just float there, honey. Stay relaxed if you can.”
He lowered himself with infinite care, freezing at some point as if capable of doing nothing more than working breath in and out of his lungs.
She managed the strength to lift her hand to his shoulder “What is it?”
“I’ve never felt so fucking heavy in my life,” he muttered. “I’m going to crush you.” His arms flexing with a shift in weight, he made to leave. “I should stand,” he gritted out. “Safer.”
“No.” Suddenly she was attached to him, both arms and legs, wrapped around him like a barnacle. “I…I think I need you here,” she said in a small voice. “Close.”
Pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, he settled against her incrementally.
Hewasheavy. His torso pressing her thighs impossibly wide. His chest abrading hers with crisp hair. The hard planes of his body forcing her soft ones to yield.
It was glorious.
Something the approximate texture and temperature of a branding iron rested against her thigh.
Oh my. He’d left her to relieve himself of the last barrier between them and, apparently, wipe her essence from his lips before returning to kiss her.
He tasted different this time. Heady with a salty musk she recognized as her own. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, this reminder of what he’d just done to her.
Forher.
Surely she’d been the only one to succumb to such searing pleasure. And, though he seemed to enjoy himself, he’d not had his own climax yet.
That, she could not abide.
She wanted this. Wanted him to find ease in her body. Wanted to grant him at least a modicum of the pleasure he’d given her.
When he didn’t take it, she broke the kiss to gaze up at him, her husband. Her man of no mean experience. His features etched with an agony she didn’t think he enjoyed any longer.
“I can’t seem to bring myself to hurt you.”
Heart expanding until she felt it might burst out of her chest, she wriggled her body lower, bringing her sex and his in closer proximity.
“It is best, I think, to simply plunge in like one would a cold body of water,” she postulated. “Better than extending any unpleasantness with hesitation.”
He closed his eyes, nodding as if she’d given sage advice, then reached down between their bodies.
What he pressed against the vulnerable opening of her body was big, blunt, and astonishingly smooth. Almost like glass heated in the sun. It slid forward ever so slightly and the pressure was instantly enormous.
Winding her arms around his neck, she pulled him in tight. Not for a kiss, but keen for a spot in which to bury her face. Finding it in the smooth arc where his shoulder met his neck.
“Do please hurry,” she whispered. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
He coughed out something like a laugh. “So. Polite.”
