by Lynn Marie
“What do you want, baby?” he asked.
He was teasing her mercilessly—he’d been doing it forever now, it seemed. But she couldn’t get annoyed about it now, not when she was so close… “You!” she managed.
“Where?”
The dirty-talking had never really been her thing; it always sounded so strange to hear herself say those words aloud that she’d always been taught to avoid. Cock, pussy, clit, balls… It felt so wicked—just like the spanking had. “Um…” she swallowed, hesitating.
“Say it,” he commanded. “I want to hear you say it.”
“I want you inside me.”
“Like this?” he said, slipping the very tip of his index finger inside her. Slowly, gently, he swirled his finger around the inner rim.
“More,” she pled. She needed more—more of him, more pressure. She needed it deeper, thicker, harder… “God, please, Michael. I’m dying here.”
“Oh, baby, not yet.”
He snaked his arm underneath her, flipping her, and lifting her up. Caught by surprise, she squealed in ill-disguised delight. He laid her back down on the bed and came down on top of her. She hungrily met his kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck. Gently, but firmly, he gathered her wrists in one hand and stretched her arms over her head. Her pussy tingled at the loss of control, but if he thought she was just going to do what he said this time…
She cried out as two thick fingers stretched inside her and he hit her sweet spot. Her nipples hardened to the point of pain and her body craved so many different sensations, it was hard to keep track. She wanted his skin against hers, his mouth on her breasts, his dick inside her, his fingers on her clit…
He pumped those fingers in and out at a quick, steady rhythm as he nuzzled her neck, kissing and biting her skin. She chewed on her lip to hold in the moans. She tilted her hips and rocked against the mattress, fighting his hold on her wrists and the urge to touch him. She so wanted to touch him.
She felt the pressure building in her abdomen—a few more deft strokes of his fingers and she’d shatter—but he pulled back. “As much as I love to see you come for me,” he murmured against her skin, “I need more first.”
“Wait!” she cried. “Wait, Michael, I want to touch you. I need to touch you.”
There was a beat while he stared at her and she found herself transfixed by his icy eyes, then he broke into a smile. Suddenly, something was unleashed in Evelyn. She shoved against his grip and he let go and rolled over for her. She scrambled up and sat astride him. She could feel his erection against her sex and she all but burned with need. Grinding against him and feeling the friction of his denim against her delicate flesh, she closed her eyes and shivered.
When she opened her eyes again, he was looking up at her with such a fierce expression, it made her stop. He lifted a hand to cup her cheek and she turned and rubbed her bottom lip against his thumb. His eyes drifted half closed and he panted.
She grabbed his shirt and tugged upwards so he’d take it off. When he lay before her, bare-chested, she sucked in a breath.
“You’re amazing,” she whispered as the tips of her fingers traced every bulge and contour of his shoulders, chest and abs. His skin was smooth, but hard under her touch. Solid and so different from hers. When she flattened her hand on his stomach, she could feel him tensing under her touch. She traced his nipple and smiled when it hardened.
“Do you like that?” she asked tentatively.
With another characteristic grin, he nodded and stretched his arms behind his head, like he was enjoying a show.
Well, if it was a show he wanted…
She reached behind her and unhooked her bra, throwing it on the ground behind her. Now she was nude, but Michael was still half-dressed in his pants. Time to fix that. She leaned down, letting her hair fall over her shoulder and brush against him. Kissing him where she’d just explored with her fingers, she basked in his quickening breath and guttural groans. She swirled her tongue around his nipple and continued south, dipping her tongue in the ridges between his abs.
Sliding down the side of the bed, she found herself at eye-level with his crotch. She touched him through his pants and his entire body tensed.
“Let me,” he said. His voice was strained and he hastily started unbuckling his belt.
She shook her head. “No.” There was no way she was letting him make quick work of this when he’d tortured her this whole time, denying her the pleasure she craved so completely. He needed a taste of his own medicine.
Locking her eyes on his, she lowered his zipper, making sure she brushed the back of her fingers gently against the length of him. He hissed. He didn’t beg though—he seemed to know that was what she was waiting for—so she kept going. She peeled his pants away and trailed her fingers against his legs, making a path upwards. Next, she ran her hands up and down his inner thighs. He shuddered, but didn’t plead.
So his boxers were next. She teased him by tucking her fingers under the elastic and tugging slightly. Her eyes remained on his face, gauging his reaction. There was sweat building on his forehead. When his cock finally sprang free, she bit her lip and stared.
God, it was a beast. Good nick-name for it, too.
His boxers off, she jumped back up onto the bed next to him. “Do you want me to touch you?” she asked, grinning as she mimicked him.
“Mercy,” he said finally. He started reaching for her, but she took the initiative and grasped him. He shouted a curse and let his head fall back. She squeezed lightly, running her hand up and down the length of him. His expression darkened.
“You’ve got about ten seconds, Evelyn.”
She looked up, startled. “Until what?”
“Until you’re on your back, underneath me,” he said. Then, more casually, “Just thought you’d like to know.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, really?”
“Ten seconds.”
“Uh, uh. It’s my turn.”
But he was unyielding. “Nine seconds.”
