Page 31 of Wolf of the Storm
Her eyes meet mine without hesitation. "Don't you dare stop."
Her shirt catches on her raised arms as I peel it away, revealing pale skin and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. I toss it aside, not caring where it lands. My own follows, and her eyes track the movement, pupils blown wide as she takes in bare shoulders, the muscles of my chest and abdomen, the clear evidence that I'm not quite human—too defined, too powerful, built for violence even when I'm trying to be gentle.
Her jeans resist, the denim stubborn until she lifts her hips to help me slide them down her legs. The scrap of lace underneath follows. My own jeans hit the floor somewhere behind me, kicked away without thought.
And then there's just skin. Miles of it. Soft where I'm hard, curves where I'm angles, warmth that calls to every predatory instinct I possess.
I press my lips to the sharp edge of her collarbone, let my teeth drag across the delicate bone. Her skin tastes like salt and vanilla and something uniquely her. The gasp that tears from her throat vibrates against my mouth, and I chase it lower.
The hollow of her throat, where her pulse hammers wild and fast. My tongue traces the frantic rhythm before I move on. Down to the swell of her breast, soft and perfect in my hands.
My canines lengthen—just slightly, just enough. I drag the sharp points across the sensitive curve, a whisper of pressure that could so easily break skin. The twin points leave faint white lines on her flesh that fade to pink almost instantly.
Her body goes rigid beneath me. Every muscle locks. Her breath stops.
Then she arches up, pushing her breast harder against my mouth, chasing the threat of fang like it's a promise instead of a warning. A broken sound escapes her—half moan, half plea—and her nails score down my spine hard enough that I feel skin split.
She arches up into it.
Her nails rake down my back, gouging deep enough that I smell blood—my blood—and a growl rumbles through my chest at the sharp, sweet pain of it. Her fingers dig into my shoulders with bruising force, holding on like she's afraid I'll pull away.
Not a chance in hell.
Through the bond, I feel her desire spike, feel her wonder at what's happening between us.
"Declan." My name is a gasp, a plea, a demand all at once.
"I know, sweetheart. I know." I worship my way down her body, learning every sound she makes, every place that makesher breath catch. When I settle between her thighs, her hands fist in my hair, the sharp sting dragging a growl from my throat.
"Please," she breathes, and who am I to deny my mate?
I settle between her thighs, and her hands immediately fist in my hair. The sharp sting as she pulls sends heat straight down my spine.
The wolf demands I hurry, demands I take and claim and mark. I ignore it.
My tongue traces slow circles, learning the map of her. When I find the spot that makes her hips buck off the bed, I stay there, working it with deliberate patience until her thighs start trembling against my shoulders. She tastes like salt and heat and mine, and I can't get enough.
"Declan...” My name breaks on a gasp. Her fingers tighten in my hair, nails scraping my scalp hard enough to make me growl against her. The vibration makes her cry out.
I add pressure, change the angle, and her whole body goes taut. The trembling spreads from her thighs to her stomach, muscles jumping under my free hand. Her breathing fractures into short, desperate pants.
"Please," she chokes out. "Please, I can't—I need...”
I hum acknowledgment against her and she shatters.
Her spine arches clear off the bed, head thrown back, throat exposed in a way that makes my wolf roar with satisfaction. The sound she makes—raw and broken and beautiful—echoes off the walls. Her thighs clamp around my head like a vice, her whole body shaking with the force of her release.
And through the incomplete bond, I feel it. Not clearly, not fully, but enough. The pleasure crashes through our connection like a wave, muted but still powerful enough to make my vision blur. It's intense and overwhelming and just a fraction of what it will be once the bond is complete.
My control splinters. Cracks form in the iron restraint I've been maintaining, and the wolf pushes closer to the surface, demanding more.
"Need you," she gasps, pulling at my shoulders. "Please, Declan, I need...”
"I know." I move back up her body, settling between her thighs. The first touch of skin to skin makes us both groan. "Tell me if it's too much. Tell me if...”
"If you don't do something in the next five seconds, I'm going to...” Whatever threat she was going to make dies the moment I position myself at her entrance.
I press forward—slow, so fucking slow it's torture. The tight, slick heat of her body yields inch by inch, and every nerve ending I possess lights up like wildfire. My vision whites out at the edges. My hands shake where they're braced on either side of her head.
