by Hettie Ivers
“I’ll take such good care of you,” he promised as his fingertips meandered up my inner thigh, ever closer to where I was now throbbing with a desperation that bordered on madness. “Trust me.”
My thighs burned in anticipation, even as goose bumps covered my needy flesh. I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t not let it happen. I wanted it. I wanted him.
My sex was pulsing out of control. My entire body was screaming for him. I was sure I was going to expire on the spot if he didn’t touch me.
“Just breathe,” he said in that velvet baritone of his, melting away the final vestiges of my piteous, and largely feigned, resistance. “That’s all you have to do, my sweet girl.”
I squeezed the hand attached to his imprisoned forearm with both of mine and nodded against the crook of his arm.
At the first tentative brush of his fingertips against my ruined underpants, I had to bite my lip to stifle a shout. At the second exploratory touch, I nearly sobbed.
“You’re not breathing,” he noted as his fingertips retreated in favor of his warm knuckles ghosting back and forth over my quivering heat.
“Don’t stop,” I gasped, gulping air noisily into my lungs for good measure. “I’m breathing … swear!”
He chuckled, and the melodious sound held such genuine amusement and sweetness it warmed more than the space between my thighs.
“Never,” he pledged, capturing my earlobe between his lips as one large, warm hand settled boldly between my legs to cup my aching sex.
I almost shrieked. Just the sensation of his hand resting between my thighs felt so divine; so perfectly right. For the first time, a glimmer of hope streaked through me that I might at last gain some measure of relief from the all-consuming, insane sexual duress that had been tormenting me for two days.
And then I did cry out as the barest perceptible pressure from the heel of his palm began to rock adeptly against my bundle of nerves in smooth, slow circles, his fingers stroking lower, palpating my entrance through the damp barrier of my underwear as foreign words rained from his lips.
My heartbeat and my emotions raced. I tried to remember how to breathe as he trailed warm, open-mouthed kisses along my neck and back up to my ear in a woefully inadequate attempted distraction from the fact that his hand had drifted higher and was now stealing beneath the front of my panties.
“Believe me,” he nibbled lovingly on my earlobe, “I’ve never been this fucking sorry before. I may never stop apologizing.”
He might’ve said something else after that, but the moment his brilliant fingers ever so delicately skimmed over my naked clitoris and between my lips to glide along my slippery folds, I was rendered hopelessly stupefied. I was quite certain the miracle of Alex’s fingers exploring my privates was the single greatest sensation I’d ever known.
And before I could wrap my head around what was happening, I was panting a steady, repetitive chant of “oh God,” mixing it up every so often with “oh fuck,” while Alex crooned softly to me in Portuguese.
I didn’t understand anything he was saying. It could’ve been gibberish for all I knew … but in my imagination it sounded like deliciously dirty gibberish.
His fingers were already drenched with my arousal by the time the pad of his thumb assumed gentle command of my swollen clit, and one long, thick finger began to slip leisurely inside of me. A singular wail of startled pleasure escaped me as my inner walls squeezed his invading digit.
“Fuck,” he gasped. “Relax.” He drew my earlobe between his teeth and sucked as his finger slid insistently deeper despite the pressure of my internal muscles contracting reflexively against it. He groaned and muttered in Portuguese, repositioning his big thigh between my own to spread my legs wider and ease his access.
“Open up for me, angel,” he coaxed, “you’re okay … I won’t hurt you.”
My hapless brain may or may not have registered the meaning of his words. But my body registered the sensation of his thumb as it pressed more firmly against my clit and commenced rolling over it in tight circles. It felt as if fluid gushed from my already sopping center then, and more than merely open up for him, it felt like my muscles were now almost pulling his finger inside of me as he easily slipped it all the way in.
“Fuck. Fuck. That’s it,” he grunted, “that’s my sweet girl … so good … so fucking wet … so tight … so goddamned perfect …” he mumbled disjointedly before regressing to deep, sustained growling as his finger moved in and out of me.
