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The amusement instantly vanishes, to be replaced by a look so tender it makes my heart stutter. “Baby, all anyone needs to do is catch your scent all over me and they’ll know I’m yours.” He suddenly gives me what I think of as his wolfish grin. “Though I totally approve of biting as foreplay, just so you know.”
I flush with arousal at the memory of his biting my ass, and I nip him again on the thigh, this time a lot harder. His leg jerks and his breathing quickens, his chest moving up and down rapidly. I allow myself a smug grin. Obviously, he felt that bite. Now back to the business at hand.
Garrett is practically quivering with excitement now, and his cock is beyond hard. I stroke a finger up the engorged, veiny shaft to the huge mushroom head, swollen dark red and leaking copious pre-cum. I sneak a glance up at his face, and he looks like he’s about to come already.
But now that I’m here and face to face with his cock, I’m getting a little nervous that he won’t be able to fit in my mouth. Damn, he really is big. I decide to stall for time and kiss and fondle his balls, and he groans like he’s in agony.
Feeling bolder now, I lick a path up the shaft and swirl my tongue around the tip, tasting his pre-cum. I stroke his cock slowly as I lick the head, using my lips and tongue to tease him. I’m really enjoying this, and I know he is too by the noises he’s making and the way his body arches toward my mouth. In fact, I’m enjoying this so much that I really want to take him into my mouth now, and slide my lips around the crown and nearly choke. Yeah, I will definitely need to practice this a lot. Not exactly a hardship.
Garrett doesn’t seem to notice my ineptitude, though, and is panting and groaning his pleasure. “Damn, baby, this feels so good. Your mouth is perfect. You’re so beautiful.”
Humming happily, I suck as much of his cock as I can fit into my mouth and feverishly stroke the shaft with both hands. Garrett thrusts his hips up, and his cock slides in deeper, and I immediately back up, not ready to be deepthroating his giant cock yet. But the motion is exactly what he wants, and he arches again. This I can do, and I bob my head shallowly on his cock. “Yeah, that’s it, baby, please do it again,” he moans in encouragement.
Up and down I go, and it gets me hotter than I thought possible. I squeeze my thighs together; my clit pounds an urgent demand. His cock grows even harder and thicker under my hands.
Suddenly, I’m jerked away. I moan in dismay.
“The knot,” Garret explains grimly.
“But, I wanted—”
He kisses me roughly, his mouth bruising my lips. “I know, but later. When you’re more used to it. I’ll teach you.”
He pulls me onto his lap, draping one leg over each of his, spreading me wide for his touch. He slides three fingers down my pussy and then into my channel.
“Ah, you’re ready for me,” he says in supreme satisfaction.
I wriggle delightedly. “Always.”
He withdraws his fingers and grabs his cock. Slowly he impales me. I whimper with pleasure as he stretches me wide, my inner muscles contracting around him as I force myself to take all of him.
Garrett grabs my hand and brings it to his chest. “Up until I met you, I didn’t know what life was. Now, my heart is full. Each breath I take is sweeter when you are near me. Each color is more vibrant; each scent is richer. Until you, I was only half a man. I am now complete. That is what it means to be your mate.”
His eyes lock onto mine, and a look of such complete adoration stops my heart for an endless moment before it resumes beating. It’s beating for him.
Yes, I think. YES!
His hands come up to cup my breasts, and I lean toward them, toward him. When our lips are nearly touching, I whisper, “My mate.”
Beauty in Spring
by Kati Wilde
Read on for an excerpt from Beauty in Spring.
Chapter One
Cora
“Are you sure about this, luv?”
It’s the first thing that the hired driver, George, has said since picking me up from my London hotel just before dawn, when the full moon still lingered just above the western horizon. Since then we’ve traveled almost two hundred miles north, but the silence between us over the course of those four hours was a comfortable one. I was too preoccupied for conversation, anyway—with nerves tumbling in my belly, my heart full of hope, and my imagination racing as I pictured how Blackwood Manor might have changed in the ten years I’ve been away.
But I never imagined this. George stopped the car in front of the manor’s gatehouse—the house where I lived the first fifteen years of my life. The stone structure straddles the lane that leads to Blackwood Hall, and serves as the entrance to the estate. While I was growing up, never once were those wrought-iron gates closed. Instead they were always open, inviting visitors to continue on toward the great manor house that sits like a crown upon the escarpment overlooking the woodlands and beautifully tended grounds.
Yet now those gates are closed. The heavy rusted chain looped between the wrought-iron bars looks as if it has been there almost as long as I’ve been gone. A weathered sign reading “No Trespassing” hangs from the gatehouse arch. The gatehouse itself, traditionally the home of Blackwood Manor’s groundskeeper, appears utterly abandoned.
And those grounds are no longer beautifully tended. The overgrown lawn beyond the gate looks as if no one has held the groundskeeper’s position since my father left—since he took me from Blackwood Manor, the only home I’d ever known. The home I’ve been dreaming of returning to for ten years.
But judging by the disrepair of the gatehouse and estate grounds, that home looks as if it has been left to rot. And instead of nerves in my belly and a heart full of hope, now despair thickens sourly in my chest.
Why had I been brought here? When I was contacted by the Blake family’s solicitor two weeks ago, he said that my father’s former employers had learned of his recent death and wished to discuss the repayment of a debt. As far as I was aware, they hadn’t owed my father anything, and the solicitor hadn’t been forthcoming with details. All I could imagine was that a severance had gone unpaid when he’d left their employ and they intended to bestow it upon his only living relative. Whatever debt they owe, they apparently felt it needed to be paid in person, so they arranged for me to travel from the Seattle airport to London, then hired a driver to bring me here.
But why? Clearly the Blakes don’t live here now. If anyone still resided at Blackwood Hall, then those gates would not have gone unopened and chained for as long as they appear to have been. There would be some sign of the staff coming and going, because an estate and house of this size simply cannot function without people to care for it.
Yet obviously no one has been, and seeing the neglect feels as if a razor is slicing away at my heart.
The driver softly clears his throat. “Would you like me to take you back to the village, then, and see you settled at the inn?”
I tear my gaze from the gatehouse’s sagging roof and broken windows. At the inn? A flutter of panic quivers through the heavy despair.
The reason I never returned to Blackwood Manor before now is simply because I couldn’t. Especially after my father’s long illness
. Even before that, however, money has been scarce for years.
And although the Blakes bought my plane ticket and hired George to drive me here, those arrangements didn’t include a return trip—or a stay at a village inn. I assumed that would all be taken care of after I arrived. Blackwood Hall doesn’t lack for guest rooms…and, in truth, I’d hoped that I wouldn’t have to make that return trip back to the States. I’d hoped that there might be a place for me here, and that I’d either find employment on the estate—
Or something more. Because the estate isn’t the only thing I left behind.
It’s not the only thing I’ve dreamed of returning to all these years.
Because there’s always been Gideon.
Gideon Blake, with eyes as green as spring and with a devil’s smile. Two years older than me, we grew up together on the estate, but he was never like a brother—and always a friend. Until he was almost more than a friend. But we never got further than a kiss and a promise.
Then my father left his position here and put half a world between me and Gideon.
Of course I knew that my return might mean nothing to Gideon, and that everything I’ve hoped for was just a silly girl’s dream—I can hardly expect him to remember a promise of love he made ten years ago, as a boy of seventeen—yet the possibility of finding a job on the estate hadn’t seemed so silly.
I never dreamed that no one would be here at all, though. So I can’t stay. But I’ve also got nowhere else to go. There’s nothing left for me in Washington and the little coastal town where my father and I lived, even if I could afford the plane ticket back.
