The Wolf Moon (an erotic paranormal romance) (The Wolf Ring)
Page 3
He was uncomfortably aware of his massive erection. But he reached down and pushed off his boxers. His cock sprang free, dark and wet and already throbbing with the force of his need.
She stared at him for a long time, while the fever rose in his blood. He began to wonder if it was possible to come from being stared at. But at last she stepped toward him. His cock jerked in anticipation, and he shuddered.
“You are beautiful,” she said, walking around him in a circle.
He chuckled wryly at that, because he knew he wasn’t. Yeah, he was a decent-looking guy, tall and dark-haired and pretty well-muscled from working out at the gym. But a movie star he was not.
“It’s true.” She walked around him again, and paused behind him. “You have the most gorgeous ass.”
If that was true, it was thanks to the leg press machine at the gym, because otherwise he spent so much time sitting at the desk in his home office that his ass would be five feet wide. But he refrained from saying so, because her fingers were caressing the curves of his buttocks, and the terrible itching need was instantly replaced with a pleasure so great that it made him pant for breath.
“Touch me,” he whispered, a soft plea for mercy. “Everywhere.”
Her hands stroked over him softly, lighting up his nerves, making his skin burn with pleasure. He sobbed as her fingers brushed his nipples, whimpered as she caressed his abdomen, and begged helplessly as her hands stroked down over his thighs. But then her hands were on his ass again, and she was dipping a finger between his cheeks, and—
He jolted. “Hey!”
“Not something you’ve done before?” She was pressing against his most intimate spot, and he didn’t like it. Except he did. His skin was so sensitized that he’d like almost anything, apparently. He was sure he wouldn’t care for it otherwise.
“No.” His voice was lower and more raspy than before. “I don’t think I like that.”
“You will.” With his unnaturally enhanced hearing, he heard the sound of her drawing something from her jeans pocket, squirting something onto her fingers, and he smelled an artificial fragrance, a scent that made his abnormally sensitive nose burn. And then she was stroking him there again, teasing the sensitive flesh, and then slipping a slick finger inside him. She’d obviously used lubricant.
He tensed up and growled.
“Don’t bite me,” she said with a soft chuckle.
He realized belatedly that he’d snarled just like a savage dog. “Sorry,” he muttered. “But—I don’t think I—really, you should stop—”
Her finger was caressing him from the inside, and he could feel his body sort of stretching to accommodate her. It was weird, and strangely erotic. He wondered vaguely if this was how women felt. He’d never been penetrated before this way, and it made him feel oddly vulnerable.
He wasn’t sure he liked it. And yet, despite his reservations about this particular activity, his cock was pulsing harder than before.
She slipped in a second finger, and it was almost too much, bordering on discomfort. He stiffened in protest, but she continued to caress him lightly, and his body relaxed in helpless submission.
“There,” she said softly. “I told you you’d like it.”
It wasn’t terrible, he had to admit. But it wasn’t tremendous, either. It wasn’t like the last time, when she’d stroked him, or the time before that, when she’d fallen to her knees in front of him and…
Her fingers slipped a little further inside him, stroking, exploring, as if she were seeking something, and suddenly an intense wave of pleasure rolled over him. His spine arched, and he bit down on a cry.
“Right there.” Her voice was husky with satisfaction. “That’s what you need.”
Oh God yes yes yes rose to his lips, but he choked the words back. He was standing in a little grove of trees at the edge of a grocery store parking lot, with cars driving back and forth not twenty yards away, and he didn’t dare make a lot of noise. He had the feeling that once he opened his mouth, he’d be screaming, and he couldn’t do that, because if they were caught, they’d have to stop, and oh God he couldn’t stop now. He just couldn’t.
She caressed the spot inside him—his prostate, he realized dimly—and intense, delightful sensations rippled through him in waves. He’d never felt anything like it before, because he’d never had a lover who stimulated him this way before. Precome gushed from him with each stroke of her fingers, and there was nothing in the world he could do to hold it back. She was in charge, and he’d surrendered to her, surrendered completely.
