Page 36 of Taken By The Wolves
The claim can be terrifying, the pain overwhelming if the pleasure is resisted.
I won’t lose her. Not for a moment of need that couldextinguish more than it fulfills.
So my hand stills. I lean into the quiet of the moment and the tension that hums too loudly. She shifts her hips back, spreading her thighs wider, granting more of herself to me without a word, and the walls inside me crack. I trace her slick skin with a single fingertip, slow and coaxing, and she leans back into the touch. She gasps.
She can say no. I’d let her pull back in a heartbeat if she did. But instead, she moans. I lean forward and whisper her name against her shoulder, her sweet nape already calling to me. My fangs bud, but it’s my tongue I allow to explore. She exudes warmth and invitation, her scent as sweet as summer blooms.
I taste her desire on her skin. It rises from her like steam in the cold. My mouth brushes the slope of her shoulder, as my hands splay along her hips. Her panties slide the rest of the way over her thighs and fall to the floor in a whisper. I’m curved over her the way it would be, the way it should be, so close to taking what my wolf visceral aches for, my hands tremble as they grip the sofa on either side of her. I lick her sweet skin, and my fangs press deeper into the flesh of my cheeks, but I can’t let them out. I’m drugged, but still I hold onto the last vestiges of my self-control. This desire I have for the right kind of love bond has been with me for so long, I can’t toss it aside at the first temptation.
I have to draw back.
But I can’t resist looking at the space between her legs, and when I find it slick and open, glistening in the low light, I am overcome with awe. The gravity of knowing that this is what we’ve waited for, she is what we’ve waited for, weighing heavily.
My fingers fumble with buttons, and my hand wrapsaround my length, already hard and beaded with precum. I stroke once, twice, dragging the head of my cock through the heat of her, testing her wetness, testing myself, lost in desire and the need to let go, relishing marking her with my scent in this small way.
Her thighs tremble.
Her lips part.
Her hips nudge back enough to tell me yes.
Scarlet arches her back, and in that moment, I lose every wall I thought I could hold.
I press into her slowly, not because I’m unsure but because I have to relish every second of her taking me in: the tightness, the pull, the warmth.
She’shome.
Being inside her is everything I imagined and everything I feared and everything I never dared believe I’d find. She gasps, tilting her hips, her hands braced against the edge of the couch, and I go deeper, groaning low against her skin as I fill her, stretching her wide around me.
The world goes quiet.
My thoughts are obliterated beneath the weight of this moment, the rightness of her, and the deep satisfaction I derive from the tight squeeze of her around me. This beautiful body was made for our pleasure, but also to bear our children. One day, after we’ve claimed her, we’ll fill her with our seed and watch her bloom with the future of our family.
The rhythm of her breath and the wild beat of my heart as I move inside her punctuate each thrust. I grip her hips and she pushes back into me, greedy and glorious, and I match her, every stroke deliberate.
I don’t pound into her. There’s no rush. I give her whatI know she needs, and Itakefrom her the bliss of our deepening connection. Her moans mix with the soft encouragement of my brothers, who remain silent no longer. Reed curses. Finn groans long and deep as he comes into her mouth, gripping her head to him for as long as it takes him to spill every drop.
And then she’s looking at me over her shoulder, eyes wide, lids half-lowered, her pretty pink lips parted as she groans with pleasure.
Even as her body writhes and her back bows and her nails dig into the couch, it’smeshe looks for, and I know this isn’t only lust for her.
It’s everything we’ve been promised and so much more.
She has to feel it, too.
She cries out, hips jerking beneath mine as my hand slides between her thighs. Two fingers, slick and sure, pressing where she needs them. She bucks, crying out, as I drive deeper, my hips rocking into her with a pace that’s almost too measured because if I let go now, I won’t stop.
Her body tightens around me, muscles fluttering as she spirals, and her voice breaks like glass. Her orgasm crests fast, wild and unrestrained, pulsing against my cock in waves so fierce I almost lose control.
My knot flares and swells, but I resist the biting urge to shove it into her and fuse us together.
I growl, deep, low, and broken, and thrust harder, once, to feel her almost clasp around the bulb at the root of my cock that she’ll only take when she’s been claimed.
I’m shaking.
My hands find hers, fingers laced as I pin them to the couch, my chest curved over her trembling spine.
How did I live without this? How did I go each daywithout her scent to breathe, and her laughter to hear, and her body to taste, and her pussy to fuck? How did we wait so long?