Better make them count, then. She coated the tip of her finger in the precum leaking from him and used it to lubricate her finger as she swirled it around the sensitive tip of him, meanwhile her other hand cupped his balls. Suddenly, and probably before her ten seconds were even up, she was on her back, as promised. He ground against her as a low noise vibrated in his throat.
“Open your legs,” he commanded. As she quickly complied, he brushed the back of his knuckles against her swollen clit. “Right now, all I want to do is fuck you. But I think, first, I’m going to make you come hard.”
Yes, please. She wound her fingers in his hair and gave him a little push downwards.
He lowered himself down her body until his face was between her legs. She looked away, always embarrassed by the sight of her little stomach pooch right next to a man’s face, but Michael didn’t seem to care. He kissed it. She squirmed.
“Michael,” she pled.
But he’d already moved on, his attentions now directed at her pussy. “So wet,” he murmured. Then his mouth was on her, his tongue laving her clit. It occurred to her that she hadn’t gone down on him yet and, even more astounding, that he hadn’t asked her to or expected it as reciprocation for his oral endeavors.
As his tongue worked magic, his fingers found their way inside of her again. She was already so close that just a few pumps of his hand had her writhing, moaning, nearly coming. When she felt one of his well-lubricated fingers push against the entrance to her ass, her eyes flew open. She opened her mouth, unsure of how to react, but the finger slid in and the sensation was so incredible that it pushed her over the edge.
She came, hard, as he’d promised, riding it out with his mouth against her and his fingers filling her in more places than one. The feeling of being so filled made her pelvic muscles clamp down, and she felt his fingers even more acutely.
“That’s it,” he said. “Christ, Evelyn.”
There was no time to come down from her o
rgasm as he hooked his arms under her knees and pulled her towards him as he straightened up. He folded her legs back, anchoring his palms in the bed, and entered her in one stroke. They both yelled as he stretched her and she rippled around him in the aftershocks of what he’d just done to her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, strained.
In spite of the pain that came from stretching such recently well-used muscles, she moaned. “God, yes.”
“Good.”
His movements were fast, and hard. His strokes forced her down into the bed, but it felt so amazing that all she could do was throw her head back and clutch the rails of her headboard. It was like there was an itch inside her. She loved it—the force of his thrusts, the strength and power of him—and she needed more, even as he filled her.
“I want you to come. Come for me again, Evelyn,” he grunted between thrusts.
“I can’t,” she gasped, tossing her head from side to side. But she knew it was a lie. Another orgasm was already building.
“You can,” he urged, adjusting his arms and lifting her hips so he could angle himself to thrust against the g-spot.
“Ohhhh,” she moaned.
He abruptly changed his thrusting speed, slowing it down so that the length of him filled her inch by inch. Then, he picked the pace back up just as abruptly and she lost it. All her muscles contracted and she called out his name as he hammered right through her orgasm. Just as she was coming down from the high, feeling drained, he exploded inside her with a hoarse cry.
She got to watch him as he came. He didn’t make a weird face, like Dana had complained about with some of her lovers, but his nose got all scrunched up and a line appeared between his brows.
He stretched out next to her and pulled her against him to spoon. He cradled her, laying a possessive hand across her stomach and resting her head on his arm. She sighed in deep satisfaction, closed her eyes and leaned against him.
He kissed her shoulder. “Are you tired?”
“A little.”
“Sore?”
She laughed once.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. His voice was resigned, as if he didn’t like the thought of hurting her. She covered his hand with hers.
“It’s a ‘yes-but-I-don’t-care’ kind of yes.”
He said nothing, but tightened his hold around her.
They ate breakfast the next day in the nude, talking about nothing in particular. Eventually, they got onto the topic of her family, and she told him all about her sister and her new age store. She liked watching him listen to her—his face was so emotive.
“So is your sister all you’ve got?”
Evelyn hesitated. This was so not a second date kind of story, but… it did weirdly feel like they’d known each other much longer. “My dad’s still around, too, but he’s… complicated.”
“How so?”
She sat back and spun her coffee mug in her hands. It was soothing to watch and gave her something to focus on. “My dad abandoned my family when I was a teenager. He’d been hit by a car and got addicted to pain meds while he was recovering. The pain meds led to harder stuff—coke, at first, then meth I think when he couldn’t afford coke. My mom was trying to get him clean, but he just picked up and left. Stole half the jewelry given to her by her grandmother and we didn’t see him again until my mom’s funeral about five years ago. Cancer,” she explained sadly. “Dana and I couldn’t believe he showed. He was pretending he’d gotten clean, but it was clearly a lie. I was so mad at him, but I was also really… I don’t know. Sad? Guilty? Dana said I was an idiot, and maybe I was, but I couldn’t just leave him like that.
“When my mom passed, she had some money. I mean, we’re no Blackwoods, but it was enough to keep both her daughters comfortable. Maybe enough for our kids, if we were smart about it. I used almost all of my share of it for this fancy rehab for Dad and…” she choked out a mirthless laugh, “he didn’t finish the program. He fucking left.
