Page 71 of Crashing Tides

And then he pulls off me. A strand of saliva connects his wicked grin to my cock. I make a wounded noise, reeling from this sudden betrayal. “Wait, what?” I say stupidly, and he bites the inside of my thigh, just hard enough to sting.

“Oh, fuck,” I groan. I want him to mark me. To leave tiny little claiming bruises all over my body, inescapable reminders that he wanted me, at least for these few minutes. It’s not a thought I’ve ever had before. It scares me as much as it excites me.

“Better?” He peers up at me through thick lashes, then bites me again.

I am not better. If he keeps this up, he is going to kill me, and it is going to be magnificent. “You’ve convinced me,” I pant. “Sorry.”

He’s sitting on the bed with his legs akimbo, cock bobbing hard and red against his stomach. With wild abandon, I realize exactly where I want to be and climb onto his lap. Our lengths brush and I groan, grind into him as he gasps, chasing my mouth.

My hands travel from his shoulders to his buttocks to his cock, hot and smooth in my grip. I swipe my thumb over the tip, pump him lazily.

“Lube,” Duncan chokes, reaching over me to open the bedside table drawer. His free hand seizes my hip. It’s probably just to keep me from pitching over the edge of the bed and onto the floor with the change in position, but something about it feels possessive. I’m way more into this than I expected to be, my veins suddenly alight with new flash of ardent yearning.

The bottle of lube drops into my lap. It’s freezing cold. Goosebumps erupt along my thighs.

“What do you wanna do?” I ask, pressing closer, trapping our cocks between us. The slide of skin on skin is so, so good, but there’s too much friction.

Duncan slows, inhales hard, rolls against me, and says, “Honestly? This. This is good.”

I’m not going to last long enough for us to do much else, so I nod and uncap the bottle.

Duncan holds out an expectant palm. I squirt lube into it, then mouth at the place between his shoulder and neck, relishing the shiver that rises up between us. His hand slips down to where our hips meet. The slide of his hand over my cock sends sparks shooting up my spine. Then his length rubs beside mine, and I realize he’s guided us together, jerking us both at once with quick, measured movements.

“Fuck,” I moan. This isn’t exactly what I was envisioning, but it’s perfect, if a little awkward. I try to adjust so that he doesn’t lose his grip, but he knows what he’s doing, keeping both of us in place as he rapidly picks up speed.

I come first with a broken cry, fingers digging into his thigh. He follows after me with a shudder and a soft grunt.

Our foreheads brush. He leans into me, panting, and I trail my fingers over his ribs, grinning when he looks at me.

“Good?” he asks.

I nod, then flop back onto the mattress. “I’m cuddly,” I warn.

He reaches for a box of tissues, rolls his eyes as his wipes his hand. “I’m a wolf. Did you think I would be opposed?”

“I guess not,” I say, gratefully accepting a wad of tissues so that I can clean myself off. “Just thought I should warn you.”

“It’s not gonna be a problem,” he assures me, but his normally expressive face is unreadable.

For all of two seconds, I start to panic. Then he slots into bed behind me, presses his face straight into the back of my neck, and says, “Fuck, I can’t wait to do this again.”

I roll onto my back so that I can meet his eye and say, “You’d fucking better.”

Chapter

Twenty

Isneak into my room at four a.m., change into my gym clothes, then sneak back out. Almost none of today’s homework is done, but I don’t care. For the first time in weeks, I’ve finally slept properly. After waking up with Duncan’s arm flopped across my chest, his face hidden in my shoulder, I’m fucking thrilled. (I finally get to smell his damn hair like I’ve been wanting to for weeks, and I’m not disappointed—he smells amazing, like mint and strawberry and something else that I can’t quite identify, something earthy and deep.) He lets out a sleepy protest and kisses me before I leave, which, frankly, is a fantastic start to my day. Definitely the best I’ve had in a long time.

I don’t even care when Jordan spots the faded symbol drawn on my hip when my shirt rides up as I sit down at the start of class. He’s been extra annoying lately, challenging me whenever possible, laughing when I can’t accomplish basic tasks. Ever since the mirror incident, he’s taken great joy in proving that I’m not some kind of prodigy. I’m not sure why he feels the need to do this—the mirror hasn’t worked since I broke it, forecasting only rivers of blood, refusing to summon any ghosts whatsoever.

He does a double-take when he spots the sigil, doesn’t bother looking away as I hurriedly adjust my shirt. Maybe it’s not the symbol he’s looking at. Maybe it’s the firm muscle there. Duncan’s not the only one impressed by my physique.

In class, we summon an assortment of rubber dog toys from across the room. I manage to hit myself in the face with a rubber pig, which squeaks loudly on impact. Laughter explodes around me. Jordan’s jaw drops, his shoulders shake.

Elarion massages his temples, sighs, and says, “Thank you, Dominic, for demonstrating exactly why I’ve switched us from vases to squeaky toys.”

Someone snickers. I turn beet red.