What do I want to do with him?
I don’t remember ever having this much control with a man before. Testing the waters, I place my fingertips on the collar of his shirt, then trace them upward. His skin is so warm; it’s like a massage for my fingertips. When I reach his jaw, stubble scrapes me in a surprisingly pleasurable way. So close, I watch as heswallows, his throat working on the movement. I can hear each of his long, controlled exhales.
Roderick’s lips aren’t lush pillows begging for me to sink into. Again, they make me think of stone. A hard, unforgiving granite.
Do I want to kiss a hard mouth?
Yes, I do.
I want to dominate it. I want to be the one to make stone yield.
But force isn’t the right move. I don’t ram my face against Roderick’s. Instead, I brush my lips across his, testing the texture. Stealing a taste.
Roderick’s fingers flex on my hips, but he makes no move to take over.
For a mouth that looks like granite, his lips give easily, moving with mine. Following where I lead him.
The sensation is …
Powerful.
Holy hell, I could get off from the way I control this situation. Moving whereIwant to. Tasting whatIwant to.
Roderick’s buzzed hair tickles my palms as I cup his head, guiding him to tilt his skull back just a bit more. A better angle for me.
My kissing is selfish, but he grunts a pleased noise when I run my tongue over his bottom lip, so maybe the wolf likes when I take what I want.
Then I feel the hardness of him rise between us, and Iknowhe does.
But that thought has me pausing. I know better than most that a physical response does not actually mean the person is enjoying themself.
“If you want this to stop,” I say, my voice breathy but firm, “tell me to stop.”
Maybe that’s silly, me thinking a mythically strong creature needs to be reminded they can say no. ButIneed to know that he knows that turning me down is an option.
Roderick still doesn’t look at me, keeping his dark eyes fixed lower, where my nipples press against my thin T-shirt. His gaze as heavy as a caress.
“Don’t stop,” he growls. “Use me.”
I shiver. Sounds like enthusiastic consent to me.
I reclaim Roderick’s stern mouth, licking when I want to lick, sucking when I want to suck, biting when I want to bite. As his length wedges against the apex of my thighs, my hips ache to rock. To grind.
He said I could use him, didn’t he?
To test that offer, I press forward, teasing myself with the pressure of him.
Roderick’s breath hisses out, his head falling back with a thunk against the leg of my kitchen table. The position puts his strong neck on display, and I experiment with pressing kisses down the tense muscle. Somehow, he grows harder between us.
My entire body tingles with aroused nerves, feeding the urge to utilize this delicious man to reach a level of ecstasy I’ve only fantasized about.
I’m not scared. I’m not anxious. I’m finally feeling in control, and it’s euphoric.
My hips rock against Roderick, the rhythm strong and steady.
This is nothing like being with Cory.
I hate that my ex still lingers on the edge of my thoughts. Even until the very end, I found a twisted kind of pleasure in our encounters. Cory knew the spots on my body to touch to bring on a physical response—there was no avoiding that.
