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I took one nipple between my teeth as my thumb found — not her clit — but her right labia. I tugged at it, rubbing the pad of my thumb lightly over the skin while I pulled hard at her nipple. Nell cried out. Her hips jerked, trying to get the pressure she needed. I pulled back. Waited.
"Please, Magnus. Please."
"I will. Let me."
Nell was a smart woman. I know she knew what I meant. I know she wanted to let go. Old habits, especially the habits of smart women, died hard.
No problem. I was a patient man.
She struggled to get her hips to settle. To get her fingers to unclench. To give me the reins of her being. But Nell liked her rewards as most overachievers did. When she gave me what I wanted, I rewarded her handsomely.
My tongue latched onto the nipple of her left breast. I thrust two fingers inside her core. I stroked both places. I sucked her nipple as her core clenched around my fingers. I crooked my fingers and pressed roughly against her G-spot.
She whimpered. She begged. She pleaded.
I listened to none of it. The moment I felt her muscles start to clench, I retreated. I pulled out of her core. I let go of her nipple.
She was in tears. Her body trembling with need. Her brain offline. I had complete control of this woman, and it was the most powerful I've ever felt. Having an army behind me didn’t compare. Or millions in the bank. Having this woman under my hand was my own high.
I pressed my lips to her temple. "Where's your bedroom? I need more space to fuck you properly."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
NELL
Magnus carried me to my bedroom as if I weighed nothing. He set me on the bed with a care that was at odds with the way his eyes looked. They were amber burning through the brown, that golden light that I'd seen when I'd met his wolf back in the gardens of his parents' home. Did that mean the man and the beast were operating as one? Was I about to fuck the man or the beast, or both?
Real talk? I didn't care. I could barely form a singular thought, much less the complex math of being with a man who could shift his shape.
My whole body was humming. Nerve endings lit and attentive. I was thinking more with my breasts than I was with my brains.
Magnus stood at the foot of my bed. He took off his shirt. I had seen him naked before; the shift in the garden. But there was a difference between seeing and having. Right now he was here, and the lamp was on, and I was going to look at him properly.
The scars on his shoulders. The darkness of the hair across his chest. The lines of muscle that were not the product of a gym but of decades of shifting, of running, of carrying the physical weight of being what he was. He was marked in ways that told a story I only knew parts of. I wanted to know all of it.
He came onto the bed. He started at my collarbone. I understood that what had happened in the living room had been a warm-up.
He moved down my body with the focus of a man who had decided that every square inch of me was worth his full attention. Not rushing. Learning. Mapping.
When he reached the inside of my knee, he stayed there. I had not known the inside of my knee was an erogenous zone. Magnus had apparently known for some time.
His mouth brushed my skin. The contact was barely there. A whisper. A question. Heat unfurled beneath it, spreading through me in slow waves.
I felt his breath before I felt the next kiss. Warm. Deliberate. My skin flushed. Every place he touched awakened as if it was a separate entity, becoming aware of itself.
When he pulled back, cool air rushed in to replace him. The loss was immediate. Then his mouth returned somewhere else.
Heat again. A slow, maddening cycle of warmth and absence. Touch and anticipation. Enough to make me tremble.
His hand slid along my calf. The calluses on his palm contrasted with the softness of his touch. Gentle. Careful. The combination was unfair. Everything about him felt unfair.
The warmth of his mouth.
The rough brush of evening stubble against sensitive skin.
The steady rhythm of his breathing.
The way his eyes darkened whenever he looked down at me.