“Then I came home from work one night, six months ago, and just about died of shock when I saw him sitting in my kitchen. He had this weird look on his face, and I figured he was high. He kept saying he needed somewhere to lay low—maybe he’d gotten in with some drug dealers or something—and obviously he wanted more money. I tried to get him to leave, he hit me and I somehow managed to get him out. I vaguely remember picking up a kitchen knife.”
“Did you report it to the police?”
“I got a restraining order. A piece of paper,” she shrugged. “It was part of why I left the city. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.”
Michael’s face was intense, but hard to read. The white knuckles on his clenched fists, however, were pretty clear. Gauging his reaction, she decided not to mention that he’d been calling at this particular moment. She’d tell him eventually, but he looked ready to punch something. “I don’t know what to say, Evelyn. I’m so sorry.”
Evelyn reached across the table and began tracing his fingers with the tip of hers. Slowly, he relaxed his fist so she could trace the tapered lengths. In most other people, she resented the pity.
“I always want to say ‘it’s ok’ for some reason, but I don’t want to minimize it. It’s not ok, but I got away. A lot of people don’t get away. He didn’t really hurt me—not physically, anyway. Psychologically?” she laughed but it came out as a grunt. She averted her eyes and shook her head. She didn’t particularly want to get into her emotional shortcomings. Not with Mr. Perfect.
“We’ve all got our scars.”
“I’ll be honest, then,” she decided. “I’ve got some trust issues.”
He flipped the hand that was tracing his and started giving her the same treatment. “I won’t break your trust.”
“Just… don’t lie to me, steal from me or push me around and we’ll be good.”
He nodded. “Deal.”
She pulled her hand away to finish eating her breakfast. She was finding it more and more difficult to find a flaw in him—a reason to put a wall between them and around herself.
Because though she thoroughly enjoyed his company and the sex was out of this world… she really hadn’t known him for that long. She’d never opened up about her dad to a partner before. Sure, they had this connection that they both felt, but she couldn’t label it and it unnerved her. All she knew was that she was falling. Hard. It scared the crap out of her.
Chapter 7
Michael’s paws hit the ground hard as he picked up speed, following the scent trail through the woods. Keeping his nose low, he cut through brush and dodged trees, marking one every once in a while when his own scent wasn’t easy to discern. When he reached the open field, he sprinted across it with his tongue lolling, kicking up the ground with his back paws.
When he reached the truck in the middle of the field, Michael circumnavigated it once, then lay on the ground. He rolled in the grass, rubbing off his sweat and enjoying the sun on his belly. Completely at peace and ease, Michael changed back and lay naked in the sun with his eyes closed.
There was nothing to worry about. The closest neighboring shifter pack—mountain lions—hadn’t crossed their lines. The scents were clearly marked, but old, running parallel with his through the woods, as they’d agreed in the last treaty. It was all very civilized.
Growing up, his father had told him stories of calling the pack to arms to protect the border from neighboring packs and other shifters. These days, if someone wanted to attack you, they did it with lawyers. Shifters were an endangered species—superfluous in a world where food wasn’t scarce and safety was as easy as a deadbolt on the front door or a gun under the bed. Whatever need had driven men to shift into animals was dwindling.
Everyone was so busy minding his or her own business, border patrol was all but unnecessary. Obsolete. It was always good to know neighboring packs maintained their boundaries, and every once in a while a stray wolf wandered into their community, but for the most part Michael kept up the patrols because the
y gave him a reason to let his wolf out and run as fast as he could.
He didn’t know how a city wolf would do it. The lack of open sky and land would drive him crazy.
Without opening his eyes, he brushed a bug off his stomach and let his hand drift lower until he gripped his rock-hard manhood. There was nothing he wanted more after a long run as a wolf than to take his woman. And now that he’d found his mate, the arousal triggered by his primal state was even more tenacious. It was like it knew that it had an outlet now.
His wolf rippled under the surface, wanting to go find her.
With a sigh, he opened his eyes. Now was not the time. He had business to see to.
He stroked himself, using a hard, almost punishing grip. It felt good—touching himself always did—and he came quickly, imagining the sight of her generous, naked body and feel of her soft hands.
Dressing quickly in the clothes he’d left in his truck, he hopped in and drove towards the closest house on the outskirts of town. Old Ephraim Greer. As far as Michael knew, Ephraim was one of the few councilmembers willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. It helped that he’d placed all his textbook orders for school through Ephraim’s small bookstore.
The house itself was well-maintained, if a bit tired-looking. To Michael’s trained eye, they had some settling issues around the porch and the shutters needed a good coat of paint, but it was obvious that Ephraim and his wife Martha kept it up as well as they could. He stepped up onto the porch and knocked on the front door.
A minute later, bloodshot blue eyes peered at him through the window and the front door opened. Wrinkled and stooping from back issues, Ephraim moved slowly, but his eyes held an intelligence not yet forfeit to age. Those eyes held him in suspicion from behind the screen door.
“Michael. What brings you here?”
“Business.”
Ephraim hesitated, looking him up and down. His wiry, grey brows snapped over his eyes and he nodded begrudgingly before opening the door and stepping out onto the porch. He gestured over to some chairs. “We’ll talk. My wife’ll bring some iced tea, if you want.”