I slam her down on the flour-dusted counter, and the smack her ass makes against the wood punches up my spine like a warning shot. A white cloud bursts around us, powder coatingher chest, my arms, the air between us thick with sugar and flour and something feral rising under my skin.
One candy-pink bra strap has fallen off her shoulder. Her lips are swollen from kissing. A streak of flour slashes across her collarbone, and her platinum hair is a glowing gold halo in the firelight behind her.Her pupils have gone wide, nearly swallowing the color of her eyes, and I can still taste the sweetness of her mouth on my tongue.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
I lean in close, dragging the tip of my nose down that line of flour on her skin, tasting the salty sweet heat rising off her body. Her thighs twitch against my hips.
“You sure?” I ask, but my voice is already wrecked, breaking on the edge of a growl. The question is more a warning than permission. A last chance to run before I stop pretending I can let her go.
Her lips part and her answer is instant, breathless, certain. “Don’t stop.”
She digs her nails into my shoulders and yanks me down into another hungry kiss. Her lips are soft, but her mouth is all teeth and tongue and need. She moans against my tongue, hips grinding against mine, and I feel that sound like a goddamn command.
I snarl against her mouth as I pop the button on her jeans, swallowing her gasp like it belongs to me. She arches beneath my hands, panting, and I yank the denim down in one hard, brutal sweep that drags over her thighs with a satisfying scrape. A bright yip escapes her. It’s like she can’t help it. Like her fox is right there under the surface, begging to be chased.
My gaze drops. And fuck me.
Matching candy-pink lace hugs her hips and covers her pussy. It’s sweet and delicate and soaked through. My cockthrobs at the sight, stiff and pulsing against my zipper. She’s flushed, panting, wrecked, and she’s already dripping for me.
“Such a pretty little fox,” I rasp.
“So wet for my big, bad wolf.”
That does something violent to my insides. I drag my hands up her hips, over her ribs—her skin warm, soft, so fucking perfect—until I’m palming her tits through the lace. The bra’s nothing but decoration, a thin scrap that doesn’t do shit to hide the way her nipples are already pebbled tight beneath it.
I groan, low and ragged, and hook my fingers under the center. One hard pull, and it splits like it was made to be destroyed. The ruined bra falls in pieces to the flour-dusted floor.
Her tits are perfect. Round and full and tipped with the kind of cotton candy pink nipples that beg to be licked raw. I drag my tongue across the curve of one of her breasts, tasting the salt of her skin, then close my mouth over the peak and suck.
She jerks, then moans, and her back arches like she’s offering herself to me.
“So fucking sweet,” I growl against her as my hands squeeze her ass, her thighs.
The panties are next. I grip the lace and tear. The thin fabric gives way like wet paper in my hands. She gasps again, thighs twitching, and now—finally—she’s bare and open. And this time, I can touch.
My hands roam, greedy, flour streaking across her hips, her waist, her thighs. One wide, filthy handprint lands right over her tit, stark white against flushed pink, pressed there like a brand.
Mine.
The word howls in my head. The wolf claws at my skin, begging to break free.
“Yes.” I groan out loud, voice wrecked and shaking. “Mine.”
I palm the thick length of my cock through my jeans, hard and already leaking.
She meets my gaze with that sly fox smile, eyes glittering like she wants to be devoured. Wants me to ruin her. Wants me to break her open and lap up everything that spills out.
“Mmm,” she purrs, voice like warm honey. Her thighs spread wider as she tilts her head, lashes low. “All yours.”
Then she grabs my hand, pulls it to her mouth, and sucks two of my fingers in deep, hollowing her cheeks around them. She pops them free with a wet slurp, and her spit glistens over my skin, slick and hot.
“Too bad you’re not a sweets kinda guy,” she murmurs.
Growling, I squeeze her thigh with my free hand, fingers digging into the soft muscle as I drag her to the edge of the counter.
“Wicked little fox. For you, I’m whatever you want.”
I grab the open bag of sugar and plunge my wet fingers inside. I coat them, then drag them over her breasts, dusting the tight peaks of her nipples. Her breath stutters. She’s panting, writhing, her skin erupting in goosebumps as the granules grind against her soft flesh. I bend and lick her clean. I suck her nipple into my mouth and scrape my teeth over it as I lap up every last grain.
