Her fingers glide along my length, slow and firm, attending to every ridge while her tongue strokes against mine in a rhythmthat mirrors her hand. I breath in sharp bursts through my nose — breaking this kiss is not an option.
She pulls back, taking me in with seductive approval. “You’re so hard for me already.” She tightens her grip around the base and pulls upward in one long, devastating stroke. “So big.”
My skull knocks back against the wall. “God, Rhiannon. Keep talking like that and it’ll go to my head.”
She flashes me a grin. “Maybe I want it to go to your head.”
Then, she drops to her knees in front of me.
Well, damn.My entire respiratory system forgets its function.
The Commander of the Crescent Guard, the woman who faces down wolves and councils and ancient enemies without flinching, is on her knees in the moonlight, looking up at me with those golden-brown eyes, her dark hair falling around her bare shoulders. Her expression is one of pure desirous hunger. She looks like a goddess from a myth: powerful and beautiful and dangerous even in this position —especiallyin this position, because there is nothing submissive about the way she’s looking at me.
Rhiannon is like a lioness choosing to be generous, a woman with more than enough power to destroy me deciding to please me instead.
The image ingrains itself behind my eyes with the weight of something sacred.
Rhiannon on her knees while I watch her from above, her hand working me while she holds my gaze, is almost too much. I’m looking down at the most incredible and formidable woman I’ve ever known, and she’s looking up at me like I’m the only thing in this world worth wanting.
She strokes me twice more, her grip twisting at the crown, then guides my cock forward and teases the swollen head across one peaked nipple, then the other.
I hold my breath as she lowers, positioning her mouth, and the distant, still-functioning part of my brain goes silent. I do my best not to come undone by this sight alone.
Her lips stretch around me as she takes me in. Slowly, the wet heat of her mouth envelops me inch by inch. Every muscle locks up. My breath leaves me in a sharp hiss. One of my hands finds its way to the back of her head. Her dark waves spill through my fingers like silk, impossibly soft, catching the light in threads of auburn and black. I don’t push or guide her. I just hold onto her. Just absorb the sensation even as it overwhelms me.
My other hand finds her jaw and cups it gently, my thumb brushing her cheekbone, anchoring myself to the gentleness of the touch while her mouth works me in ways that defy description.
She finds a rhythm and devours me, tongue, teeth, hand working in unison. Being the thing the Commander wants this badly threatens to undo me faster than any physical sensation could.
Then, her growl returns. That deep, chest-level rumble, resonating through her mouth and around my cock. It’s low and possessive, almost subsonic, traveling through the most sensitive nerve endings in my body.
“Fuck. . .” My words don’t cohere. They dissolve in my throat.
She hasn’t stopped. Hasn’t slowed. Her eyes lock onto mine from below, and she takes me in deeper, that rumble traveling through every nerve ending I possess, and the message in her gaze is unmistakable.
Instead of the alarm that any rational person might feel at the sound of a Lycan growling with their cock in her mouth, a bolt of arousal rips through me so intense my vision grays at the edges.
“Rhiannon.” My voice comes out ragged. My hand tightens in her hair, tugging it gently while giving her room to pull back. “I’m— Fuck, I’m going to—”
Her mouth releases me with a deliberate, agonizing slowness that nearly ends me right there. Her tongue drags along the full length of my shaft as she withdraws, leaving a wet trail of heat that makes my abs contract so hard every individual muscle screams. A thin strand of saliva connects her lower lip to the tip of my cock for one suspended second before it breaks.
She takes me in both hands and presses the head of my cock against her chest, nestling me between her breasts. The feeling of it washes over me in layers. There’s the slickness from her mouth, the surprising heat from whatever furnace burns inside her Lycan body, and the softness of her skin against the straining ache of me. She encloses my shaft in her pillowy breasts and strokes, her hands working in tandem, and the visual alone nearly kills me.
Her eyes are locked onto mine. And there it is again: that flash of amber bleeding through the golden-brown of her irises, there and gone like heat lightning. Her pupils are dark and deep as the night sky.
“Come on me.” She speaks those three words with the same authority she uses to command armies. There’s no room for hesitation. No option for negotiation. No chance of delay.
Chapter 47 — Ethan
The sight of my cock moving rhythmically between her breasts while she looks up at me with those wolf-bright eyes short-circuits my wiring. My body obeys before my brain fully registers the command.
“Fuck. . .” The orgasm tears through me like a current: white-hot, obliterating, starting at my core and triggering a chain reaction through every nerve in my body. My hips jerk forward against the mesmerizing softness of her chest, and I watch my cock spill my release across her flesh in thick, pulsing streaks while she holds me there, steady, her hands never faltering.
“Rhiannon—” Her name comes out in a savage sound I’ve never made before, drawn from a place I didn’t know existed.
She strokes me through every shudder, every aftershock, her pace gentling as I finish emptying myself. Her eyes stay locked on mine the entire time. They’re amber — fully amber now, with no hint of brown left. They’re glowing like embers in the half-light. Her wolf is watching me come apart with a satisfaction that is ancient and primal and completely, terrifyingly hers.
An all-powerful warrior on her knees in my chambers, my essence dripping down to her nipples, gloating like she just won a war.
