Page 37 of Crying Wolfe
Eventually, his hand found her breast, tested the soft curve of it, kneaded the insignificant weight. He cupped the entire thing in his palm and still spanned some of her ribs with his fingers.
The shape of her body wasn’t sloped and gathered into dramatic peaks and valleys. They reminded him of the difference between the Rocky Mountains and the pastoral hills of this country. Gentle curves, seamlessly rolling into the next with unmeasured perfection. Easily explored, endlessly lovely. Soft where a woman should be soft, but sleek in an almost feline manner.
When his thumb grazed the taut nipple, she gasped against his mouth and squeezed her thighs shut. Smiling with a sensual suspicion, he did it again, delighted when her hips twitched and squirmed where she sat.
“You feel that, don’t you?” he crooned, pressing little kisses against the corners of her mouth, the bridge of her nose, the divot in her chin.
“How could I not?” she whispered back.
“You feel it between those pretty thighs,” he pressed. “When I do this.”
Her breath hitched as he thrummed the other nipple, using the fabric to produce the soft glide his skin could not.
“Yes,” she rasped. “How do you do that?”
“That’s all you, honey.” He kissed her temples, her fluttering eyelids, the sharp peaks of her cheekbones. “So responsive.”
Though he tried to keep his kisses gentle, they deepened each time his mouth returned to hers. Slow, consuming ardor intensified to strong sweeps of his tongue, a rhythmic intrusion echoing what his body yearned to do to hers.
Demanding her surrender, thrilling when she submitted.
He moved on before he went too deep, dragging his lips down her throat, over the gossamer gown, his hands also venturing lower to make way.
With a broken sigh, she lowered from her hands to her elbows, offering the flesh his mouth sought in an erotic arch of her spine.
He bent over her, his lips finding her tight nipple and kissing it, dampening the fabric as he opened them to use it as a filter for his hot breath.
“Oh… Oh my—” Her whisper was lost to a moan as his tongue flicked over it, his hand shaping to the curve of her waist, her trembling hip. The flimsy fabric often caught on his calluses, the sound of the scrape a ripping reminder of what he did to delicate things.
She didn’t seem to have a care for the garment, as her hips rolled slightly forward, lifting toward his hand’s approach as if upon instinct.
Regardless of the welcome, her thighs were still clamped tight as a vise. Mouth never leaving her breast, he traced the seam where her thigh met her torso, following it to the downy patch between her legs.
He pet her idly, enjoying the feel of the intimate hair beneath the web of see-through silk.
“Eli?”
He heard every question contained in the single syllable of his name, and he lifted her head to meet her anxious, unfocused gaze. “I’m right here with you. Just lie back and let me make you feel good.”
“Should I…should I be doing something?”
“I’ll tell you what to do,” he said.
“Oh. Good.” Relaxing, she allowed her shoulder blades to meet the mattress, arms straight at her sides, gripping the coverlet as if it would keep her from falling.
Eli reclined on one elbow beside her, nuzzling at the fragrant cove between her neck and her hair, breathing in honeysuckle and the warm, intoxicating musk of her skin.
Resting his hand on the flat of her stomach, he marveled at how far across it spanned. Hipbone to hipbone, maybe a little more. This time, he paid attention to her other breast, teasing the fabric with his damp breath, kissing, licking, and laving.
His hand smoothed down the plane of her stomach again, to stroke over the slight curve of her mons.
This time, she melted on a sigh.
Eli stretched the moment as long as it would allow, playing softly against the plump furrows of flesh with lazy strokes, and tickling the tightly closed slit from over the fabric.
Encouraged by her soft little expressions of air and the visible twitches and trembling of her thighs, he slid his index finger into the crease of her sex. Fingertip covered in silk, he found the slight protrusion of her nub, and bent his finger around it, gliding toward those pliant folds of protective skin.
It was between those folds he found a pool of slick heat.
