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“Don’t remind me anyone else has ever made you feel good before. It makes me . . . unhinged.”
Ohhh. “I told you I want the wolf.” I meant it, too. “I want you as you are. Possessive and all.”
He lifted his forehead, and a haunted, almost sad expression was there. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he answered earnestly. “I’m not.” But then he kissed me again, stealing my ability to ask him to explain.
Distracted from my question by his tongue in my mouth and his touch between my legs, I kissed him back. Hard. Furiously intense, thirteen years of pent-up desire and guilt boiling over into passion and teeth and tongues.
His savage growl that fell into my mouth between kisses as he pushed his fingers inside me compelled me to take a chance and touch him as well. Hopefully, he’d let me.
I reached between us, our arms lining up alongside each other, the only barriers between our bodies, and I shoved my hand down his sweats.
Oh. My. God.
The man wasn’t kidding about hurting me.
He was thick.
I felt his smile on my lips, letting me know he’d read my mind and my shock.
I did my best to get a firm grasp of him, to stroke his cock with the same glorious rhythm he finger-fucked me. He was huge, so our arms battled for space. Nearly breaking my promise to be quiet, I moaned in frustration when he stopped his ministrations, pulling his hand from my pants.
“One at a time, angel.” He captured my wrist and removed my hand before going back to my pussy. “You first. Always.”
“Is this . . . how you normally do . . .?” Why was I asking that while he fingered me? Maybe I was jealous, too.
He found my eyes, never stopping touching me, though. “No, it’s not. Not at all.”
The way he said it, the look in his eyes, it all came home to me. He felt the connection, too. He’d admitted at the house it was real. It was all happening so fast, but maybe the decade-plus of me wanting him meant this was the slowest of all burns and not instalove.
“Fuck it,” he rasped. “I have to taste you.” He reared back to his knees, peeled down my pants and panties to my thighs and stared at me for a moment.
“So pink and swollen for me. Fucking fuck, Diana.” He tore a hand through his hair, chest heaving from deep breaths as his eyes raked over my body. I propped myself up on my forearms to see him better, to take in how he was looking at me. “You’re so goddamn beautiful I don’t think I can handle how you make me?—”
I swallowed back my surprised squeal when he moved off the bed, gently dragging me to the edge as he went. He deftly finished removing my panties and yoga pants, hooked my knees over his shoulders, and buried his face between my thighs.
Holy.
Freaking.
Hell.
The moment his mouth fused with my pussy, I had to slap both hands over my mouth to hold in my scream.
He claimed my center with his tongue. Owned it with his mouth. Captured my soul with his achy need for me that went beyond sex.
I latched my ankles behind his head, lifting my ass off the bed, and gasped as his hand went around to my backside, squeezing my flesh hard while his tongue slid over me. In me.
Dizzy and breathless was my new favorite plane of existence.
But when this man’s hand slid around to my other hole, and he applied pressure there with his thumb, it was sensory overload to the max. It took all my restraint not to bite my own hand to prevent me from yelling out his name.
Freeing one hand from my mouth, I grabbed hold of his head, clawing at his thick head of hair.
His moans against my clit nearly destroyed my ability to keep quiet yet again.
“I’m—I’m . . .” My nipples were painfully hard, and my entire body tensed as every nerve ending lit up. “Come-coming.” I trembled almost violently. “Carter,” I whispered, a piece of me breaking on the inside. A fragment I’d happily hand over to him to own forever. He seemed to know. To accept it. Savor it.