I lost all sense of dignity and decorum then, babbling incoherently, squirming and pressing myself against his hot fingers as much as I could manage, whimpering and panting like the bitch in heat I so was.
Though mindless with need and drunk off my own desire, I still found myself growing terrified at the prospect of actually achieving that great release I was so frantic to reach now. It was all so frightfully intimate. And the mind-blowing sensations he was creating inside of me made me feel more exposed and vulnerable than ever before.
“A-Alex?” I wailed in a weak moment of pure panic.
“You’ll be okay … just let it happen,” he encouraged sweetly, his finger moving faster as the pressure that had been building inside of me escalated to an almost unbearable level. “Please, please let yourself feel good for me,” he begged.
My inner walls fluttered rapturously around him in response as he continued to discover me from the inside, gently stretching my tight channel with his skillful penetration that was at once easing my aching misery and heightening my acute sexual frustration and emotional trepidation.
“I’ve got you, Milena,” he assured, curling his arm that I was resting upon and clutching for dear life, and in doing so twisting my face back and up to his, as he consumed my mouth in a kiss that stole my breath and the very last of my functioning brain cells.
He growled into my mouth as his tongue thrust with a shameless, proprietary abandon that pillaged any remnants of modesty I was still clinging to, reducing my entire being to a lust-crazed, quivering mass of flesh.
“You kissed Kai,” he broke suction to murmur against my lips.
Huh?
“And Alcaeus.”
It took a few seconds longer than normal for my desire-drugged brain to process his words. Strangely, I noted he didn’t sound angry. Maybe a little surprised? And hurt.
Thankfully, his touch and pace between my legs hadn’t faltered in the slightest amid his discovery, because my body was positively keening for release.
“It was practice, baby,” I purred breathily back, sucking his lower lip between my teeth and tongue. “Mm-mm … not used to handling werelocks … didn’t want to hurt you …”
He growled at my cheeky response and attacked my mouth with renewed fervor, his tongue marking every inch with long, slow, deep strokes that pulled unfamiliar sounds and moans from my chest. Then he coaxed my tongue into his own mouth and sucked, and I felt my insides wildly clench at his finger as a fresh wave of arousal engulfed me.
“Fucking fuck,” he swore, breaking our lip-lock. “I’m sorry. So fucking sorry,” he apologized, much to my mush brain’s confusion. “I’m so fucking selfish … and I don’t deserve you … but you really need to come on my hand, baby. Now. Hard,” he insisted, before quickly adding a gentler, and desperate, “Please? You need it,” he justified, “and I need it … and I’m so scared I’m going to lose it soon if you don’t.”
I didn’t quite understand what he meant. But somehow my body did, my hips jerking erratically against him in compliance at the seductive timbre of his request even before his talented finger twisted and curled inside of me, causing the coiling deep within my belly to reach an unsustainable level of tension, and thrusting me closer to the precipice as he recommenced penetrating my saturated core from a new and glorious angle that set me babbling nonsensically again.
“Ungh … that’s it, baby,” he groaned, “let it happen. The sooner you soak my hand the sooner I can make you come on my tongue,�
� he enticed to my wanton delight, just before his mouth found and sucked hard at the juncture of my neck and shoulder, his thumb mercilessly flicking and mashing my clitoris in a way that sent me screaming over the cliff.
I think I may have started speaking in Portuguese as my inner walls spasmed out of control and my whole body jerked and twitched, my world as I’d known it coming apart as I shattered in orgasm against Alex’s hand. I shrieked and gasped for air as my channel continued to grip his finger repeatedly, milking it for every last ounce of pleasure it was worth buried inside of me as I finally found the blessed release I’d been dying for.
It took quite a while for my shuddering to subside, and longer still for my incessant moaning and babbling to abate. As I quieted I realized Alex was murmuring words of praise interspersed with more apologies as he kissed all over my wet face, his tongue lapping up the tears I realized now were falling again.
