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I take my time. This isn’t foreplay, it’s the main event. For her pleasure only, not that satisfying her won’t satisfy me, too, on some level.
I trace her inner lips with the tip of my tongue, then tease her entrance. I find her clit and swirl around it until her legs start to grow restless.
Then I catch her knees and push them up to spread her wide for me. I kiss and suck with more fervor, and she starts to moan and cry out. I work a couple fingers inside her and stroke her inner wall, seeking the place where the tissue stiffens and swells under my fingertips.
Madison rolls her pelvis, her knees clamping around my ears. I use my tongue on her clit at the same time I pump my fingers in and out, and she starts to arch her back and pull my hair. With my other hand, I slip my thumb between the crack of her ass to find her anus. The moment I rub it, she comes, her internal muscles squeezing my fingers, her knees clapping against my ears as she cries out hoarsely.
It was a small orgasm, but considering what she’s been through, I think it’s enough. Her body needs rest and sustenance. Using up what little fuel she has left on pleasure would be a mistake.
I climb up beside her and nest my body against hers, even though she’s no longer freezing. She no longer requires skin-to-skin contact. I don’t care–I do. I wrap an arm around her waist and listen as her breaths grow longer, and she falls into a gentle sleep.
Good. My wolf’s content at having her safely asleep in my arms. Recovering from her trauma.
* * *
“You’re still here?” she asks when she wakes an hour later.
Okay, she’s still mad at me. I deserve that.
Rather than grovel again, I go Big Bad Boss on her. I climb over her and pin both her wrists down beside her head. “You’re not quitting.”
Her gaze meets mine then skates away. But it returns to my face. There’s a vulnerability in it that makes my chest ache.
“What would it take to get you to stay?”
She lifts her chin at a stubborn angle. “Invite me to Thanksgiving dinner with you.”
Now that she says it, I realize the scent of turkey roasting, along with sweeter notes of pumpkin and apple pies have filled the room.
“Ugh. You want to eat with my fucked up family? I was going to use you nearly dying in a snowstorm as my excuse not to go. Can’t we skip it?”
She studies my face. She wants to know more about the drama with my mom. She needs to be included. I pushed her tender spot by making her feel unwelcome and socially slighted. The thing about putting her in the servant’s quarters? It never would have occurred to me that’s what she would think. But now I remember the story about her dad. He was rich and her mother was a nobody, not good enough to marry. She must carry that wound close to her heart.
“Fine,” I say, even though having her at Thanksgiving dinner is the last thing I want. “You’re probably the only reason it will not be a shit show. What else?”
“I want a raise.” Her voice is flat, like she’s defeated rather than elated by the idea. Usually money tweaks her–although I guess that’s the double-edged sword. It was her perception of her own lack that allowed me to hurt her so badly.
“How much?”
“Double.”
“Done.”
I see none of her usual glee at winning a negotiation, and it makes my chest throb even more. She rolls out of the bed with her back to me and walks toward the bathroom. She looks small and so fucking fragile.
Fuck. She almostdiedtoday. But worse is the effect on her spirit.
Crushing her spirit was the last thing I ever wanted to do. I need to figure out how we can recover from this.
The shower turns on in the bathroom.
The logical thing would be for me to leave. To give her some privacy now. But somehow I know if I leave her now, she’ll be lost to me forever. Even with the taste of her still on my tongue, I haven’t recovered her heart yet.
Fuck–her heart?
When did I everwanther heart? I scrub a hand over my face. I want to deny this attachment I have to her, but I can’t. Everyone in this lodge just witnessed the depth and extent of it today when I went insane over her safety.
So I stay. I fold my hands behind my head and try not to think of how glorious she must look under the spray of water. Nakedandwet.
