Wolves' Bane (The Order of the Wolf, #3)(42)
“Please Cal,” I begged as I arched into his hand, wanting desperately for him to fill me, to take that growing need and push me to my limits.
He didn’t make me ask again.
He moved over my leg, positioning himself at my entrance, resting the head of his cock just between the folds of my sex before running it along my slit to drench in my juices.
“Morgan, open your eyes.”
I did as he asked, staring up at him, mesmerized by the look in his eyes, lost to the desire.
“Morgan,” he whispered, his body shaking with his own need. “I’m going to etch you with my magic. I need you to rest your hand over my heart. When we bond, I won’t hold back…I want you to know that, I can’t stop myself from being with you.” He nudged me with his cock, nestling deeper between my legs, so close that I ached for his thrust. He let out a quiet moan, closing his eyes briefly, and when he looked at me again, I could see his control slipping, his desire mounting. “Do you understand?”
I nodded and moved my hand to his chest, resting it over his heart. He lowered himself down until his body was almost crushing mine, his weight resting on his left forearm while his right hand lay over my breast.
“I give myself to you, my Huntress, with a vow of protection that no beast shall put asunder.” His fingers trailed over my skin. “Take all of me and use me as you will.”
A flood of warmth washed over me, heightening my senses, sending my nerves into a frenzy of tingling pleasure. It was the magic—I knew without being told—the intoxicating spill of his power into me. With it came such an intense need for him to take me, to claim me as his that I arched at the same time as he thrust, pushing into me with one long delicious stroke. I arched higher, gasping at the tremendous feeling of fullness that came with him, stretching out to accept him and all that he had to give me.
After the initial thrust, he lowered himself down to cover me completely, drawing his cock out to the tip before pounding into me again and again and again. I wrapped my legs around his waist, loving how deep he was, as his hips slammed against mine, shifting my body back with the strength of it. There was something urgent about his rhythm, something primal about how he was taking me. Like he was marking me as his, and the thought of that made me giddy.
He punished my lips, his tongue moving in time with his penis. My orgasm built like a tidal wave, pulling me so taut that I thought I might explode as I crashed over the edge. Sparks of light flashed in front of my eyes as wave after wave of ecstasy cascaded over me. He bellowed with his own climax, thrusting ever harder until he was spent.
He collapsed on top of me, his cock still pulsing, my sheath gripping him tightly as I shook with the remnants of my own orgasm. I had the strangest sensation of peace at that moment—satiated and whole.
He pulled himself out and curled me into his chest, my back nestled against him, his hand possessively cupping my breast. “You are mine now, Morgan, and I share with you all that I have,” he whispered before I drifted off into a contented sleep, only slightly aware of his fingers trailing along my stomach, tracing the same pattern again and again into my flesh, a pattern that my brain just started to recognize before sleep claimed me completely.
How could Cal think that bonding with Morgan would help him distance himself from her? Bonding had made his craving worse, not better.
He buried his face in her hair one more time, deeply inhaling her sweet scent. Being with her, having his hand against her breast, her body nestled into his was intoxicating and overwhelming, and he didn’t want to let her go.
Andrew must be insane to think that I can stick to the plan.
His thoughts were bitter, angry and frustrated. The moment the bond had taken hold of him, connecting him to Morgan with his magic, was the moment he knew that he was in for the biggest battle of his life. Andrew expected Cal to distance himself from his Huntress—not necessarily physically, although it might come to that eventually—but emotionally. Cal needed to be reserved, cold, so that when the time came to battle Lazarus, there would be nothing preventing him from shoving a blade into her chest if she betrayed them.
Yeah, right.
He ran his hand down her stomach and over her hip, loving how she moaned and nestled closer to him even in her sleep. She would feel it too, this need, this bond. He didn’t want to leave, even though he knew he must. It would be better if she woke up in the morning without him there. She would feel the sting, get angry with him, start a fight, and that would make it easier to keep his distance.
He ran his hand back up to cup her breast, loving the heavy feel of it resting in his palm. She was so perfect for him, unlike any woman Cal had ever been with before. She’d revved him up even before the bonding, and now the intensity to be with her—in her—had him hard and aching once again.
He sighed as he rolled away from her, his body protesting the sudden loss of her warmth as he pushed himself to sit at the edge of the bed. It was for the best, he reminded himself. There was no use in letting the attachment grow even though all he wanted to do was lie there until she woke, then make love to her again—slowly this time, savoring her in every way until they both collapsed once more with exhaustion. But that wasn’t his only need. He wanted to know her, to learn about her past, her childhood, everything. She had said her family was dead, that she was alone. He wanted to hear her stories, comfort her pains, make it so that she was never alone again.