Her fingers were gentle, but relentless, and he felt the desperate need he’d bottled up for the past few days surging through him, seeking an outlet.
His heart pounded violently and his lungs labored for air, and he wondered if he could come just from this. And then he knew he could, because the ecstasy overwhelmed him. His cock jerked wildly, with no direct stimulation from her, and come gushed from him in long, hot spurts. Conscious of the nearby parking lot, he ground his teeth together to keep from crying out as he climaxed, but a high-pitched keening sound forced its way between his teeth anyway.
The rapture was wonderful, impossibly intense, and when it was over he felt himself fall into oblivion again.
When he came back to himself, she was gone.
Chapter Four
She ached for him.
Rhea lay sprawled in bed that night, remembering. Remembering the scent of his skin, and the flavor of his come, and the way his voice sounded in the throes of a climax, hoarse and desperate as he cried out his pleasure to the moon.
She’d brought him to an orgasm three times now, but she still burned.
She sighed, running her hands lazily over her bare body. It had been a year since she’d made love to a man. She and Bryce had had a wonderful, enthusiastic sex life. But their kind didn’t indulge in casual sex. For them, sex was a mating, a bonding. And she hadn’t met anyone she could accept as a mate until she’d found Graeme.
The first time she’d seen him, of course, hadn’t been in the forest. She’d seen him in town countless times, often with his grandfather. Unless they were mated, members of the Ring didn’t spend time together while in human form, so as not to call attention to their relationships, but she’d noticed Graeme at first because he was attentive to the old man, watching over him, taking care of him.
Gray had gone quite quickly from a strong and powerful leader to a frail old man. He’d appointed Bryce in his place as leader of the Ring, and had returned to his human life, for the most part. And when he’d had a stroke, a year ago, he’d stopped visiting the Ring entirely, and gone back to a normal small town existence. His son, Graeme’s father, was long dead, and so it had fallen to Graeme to care for him.
She’d been very fond of the old man, but Ring custom forbade her from visiting him outside of the forest. She’d kept an eye on him, though, and noticed how carefully Graeme watched over the old man when she saw them together in town. His gentle solicitude for the feeble old man had touched her heart.
When Gray had died, she’d attended the funeral, sitting in the back, and she’d seen Graeme weeping. She’d noticed he’d put the pendant on, an homage to the old man, and she’d known then that he was the one. He was destined for her, and she for him.
He was hers, or would be, when he transformed.
She ached for that day. The moon wouldn’t be full for ten more days, which meant ten more days of this dreadful, burning need. She wanted him so badly, but she couldn’t have him.
Her palms slipped over her breasts, and she found her nipples were hard with need. She squeezed them between thumb and forefinger, and gasped at the resultant pleasure that stabbed through her body, straight to her womb.
She squeezed her nipples again, hard and fast, then lowered one of her hands, sliding it across the flat planes of her stomach, across her pubic hair, and to…
A moan escaped her. She was wet, so wet, just at the thought of Graeme. She moistened
the pad of her forefinger, thinking of him, his dark hair and his deep blue eyes and the powerful muscles rolling beneath his sweaty, damp skin as his spine arched and his hips jerked. She imagined the sound of his voice, calling out helplessly as he shuddered, coming in a fierce surge as her hand pumped the thick, veined length of his cock.
She imagined that cock inside her, pounding into her in a relentless, steady rhythm, and she slid her finger higher.
Her clit was swollen, and the touch of her finger sent an aching throb through her. She writhed, craving release so badly she thought she might go mad with the need. She teased herself lightly, then began stroking more quickly and firmly, driving herself toward the orgasm she needed. She imagined his body in hers, his mouth on hers, his tongue against hers, and need built inside her.
She ached with need, so aroused she couldn’t stop. She kept stroking and stroking, trying to assuage the ache, whimpering with a pleasure that was almost pain, because it just wasn’t enough. Her finger was slick with her own cream, her pussy ached, and her clit throbbed, and yet somehow, she couldn’t quite attain orgasm.