He removed his thigh from between mine and eased me onto my back, continuing to kiss my face and whisper sweet, tender words as I slowly unwound.
“So beautiful …” I felt his smile against my jawline. “So perfect …” I heard the certain happiness in his voice, felt the pure joy in his heart as if it resided inside of my own, and it made me sob-sigh in anguished bliss as I linked my shaky fingers behind his neck.
My wolf was happy. I was happy. If it was wrong, I didn’t care.
His finger remained buried inside of me, and all too soon his thumb began circling my engorged, sensitized clit once more. His lips found mine as his finger resumed its movement inside of me as well, stroking shallowly in and out of my soaked depths, building a leisurely rhythm that matched that of his tongue plunging inside of my mouth.
I whimpered and moaned around his invading tongue, writhing anew beneath him. I could feel myself rapidly approaching another precipice when his drenched finger eased all the way out, only to immediately re-enter me, along with a second digit. My inner muscles clamped in protest, and I gasped into his mouth as my body worked to accommodate the girth of this new penetration, my thighs seizing reflexively around his hand.
He halted his entry. His mouth abandoned mine and he lifted his head, dark, moonlit eyes assessing my features and holding my lust-dazed gaze for the first time since he’d shifted from wolf form.
Somehow his eyes appraising me in my current state proved more alarmingly personal than the physical reality of his hand entrenched amid my sex, causing a surge of apprehension to wash over me.
But then he smiled. And I melted.
“May I?” he asked. His beautiful lips were damp and swollen, and oh, so edible! I made an unintelligible noise as his thumb teased lightly over my bundle of nerves. My she-wolf purred.
“May I continue to apologize, Milena?” My name sounded more delicious and exotic falling from his lips than it ever had before. I was speechless, my eyes lost in his. I hoped they wordlessly conveyed my consent.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Alex proved to be a natural at nonverbal apology.
Had I been capable of speech, I might’ve told him so. But my world became singularly attuned to the sensation of his hot mouth learning my nipples, to his fingers playing between my thighs—sliding in and out, coaxing me to climax.
His intense obsidian eyes—at once both hard and reverent—swirled with flecks of gold as they surveyed my reactions to his ministrations, cataloguing each emotion as it played out across my features from his vantage point over me.
Each time he’d shift position upon his knees, my eyes would catch sight of his rather daunting manhood, jutting proudly from between his densely muscled thighs. It looked so hard. Heavy. Ready. So ready.
When he’d first stripped me of my wet clothes, he’d reassured me that he would only be taking care of my needs while I was in heat—promising that he wouldn’t take unfair advantage. He’d stated in no uncertain terms that we were not having sex. “Not in the strictly traditional sense,” he’d informed me with a roguish grin.
Yet I couldn’t stop stealing nervous glances in between orgasms at the long, thick organ that kept taunting me with its intermittent twitches. And my apprehension spiked when I felt his knees wedging between mine, his muscled legs forcing my trembling thighs wider apart in order for his large frame to settle between them.
“Don’t think so hard. Feel.”
He bit down on my nipple, and I swore my ovaries clenched in response as he coaxed my knees to bend and open to accommodate his desired positioning. “Let go.” By the time his lips enveloped mine, I could scarcely think at all.
“You good?” he checked when at last his lips briefly paused. I hummed in the affirmative. But he seemed to scent a trace of my remaining uncertainty.
“We’re exploring,” he quietly reminded, nipping my bottom lip between his teeth. “Discovering all the ways you can feel nice. Finding out what you like best.”
I moan-mumbled my agreement. He smiled against my mouth before kissing a path to my ear and whispering, “So if I touch you in a way you don’t like, you only have to tell me, and I’ll stop. Understand?”
I felt something inside my heart shift. But I couldn’t place it, much less put a name to the unknown emotion’s source, as I nodded.
“Promise?” he pressed.
I nodded again and that purring-growl sound I loved so much began vibrating full force from his chest, causing an electric, elemental thrill to streak through me.
