She makes a breathy sound and her hips lift, instinctive. I keep one hand on her hip, holding her down gently.
“Easy,” I murmur.
Her eyes are wide, watching me. “Wolf…”
I hum against her, and the vibration pulls another gasp from her mouth.
I take my time. Slow strokes. Steady pressure. I learn what makes her tighten, what makes her soften, what makes her tremble.
Her legs start to shake. Her hand tightens in my hair. “I’m gonna…”
I lift my head, mouth glistening, and look up at her. “Let it happen.”
Then I go back down and give her exactly what she needs. My tongue moves faster, tighter circles, and her breath breaks apart into little sounds she can’t control. Her hips lift again, and I hold her steady, letting her ride the pleasure without hurting herself.
She cries out, and her body clamps tight, shaking hard. I keep my mouth on her through it, not stopping, not pulling away. I hold her as she comes, like I’m teaching her she doesn’t have to be embarrassed by what she feels.
When she finally slumps back, trembling, I kiss her softly and climb back up the bed. Her eyes are glossy, dazed.
She looks wrecked.
Beautiful.
I brush hair off her cheek and kiss her mouth gently. The taste of her pussy is still on my tongue.
She exhales, shaky. “Oh my God.”
A low laugh rumbles out of me. “You okay?”
She nods quickly. “Yes.”
I slide my hand down her side, careful around her hip. “Still sore?”
“A little,” she admits, cheeks red again.
I kiss her forehead. “Then we don’t push it.”
Her hand returns to my chest, fingers tracing slow circles like she can’t help herself. That touch hits me harder than it should.
She looks up at me, shy and bold at the same time. “You really meant it,” she whispers.
“What?”
“When you said… I’m yours.”
My jaw tightens. I don’t like how much my chest aches at the question. I lower my mouth to her ear.
“I meant it,” I say. “And I’m going to keep meaning it.”
Her breath catches. “Wolf.”
“My name is Kayce Hogan,” I tell her. “Wolf is what the Army called me.”
Her brows knit. “Why?”
I exhale once, short. The answer isn’t pretty.
“Because I didn’t let go,” I say. “Because when they sent me after something, I brought it back. Because I kept moving when other men stopped.”
