Page 43 of Defiant
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Three hoursand nearly three hundred M&Ms later, I’ve got the basic technique down. Elena stopped flicking herself after the first half-hour and just began retrieving my ammo from wherever it dropped around the room, which gave me incredible views of her ass but also allowed her to mock every single one of my misfires. She’s got quite the spanking tally now. About ten minutes ago, the little spitfire crawled up onto the mattress beside me. Five minutes ago, her breathing grew slow, her constant stream of advice and insults thinning, then evaporating. Three minutes ago, I looked over to find her asleep, hands tucked underneath her cheek, looking the picture of innocence.
I stared for a minute, eyes drawn to the soft lines of her lips, unsure of whether she was out for the night or just taking a catnap. She’d admitted she never drinks though—after her fourth shot—so it was quite possible she was down for the count. I’d finished off the twelve M&Ms left on my chest, even managing to get one to hit the television control panel. But since Elena wasn’t awake to see my success, it felt hollow.
Now, I sigh and stare up at the ceiling before I get rid of the rest of the bowl of trail mix, putting it onto the nightstand, and then roll onto my side so that I can just stare at her. My injuries are gone, and though there are little grumbling aches, the screaming pain is now just a memory.
My mate’s soft skin beckons me and I can’t resist the urge to tuck her dark hair back behind her ear and smooth over that cheek. After her cheek, my fingers skim down her neck of their own accord. I tell myself I should pull away but her draw is too strong and I find myself inching closer, tracing her jaw.
Just one kiss.
One isn’t enough. Those lips are too soft and I drag my mouth over hers, desperate for another. The third goes down on her chin. Then I kiss the column of her neck, inhaling her beautiful scent all the while. Combined with alcohol, her scent makes me light-headed. And hard. So fucking hard. Some guys get whiskey dick and it makes it impossible for them to get hard. When I get drunk, I can get hard, but it makes coming that much harder.
Mate,my wolf’s mind is just as muddled as my own, but his mental image is clear.Mark her.
I slide down the collar of my t-shirt and kiss the soft planes of her chest as it rises and falls in her sleep. But I can’t pull the collar low enough, and the need to touch her starts to burn uncomfortably hot, an aching pulse. I drape a leg over hers so that I can press closer, cocoon her, mingle our scents together. For a minute, that feels like enough, mingling our scents and breath and spirits. But the dizzy fire starts back up, flames driving me. She’s right here.
Right here.
So peaceful and compliant. No sass or sharp words to stop me. Just gorgeous skin and ebony eyelashes, soft breasts—my hand palms one and she moans in her sleep. I drag a finger across her nipple through the t-shirt, eyes glued to the little nub as it responds to my touch. Her body knows she’s mine. Her mind just needs to catch up.
Elena moans in her sleep softly.
She’s enjoying it.
I pinch that nipple and then gently flick my wrist, tugging lightly at her tender bud, trying to draw out the sensation for her.
A tiny “Mmmm,” escapes her closed lips.
I wonder if she’s dreaming about me.
“Elena,” I whisper her name reverently, releasing her nipple and dragging my hand over her taut belly.
I ruck up the hem of the t-shirt, baring her skin inch by inch, teasing myself tracing soft circles on that stomach, dipping a finger into her naval, then letting my fingers crawl back up to those soft breasts.
I push her shirt up above them so I can marvel at her nipples and dip down to tongue the one I haven’t played with yet. I lap at it for a second, smiling when my sweet mate stretches beneath me but still doesn’t wake. I let my lips wrap around it gently and slowly increase my suction and pace until I notice her breathing quicken.
I slide my body down her stomach and tug at the sweatpants she’s tied tightly. They won’t come down with a quick tug, I have to reach inside the waistband and torture myself as the backs of my knuckles brush against the softness I want to taste while my fingers ply apart the knot.
Elena murmurs something in her sleep, but I’m not certain what, because the strings unlace and my prize becomes accessible, my focus drops down below her naval as I tug at her pants.
I’m going to give my mate the best wake-up orgasm in history.
16
Elena
I’m dreaming about Jonah.I know I’m dreaming because I’ve had this particular dream before—and it’s one of my favorites.
It’s a memory, or a rose-colored version of one anyway. I’d snuck into Jonah’s room last Thanksgiving, while his entire house was abuzz with family. Chattering aunts, screaming wildling younger cousins, uncles standing in the backyard despite the cold, trying to escape the chores their wives would no doubt assign.
I’d crept along the high hedge that Jonah’s dad kept meticulously trimmed, and had darted across the thin gap of grass in their suburban neighborhood. Jonah’s window was on the first floor, so it wasn’t an entirely badass feat, but my heart had felt the rush then, just like it does now. My skin prickles with awareness and my nipples tighten in anticipation, just like they did that day.
God, I love this dream.
Jonah’s window is unlocked, just like I’d ordered, so that I can come in and “come” as I please. The dull afternoon autumn sunlight is weak and cold, and I’m not dressed to combat it in the black leather skirt and white t-shirt I wear. Even my thin leather jacket is more for show than warmth.
I shove up his window quickly and toss my leg up over the ledge, pulling myself inside before his gaggle of uncles notices—they’re too preoccupied with their conversation about a broken lawn mower to realize their nephew is about to be defiled.