My she-wolf stirred within, her primal needs clawing against my human sensibilities, battering the fear and diffidence I clung to. With certain wonderment I realized yet again that my wolf wasn’t even the tiniest bit afraid of Alex. She simply wanted him. All of him.
Where I demanded walls and safety, she wanted none. Where I needed to deny this interaction meant anything more than a strictly physical, hormonal reaction to my heat cycle, I knew she upheld it as so much more. The full implication of our inherent inner conflict hit me at the same time Alex’s weight shifted lower, his broad shoulders settling squarely between my spread thighs.
Warm breath fanned my wet folds. It was the only warning I received of his immediate intention, as without preamble, the velvet tip of his tongue licked the length of my sex from my anus to my pulsating nub. My body jerked in shock and I nearly choked on my own tongue as he proceeded to blow lightly over the trail his tongue had made.
“Gorgeous,” he murmured, the awe in his voice distracting me from delivering the protest on my lips.
My she-wolf mewled, and I arched into him before I could control my body’s response. He licked me again, this time with the flat of his tongue, and I had to stifle a cry as my hips lurched reflexively forward, straight into his awaiting mouth.
He groaned in unabashed enjoyment as his fingers stroked and spread my lips and his tongue made slow, tracing sweeps, flicking lightly—and far too briefly—across my clit with each casual pass.
I panted for air like my life depended on it, my mind divided between screaming for him to stop and begging for him to go faster and apply more pressure where I wanted it most.
I did neither, choosing instead to babble unintelligibly as my entire body commenced quivering with need. I stared unseeingly at the night sky above, restlessly clutching and twisting the blankets beneath me as his lips brushed leisurely over the most intimate part of me.
His tongue flirted with my entrance before thrusting fully inside. I managed to sob out “please” as my inner muscles convulsed and tightened.
Good God! His tongue felt thicker and longer than I was sure a normal human tongue should have as it began to fuck me—driving hungrily in and out, lapping greedily at the evidence of my arousal.
My belly shook. My hips jerked erratically within his firm grip, my muscles trembling with exhaustion from their ongoing exertion.
When his tongue retreated, it was replaced with two fingers, and I broke out in a fevered sweat, shivers of strained anticipation racking my body as his digits pumped in and out at too calm a pace. I suc
cumbed to nonsensical begging, and was rewarded when Alex’s lips closed mercifully around my aching clit at last, drawing it into his mouth.
He sucked with fervor on my sensitive button. And then he growled—the vibration creating such a pleasurable sensation it defied sanity.
I saw stars! I tilted my pelvis up into his mouth and thrusting fingers with all the strength I had left, choking out a broken chorus of “yes” and “please, Alex?”
He gave just enough to send me careening over the precipice, while still holding back, sustaining a meticulous, controlled tempo that wrung a release from me so exquisitely slow and gentle the pleasure bordered on pain as he deftly drew it out until my self-awareness was reduced to grunts and primal keening.
“Let go.” His words vibrated through me. Literally.
He’d spoken them with my sex engulfed in his brilliant, torturous mouth. He spoke them again, and my fists yanked furiously at his hair while I continued to crumble apart in ecstasy.
I wanted to cry. To scream I hated him. To stab him through the heart for making me feel something so cruelly divine. Something that, despite my inexperience, instinctively I realized I might never be able to achieve with anyone else. He was at once educing and staking claim to a part of me I feared I might never find the means to recapture without him.
And then he proceeded to rumble one reverent “sorry” after another against me, each word of apology vibrating and rolling unerringly through my undulating body and fracturing psyche as I rode out my seemingly unending wave of orgasm to its protracted, agonizing conclusion.
It was as glorious as it was devastating. As enslaving as it was liberating. Because I knew I would never be able to walk away from Alex now without leaving a part of myself behind.
I felt almost silly for having considered myself laid vulnerable before, as now I’d come completely undone, my self-control and composure hopelessly fragmented.
Alex gathered the scattered pieces of me as I came back to myself, batting my fists against his shoulder.