At last she fell back against the sweat-soaked sheets, gasping, almost crying with frustration. She should have known she couldn’t satisfy herself, any more than he could satiate his own desires.
Now that they were being pulled together by the power of the transforming magic, she needed him. She couldn’t be completely satisfied until his huge cock was deep inside her, filling her aching, wet body with thrust after hard thrust of his slick, hot flesh. She couldn’t be satisfied until he fucked her like an animal.
Ten days, she told herself. Ten more days.
It sounded like an eternity.
*****
By the next evening, Graeme was through fighting.
Something was happening to him. He accepted that now. After Rhea had satisfied him last night, he’d driven home, and instead of the gourmet dinner he’d planned, he’d removed the steak from its plastic wrapper and eaten it raw. He hadn’t even bothered with a knife and fork. He’d just bitten into it, ripped it apart with his teeth, and devoured it hungrily.
And strangely enough, it had been the best meal he’d ever had.
His bizarre appetites, along with the itching, had finally convinced him that she was right. Something was changing him. He was tempted to call John again, but he was uncomfortably aware that a full listing of his symptoms would be likely to cause John to suggest psychiatric observation. Itching was one thing. An unconquerable lust for sex with a stranger and a peculiar craving for raw meat were entirely another.
He stood at the window in his living room, basking in the moonlight, letting it wash over him. It still made him itch, but in a strange way he didn’t mind as much, because now he thought of it as a precursor to intense physical pleasure. He reached up absently, touching the pendant he wore, and found that it was warm to the touch, as if the moonlight had heated it somehow.
His body was just as warm as the pendant. He was burning, just as she’d said.
The forest called to him, and this time he didn’t try to resist. He wanted her. He wanted all of her. Not just her hands or her mouth, but her glorious, curvaceous body.
Something primal was chanting at the back of his brain: Fuck fuck fuck.
That was what he wanted. He wanted to fuck her.
He needed to fuck her.
He spun away from the window, yanked his back door open, and headed out into the moon-silvered forest.
*****
“I’ve been waiting for you.” Rhea’s voice was soft, gentle, but it brought him to a halt as abruptly as if she’d tossed a lasso over his head. “I suspected I would not have long to wait.”
“I need…” Graeme turned toward the sound of her voice, breathing deeply, drawing in the fragrance of her. He couldn’t see her in the shadows, despite his newly sharpened vision. Somehow she managed to conceal herself from him. But nothing could conceal her scent, the musky, flowery odor that called to him. “I need you.”
“I am glad you’ve finally admitted it to yourself.” She stepped out of the inky shadows, becoming visible, and he saw with a stab of hunger that she was as naked as ever. He moved toward her, drawn irresistibly to her side.
“This time,” he told her, “I want to touch you.”
She smiled up at him. He caught his breath at the beauty of her face, wondering how he could ever have thought she looked like an ordinary woman in the grocery store. She was the furthest thing from ordinary. She was exotic, glorious, spectacular.
And she was his, all his. At least, she would be after tonight.
With that possessive, primitive impulse gripping him, he reached out for her, touching the satiny skin of her shoulder. She felt warm and solid—not an ethereal woods nymph, but a real woman, with hot blood pulsing beneath her skin, and air rushing in and out of her lungs… and moisture gathering between her thighs. He could smell her unmistakable arousal, and it made him harder than before.
She was wet. Wet for him.
He intended to make her much, much wetter.
She was naked again, her body bared to his touch. He slid his hand down her arm, and let his other hand touch her waist. She shivered, and her eyes fluttered shut.
He lowered his head, letting his lips brush over the delicate skin where her neck met her shoulder. He was suddenly seized with an odd compulsion, the need to bite her, to make her his, for now and for always. He fought it back, and let his lips trail down her throat.
