Page 90 of Forbidden Devotion
When he saw Mitchel through the low-hanging branches and realized what he had been up to while he was gone, Sinclair burst out in a fit of laughter.
Mitchel struggled to drag a very large, very dead deer his way. It looked like no easy feat, and Sinclair was suitably impressed, as he supposed was Mitchel’s goal.
“You’ve got to be kidding, ” Sinclair squealed. “You actually brought me a deer?”
Mitchel dropped the dead animal at his feet and pranced about, preening over his kill.
Sinclair glanced at him, back to the deer, then back to him, amused. “Um, thank you, noble beast, for this most worthy gift. You’ve won my affection,” Sinclair said dramatically, and Mitchel continued to dance around. “Now, what would you like me to do with it?”
Mitchel play-bowed again.
Sinclair investigated the deer. She was enormous. He wasn’t sure how Mitchel had managed it. He ran a hand across the deer’s flank. Still warm. When he looked back up, the wolf was gone. He turned around, searching for him. He approached from behind, stalking him, a low growl coming from deep within his chest.
Sinclair got the message. Mitchel wanted him to run again, and he wasn’t about to disappoint his love. He let his fangs drop for the pleasure of it and hissed at Mitchel, then took off into the night at his fastest pace.
Sinclair pushed himself, picking up speed as he dashed over rocks and roots, under branches, and around trees.
Mitchel followed close on his tail. This wouldn’t last long.
He put his all into the run, having a wonderful time, even as he felt Mitchel at his side, matching his pace. They stayed together like that, neck and neck, until Sinclair had to slow down, unable to maintain the sprint.
Mitchel struck, veering into his thigh and taking him down carefully but effectively.
Sinclair rolled onto his stomach with an oof, the heavy weight of a panting wolf resting square against his back, teeth at his neck.
Mitchel paused.
“I’m all right.” Sinclair pushed up on his forearms, pressing his neck and shoulders against Mitchel’s jaws in invitation. He ached for it. “Do it.”
Hot breath damped the skin of his neck. Teeth fastened to his flesh.
Finally, Mitchel bit down hard enough to break the skin.
Sinclair fell forward and let out a primal groan of desire. His senses overwhelmed; his cock hardened. The pain barely registered through the depth of his need.
Mitchel held him down, pinned against the earth under his weight, under his jaw, teeth deep in his muscle. Sinclair’s whole body tingled, his nerves dancing. Mitchel lay heavily on his back, a welcome weight.
Sinclair ground himself into the dirt as Mitchel’s canines penetrated deeper. He writhed. Ecstasy.
He was going to come like this, just before it happened. It hit him fast, in a rush, wave after wave of endless pleasure. Mitchel growled against his skin, trapping him there in bliss, forcing him to take all the pleasure he could handle.
Sinclair shuddered beneath him, arching his back and pressing his hips up against the wolf. “Please,” he cried. “More.”
The wolf hesitated. Sinclair could sense his doubt.
“Do it, Mitchel. I prepared for this. Please. I’m ready,” Sinclair insisted. In the moment, he could hardly think, but back at home, before the urgency of nightfall had set in, he’d considered this possibility and made his body slick and open for it. “Fuck me.”
Mitchel moved, weight shifting, fur receding, and hot skin surfacing against Sinclair’s. Mitchel’s now human mouth still bit his neck.
“Sinclair!” Mitchel gasped as his teeth withdrew.
“Please…”
They were perfectly aligned like this. Sinclair pressed his hips back eagerly, asking for it in every way he knew how.
Mitchel obeyed. Hands covering Sinclair’s, their fingers intertwined, he entered with firm pressure. Perfect. A slow slide Sinclair felt to his toes.
“Yes, fuck me! Like that, Mitchel, like that,” Sinclair begged.
