Wulfe Untamed (Feral Warriors #8)(58)

If she could just be something to him, make a difference to him in some way. Sliding her hand across his chest, she looked up at him. “Wulfe, I know what Strome said, that pulling the primal energies through me could be dangerous. But if you ever need to, if it’s the only way you’re going to beat Satanan, don’t hesitate.”

Rolling onto his side, he levered himself onto one elbow and stared down at her with vehement eyes. “I will never use you in that way, Natalie. Never.” He stroked her cheek, his fingers as gentle as rain despite the intensity of his look.

“If the time ever comes . . .”

“No.”

“I’m willing to make sacrifices, too.”

He covered her lips with his finger, his eyes luminous. “I know. But I will never be okay with anything that harms you.”

He tensed suddenly, going still as a frozen pond.

“Wulfe?”

“Shhh,” he said quietly, his gaze rising to the ceiling even as he stroked her hair.

Impatiently, she waited for him to explain, loving the sweet feel of his hand on her head. Finally, his body relaxed on a deep breath and an exhale. His head dipped, resting lightly against her temple and she stroked his hair in return, thrilled to finally be able to do so.

“I heard Inir and Satanan again,” he murmured.

“Anything important?”

He lifted his head and stroked her cheek. “Yes and no.”

His fingers traced her nose, her eyebrows, her ear, his touch so gentle, so sweet. Her heart contracted even as her pulse kicked up, her breathing turning shallow. If only touching her affected him in the same way.

“Satanan’s mad that the Mage keep failing. I’m kind of amused. Inir started out the one in charge, with Satanan nothing more than an advisor, but Inir’s starting to get pushed aside.” He grunted. “That should probably scare the crap out of me.”

“Do you need to tell Lyon?” She stroked his cheek, her finger tracing one scar in particular, the one she knew to be hers.

He watched her, his body tensing slightly as she traced that scar. “I’ll tell him when I go downstairs. It doesn’t change anything.”

“Good. I don’t want you to leave.”

His gaze sharpened slightly, his nostrils flaring, and he buried his nose against her neck. “You smell like heaven.” Slowly he lifted his head, longing filling his eyes. “I want to touch you.”

Her breath trembled out, heat racing straight to her core. “Anywhere. However . . . wherever . . . you want.”

She felt him shudder, watched his eyes fill with soft wonder as his warm hand burrowed beneath the hem of her shirt to palm her abdomen.

Her breath caught. Mesmerized, she watched his face lower, felt his lips on her jaw, then her neck. She turned her head, giving him full access, gasping with pleasure as his tongue stroked her pulse point.

As heat suffused her body, she buried her fingers in his hair, trailing them down his neck to his broad shoulders. “Does it bother you that I’m so affected by you when you can’t . . . reciprocate?”

His lips brushed her jaw. “I’m in awe that you’re affected by my touch.” The truth rang in his words and throbbed in the tenderness of his lips as he rained kisses on her cheek, her temple, her brow. “I love the way you smell, the way you taste.” His hand slid up and over one breast. His breath hitched. “The way you feel.”

As his strong fingers caressed her breast through her bra with infinite tenderness, he rose to look down into her face, his eyes shining with a soft need that lacked a carnal sharpness. “I want to see you.”

Arching her back, she reached behind her and unhooked her bra. Pulling her shirt off over her head, she tossed both onto the far side of the bed, then lay back. With a shiver of excitement, she watched as Wulfe reached for her, the most reverent expression on his face.

His big hands stroked her with featherlight touches as he gazed at her br**sts as if they were the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. His thumb traced one tight nipple, making her gasp. With a flick of his gaze to hers, he lowered his face, tracing that same bud with his tongue. Sensation shot straight through her, making her gasp and arch into his touch. Her hands slid into his hair and she cradled him close as his lips explored her, tasted her, sucked her flesh into his warm mouth.

By the time he lifted his face and met her gaze again, her body was flushed with need, her breath a wreck. In his eyes, she saw joy tempered by uncertainty.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, caressing his cheek, running her thumb across his bottom lip.

He kissed her thumb but continued to watch her with that intent gaze. “Will you let me pleasure you?”

Her limbs went weak. “I’m yours, Wulfe. All I am, all I have, is yours. In any way you want me.”

A small frown appeared between his brows as if he didn’t precisely know what to make of that. And perhaps she didn’t either. All she knew was that it was true. In some strange, elemental way, she’d been made for this moment, for this man.

She reached for the button of her jeans. “Will you tell me how I can pleasure you, too?”

His fingers moved hers aside. “You are pleasuring me.”

With slow, easy movements, he unzipped her jeans and removed them, leaving her in nothing but a pair of white lace panties. Then, with gentle hands that belonged more to a man admiring a fine piece of sculpture than to a male in the throes of passion, he stroked her legs, one after the other, ankle to thigh, then her abdomen, and again, her br**sts. Pleasure drenched his features, if not in the carnal way she might have liked.