AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My breath shivers, and my skin catches fire. I can’t feel my face, but I know it’s as red as my hair. Every part of me throbs.
“You’re no good to me dead.” He removes his grease-soiled shirt, watching me peruse his scarred, chiseled physique. “I will not let you go.”
Fizzy, glowy heat shimmers low in my belly.
He reclines in the chair, the metal groaning as he straightens those powerful legs, manspreading. His hands drop to the latch on his belt. He slides it free from the loops. Lets it fall to the floor.
Then he crooks a long finger.
My body jerks forward as if yanked by a string attached to that finger.
This man is a menace. Raised in the wild. Savage to the core. Mercurial. Feral. And always hungry.
But as I devour the shape of him—the blades of his collarbone, the vascular strength of his arms, the grooves of granite abs that ripple into the waistband of his jeans—I’m the one who feels feral.
He points to the floor between his boots.
I kneel because I’m selfish, too. I want his beautiful cock any way I can get it.
“So fucking pretty,” he growls with a hard yank on his zipper.
He springs free, fully erect, all ten thick and imposing inches of him. The plump head shines with precome. My mouth waters for his dark taste. I want to dig my tongue into his slit and savor that salty pearl before it drips free.
“Eat it.”
He even thinks like an animal. There’s no lick it or suck it. That’s too domesticated.
Because predators don’t suck. They consume.
I love his wildness and give him what he wants, taking him to the back of my throat, scraping him with my teeth, and choking, gagging, drooling. It’s messy. It’s pornographic. God help me, I eat him up as he throws back his head and howls.
“Fuuuuuuck!” He drives his hips, banging my throat. “Fucking hell, you feel sinful. Take it, love. Take it all.”
When I can’t breathe, he eases out, strokes my cheek. Then he fucks my mouth again.
My throat will bruise. It always does with him. I want that. Maybe that makes me twisted, but I wear the passion of his thrusts with pride.
And he wears mine. Bruises from my grip on his thighs. Welts from my fingernails on his back. Cuts from my teeth on his lips.
Marks of hunger.
Brands of devotion.
The harder we fuck, the deeper we dig. Every time we’re together, we fight to get inside each other. Like we’re lost in a mating frenzy.
Like we’re mating for life.
“My turn.” He clamps a hand behind my neck and hauls me up, directly to his mouth.
He didn’t come, yet he devours my lips as if trying to suck every drop of his essence from my tongue. Licking, feeding, his kiss crawls so deep I feel him in my skull, in my lungs, in the chambers of my heart.
Our tongues hunt and duel, rolling and lapping like starved things. His hands are everywhere, our bodies sliding and grinding together. Our noses collide. Our hips rock. We’re a dance of fire. A frenzy of need. He kisses me as if I’m his last meal.
It’s the most consuming connection of my life.
In the next breath, he’s on his feet, pivoting, taking me with him, and spreading me out on the workbench.
My clothes join his on the floor.
Then he claims me. First, with his savage hands. Then his savage mouth. Then he yanks my hips to the edge of the counter, pins me with feral eyes, and claims me in a hard, slick, savage thrust with a snarl on his lips. “Drench my fucking cock.”
60
Kodiak
—
I hear them through the door.
My breath quickens, fogging in the snowlight.
The arctic cold sneaks beneath the collar of my furs, doing nothing to alleviate the heat scorching my skin.
Wolf told me what happened to Frankie in the kitchen. I need to talk to her. Need to see for myself that she’s okay. But…
Muffled moans drift from within the workshop. Moans of pleasure.
Her moans.
Yeah. She’s doing just fine.
I rest my brow against the door.
Fuck me.
I brought her dinner. She needs to eat.
I can’t wait out here. My ravaged leg aches from the short trek, and I’m sure as shit not turning back. If they’re going to fuck where anyone can walk in, that’s what I’m doing. I’m walking in.
Hand on the knob, I open the door in a swirling gust of snow. It crusts my whiskers and clings to my eyelashes.
I take a minute to brush the flakes off my fur coat. Stomp my boots. Shake the slush from my hair. Place the dinner containers on a shelf. Brace a metal pipe beneath the doorknob. Stalling. Giving them time to get decent. Trying to prepare myself for Leo’s wrath.
But nothing can prepare me for what I find when I lift my eyes to the sight across the room.
