Page 151 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
Rory scowled at me, screwing up his entire face in a way that was so comical, I leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose. The expression melted away under my lips.
I took his cock in my hand, stroking it slowly. “Listen, I’m sorry to tell you this. This dick of yours is lovely, but really not that big.”
“Umm, excuse me? It’s perfectly average for my height! I’ve measured it before! Twice!”
I continued stroking him, watching his eyes roll to the back of his head. “Sorry. I mean, I’m sure I can handle this monster dick of yours. And before you bring it up again, I’m not asking you to fuck me as proof that I’m definitely bisexual. I’m asking because I’m desperate to feel youinside me. And no, I one thousand, one million percent won’t regret it. And this has nothing to do with my jealousy of Dev—of whom I’m not actually jealous, for the record.”
Rory’s lips twitched. “Honestly, mate, you didn’t need to make a whole speech about it, you know. I’m absolutely desperate to fuck you.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Plus, I’m sort of still feeling you from last night, so this works.”
The admission sent pure fire spiralling through me. Plus a ridiculous urge to change my mind, to make himfeel meeven more.
I gripped his cock harder, making him gasp. “My turn to feel you, then, you—”
“Wait,” Rory said suddenly, his hands stilling on my hips. His eyes held mine in a way that made my pulse skip. “I need to scent mark you first.”
“You need to what?” Confusion briefly cut through the haze of desire.
Rory’s lips curved into that wicked smile—one that surely meant he was about to do something that would utterly unravel me. “Wolf thing,” he said.
Before I could demand an explanation, his hands were guiding me back down onto the sleeping bag, positioning me exactly where he wanted me, and my mouth fell dry.
“Rory—”
“Shh.” His thumb brushed across my lower lip, silencing my protest. “I need you to smell like me.”
He lowered himself over me, and suddenly the tent felt smaller, the air thicker. His breath ghosted across the column of my throat as he found the hollow where my pulse hammered against my skin.
The first touch of his tongue was electric—a slow, deliberate sweep along the side of my neck that made my back arch involuntarily off the ground. He moved with purpose, mapping every pulse point with methodical precision. Behind my ear, where his teeth grazed just enough to make me gasp. The sharp edge of my collarbone, where he lingered with open-mouthed attention that bordered onworship.
Mine,his thoughts whispered into my consciousness, primal and possessive.Mine, mine, mine.
When his mouth found the sensitive hollow of my throat, I lost all semblance of control. He worked the skin there with devastating patience—licking, sucking, claiming—until I was certain he’d branded something permanent into my very DNA.
“There,” he murmured against my skin, his voice brimming with pride. “Now everyone will know you belong to me. And when my scent starts to fade, I’ll mark you all over again. And again.”
The declaration should have terrified me. Instead, it sent molten heat straight to my core, and I pulled him up to crash our lips together, desperate to claim his mouth as thoroughly as he’d claimed my neck.
Rory broke the kiss with a satisfied hum, his hands moving with purpose, gripping my thigh and lifting one of my legs, positioning me exactly where he wanted me “And now I’ll taste my prize properly,” he murmured against my skin, his breath hot on my thigh.
His mouth found the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, then the sharp edge of his teeth scraped against me before his tongue soothed the spot. A completely undignified yelp escaped my throat as he moved higher, his teeth finding the curve of my ass cheek.
None of my previous partners had ever done that before, but then again, none of them had been wolves…
“Christ, Rory—”
His teeth sank deeper, not quite breaking skin but hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to make me forget my own name. The bite was possessive and the low growl that rumbled from his chest vibrated straight through me. When he finally released his hold, I could feel the ghost of each tooth, marking me in ways that had nothing to do with bruises.
His tongue found my crease.
Every coherent thought fled my mind. It was intoxicating, intimate beyond anything I’d ever experienced. He lavished attention on me with the patience of worship, his tongue painting slow, deliberate strokes thathad me trembling. The molten heat of his mouth turned me liquid, my hands clawing at the sleeping bag as if it could anchor me to sanity.
This wasn’t just physical preparation—it was devotion, reverence, something that sent me spinning, dizzy with joy. The way he touched me, like I was something sacred he’d been waiting his whole life to claim.
“Rory,” I manage to choke out, wanting to offer himsomething.
He hummed against my thigh, then his finger replaced his tongue. He worked slowly into me, an agonisingly gentle intrusion that had me pushing back against him despite myself.
“You’re so tight,” he whispered, pressing deeper. “So perfect.”
