Startled surprise first, then heat flooded her gaze as she registered exactly how deep he was. His inner sadist needed more, so he slid her right leg over his forearm and lifted it high and wide, opening her completely. The position pulled the inflamed joint exactly the way he knew it would hurt the most, and she sucked in a sharp breath, eyelids flaring, pupils blowing wide.
Knife held her stare, never breaking eye contact as he began to move with long, deliberate strokes that dragged over every oversensitive inch inside her.
He held both legs high while forcing them wide apart, and she held her breath, fighting the pain. Every thrust made the inflammation flare hotter. He could see it in every flinch, every shudder. He could feel it in the way she tried to push her legs lower, the way she fought his hold.
Then something shifted. She breathed through it instead of holding her breath, and she stopped fighting him with her legs.
Arousal bloomed thick in her scent, threading through the sharp edge of pain until the two were wound so tight he couldn’t tell which was driving her anymore.
Her hips tilted up to meet him, chasing the very motion that hurt, and he could only marvel at her ability to turn this kind of pain into pleasure without his fingers on her clit, or instructions —orders— to relax and accept it.
He had no idea if the pain had pushed her over the edge, or his dominance, or maybe the way he held her down and took what he wanted without asking, but he kept the pace slow, almost lazy, his gaze locked on hers while he fucked her deep and steady. The room was quiet except for the wet sounds of movement, their heartbeats, and the soft, broken noises coming from her.
She gripped his shoulders, strong fingers curling, nails digging in, but she wasn’t trying to push him away. No, she was holding on, riding the wave of hurt and ecstasy.
Gradually, he went faster, letting the pace build organically until he was driving into her, pistoning in and out, still holding the leg where it would hurt the most, using the damage like a lever to keep her right on the edge oftoo much.
“Come for me, little wolf.”
She shattered on the command, back arching, a raw cry tearing out of her throat. Her walls clamped down on him in rhythmic, desperate pulses, milking him so perfectly it dragged his own orgasm up from the center of his balls like a freight train.
Another dozen punishing drives into her, and he buried himself to the hilt and let it take him.
The release went through him like a jackhammer. Pleasure slammed through every nerve, white and blinding, emptying him in thick, endless pulses. He growled low and savage, hips grinding deep as he poured into her — hot, heavy spurts that kept coming, wave after wave until his vision tunneled and his balls ached with the force of it.He gave her everything, every drop, every last bit of the tension he’d been carrying since the moment she’d walked into his shop.
His wolf howled inside him, triumphant and possessive, drinking down the mingled scent of her pain and pleasure like it was the finest thing he’d ever tasted.
When the last shudder finally left him, he stayed buried deep, breathing hard, forehead pressed to hers. Her eyes were glassy, cheeks wet, body still trembling around him.
Then he caught the sharp spike of fresh pain rolling off her, obliterating all pleasure, and he pulled out and ordered, “Change.”His voice was rough, but he swallowed and added, “Now. Let her out.”
He rolled to the side, and she didn’t hesitate, the magic sparking and igniting with a speed he rarely saw, so she was nearly instantly fur and paws, muzzle and teeth, and she wasgorgeous.
Paler than most grey wolves, her face and forelegs more off-white than grey, with dark charcoal ears, along with darker patches and stripes along her back. Her snout was nearly white, with a black button nose. The early morning light lit her guard hairs so they nearly sparkled, and he thought her wolf was just as beautiful as the human.
She blinked up at him, golden eyes still hazy with aftershocks, then pushed her muzzle against his chest and headbutted him once, hard, like she was claiming him right back. A low, satisfied rumble vibrated through her ribs. She rubbed her cheek along his jaw, then his throat, scent-marking him with deliberate, possessive strokes.
Knife’s wolf surged forward, not to shift but to meet her, pressing against the inside of his skin with a hunger that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with recognition. He buried his fingers in her thick ruff, scratching behind her ears exactly the way he knew her wolf would like, and she melted against him with a contented chuff before she headbutted him again, hard, and then scent-marked all over him, her face hard and ruthless against his human skin.
And his own wolf reveled in the fact she wanted to claim him, while the human man knew they couldn’t keep each other.
Fuck. He hadn’t asked her about breakfast. Was she strong enough to go back to human and eat, or should he give her some raw venison from his fridge?
“You want deer meat?” he asked the wolf, “or shall we sit at a table and eat omelets and crisp bacon like civilized people?”
- - -?- - -
Tuesday’s wolf understood the question and let Tuesday decide.
And really, there wasn’t a decision to make. She wanted omelets and deer steaks, so she flashed back to human, pushed him to his back, and slung a leg over his body so she sat on him and looked down on him.
“I’ll make the omelets while you handle some venison steaks. Seared and rare.”
He grinned. “Woman after my heart. You’re probably starving, but I need a quick shower. Go on down and get started, and I’ll just be a few minutes behind.”
She was absolutely starving. Twochangesback-to-back left her beyond famished,andconveniently meant she didn’t need a shower.
“Yeah. That works. What do you want in your omelet?”