Her skin was so delicate, and he could feel her pulse beating fiercely, like birds’ wings, as the blood rushed through her veins. His hands slid around to her back, skimming up and down her spine. She felt slight and fragile in his arms—which was ridiculous. He’d made love to quite a few women, and she was no more or less fragile than any of them. In fact, she was fairly tall, if not quite Amazonian, and there was no reason for him to fear hurting her.
And yet he was suddenly aware of the terrible strength of his own body, of the way he could hurt her…
“It’s all right.” Her voice was gentle and understanding. “I am of your kind. You cannot injure me.”
He had no idea what she meant. Of course she was of his kind; they were both human. But she was right—he wouldn’t injure her during sex, any more than he’d ever injured a woman.
His hands slipped down to her ass, so that he had a double handful of warm, lush flesh. “Beautiful,” he mumbled, and his mouth went lower too, exploring the top of her breast. In the moonlight, he could see that her nipples were erect, hard with hunger and need. He bent still lower, bending his knees a little, and licked at one of her dusky pink nipples.
She cried out, clutching at him, digging her fingers into his dark hair, and need rushed through him. Mine, he thought again. Mine mine mine…
He’d never felt so possessive of a woman. He barely knew her, and yet she was his, in some way he couldn’t explain, but couldn’t deny. She was his. She would always be his.
He ran his tongue around the crinkled flesh of her nipple, tasting her sweetness, then drew her nipple into his mouth and sucked boldly. She wailed, her fingers tightening in his hair till it hurt. He didn’t mind. He suckled until she writhed against him, sobbing and crying out, and one of his hands moved around to her thigh.
Her inner thighs, he found, were damp with her moisture. He caressed her there, then raised his fingers to his nose, drawing in the scent of her. She smelled sweet and primitive and wild, and the fragrance called to something equally wild inside him. A desperate desire began to roil inside him, a need for the ultimate physical connection.
He lowered his hand and began exploring her most intimate flesh, stroking her where she was wettest, then slowly trailing his finger over her swollen clit. She wailed again, shuddering all over.
“You need this as much as I do,” he said softly.
“It’s been a year for me.” Her voice was hoarse with pleasure. “A year since I lost my mate—and as much as I loved
him, the animal in me needs this. Needs you.”
He wasn’t sure he liked hearing about her mate. Her husband. He ought to be making sympathetic noises— oh, I’m sorry for your loss, that’s terrible, my condolences—but all he could think about was her with another man’s hands on her, and the thought made him more possessive than before. She was his now, and no one else’s. He would never countenance another man’s hands on her, never ever again. He’d fight to the death before he’d let someone else touch her, damn it.
He was too far gone into lust to even wonder at the strangeness of his thoughts, the animal fierceness of them. He stroked her clit, slowly at first, then faster, and she clung to him, shaking and crying out.
She was close. He could feel it. He could smell it. She was creaming all over his hand, wound up tight, ready to explode. But he didn’t want her to come this way. He wanted to satisfy her totally.
He moved his hand away and went to his knees in front of her.
*****
His tongue—hot, velvety, heavenly—found her clit. Her attempts to satisfy herself last night had done nothing to soothe her desires. She was swollen for him, aching with the terrible need for a mate, and three strokes of his tongue were enough to send her over the edge. She clutched his hair and threw back her head, crying out his name as a tremendous climax rocked her to her very foundations.
Oh, God. Never before—it had never been like this—not even with Bryce—
He didn’t give her time to pursue the slightly disloyal thought. The heat flared through her, over and over again, and he didn’t stop, didn’t grant her mercy. His tongue was relentless, caressing her endlessly, and she came over and over again, her inner muscles convulsing hard, moisture flowing from her. She’d known she needed him, that making love to him without taking her own satisfaction had left her hot and frustrated, but she hadn’t imagined she was this wound up.
It went on until she was shrieking with it, trembling, almost too weak to stay upright. At last he slowed the motion of his tongue, allowing her to come back to earth in slowing ripples of pleasure. And then he pulled away entirely, and she fell to her knees heavily.