Cry Wolf (Wolves of Angels Rest #7)(23)

He stretched her out on the futon, his big, rangy body half over hers. His weight pressed her into the mattress deep enough that she felt the steel deck under her ass. And she didn’t even care about the inevitable bruises, because she had him. At least for the night.

She skimmed her hands down over his tensed shoulders to fist in the hem of his T-shirt. He sucked in a breath when her fingers brushed his bare flanks, and she stripped the fabric inside out over his head.

He ducked backward and, while he was upright, took the opportunity to unfasten her jeans. He shucked them off her while she wriggled her hips to assist and kicked twice to remove her sneakers.

“You still don’t tie them right,” he murmured as he looked down at her.

She reached for his fly. “Life’s too short not to be able to take off your shoes whenever you want. And your pants.”

He reached down to lace his fingers through hers, his gaze darkening. “Because of my brother’s problems, I tried all my life to not be selfish, to not take what doesn’t belong to me. I’m…having trouble with that now.”

She tightened her grip on him. “I don’t belong to you,” she said softly. “But I’ll share with you, if you want.”

He groaned, low in his chest. “God, how I want.”

“Then let me”—she unwound his fingers—“set you”—she popped the button on his jeans—“free.”

He was already hard for her. His cock surged past the gap she’d made, shoving the zipper down without her help. The little metal teeth were a menace, but Diesel seemed not to care at all as he loomed over her again, gripping her nape to pull her up to his almost brutal kiss.

The taste of wine spiked with his urgency inflamed her desire, and she writhed under him. He wrenched down the zipper on her hoodie, pulled aside the loose shoulder and the strap of the tank top underneath at the same time.

He dragged his mouth from hers, scraping his teeth lightly down the column of her throat to pause over the swell of her breast.

She took a deep breath to lift herself toward his lips, and he dropped his head with a growl.

The sound echoed through her, rattling her bones and triggering a wave of wetness between her legs. The van didn’t have any windows in back and the short curtain was drawn behind the back seat so no one could see in through the windshield, but it wasn’t soundproof, so she bit her lip to hold back an answering moan.

He plumped up the mound of her breast, thrusting her nipple over the neckline of her tank top. With another hungry growl, he circled his tongue around the stiff peak before drawing it abruptly between his teeth.

The twinge of pleasure/pain made her twist, her hips bucking up to his. His long, hard brand thrust between her legs over the silky wetness of her panties.

“Off,” she panted. When he lifted his weight, she clarified, “Not you. Underwear.”

He ripped the sturdy cotton from her with one hand.

The effortless violence stunned her for a moment. How had he—? But then he was easing one finger, then two, up inside her, curling through her folds to find all the quivering, bright nerve endings while his thumb circled her clit restlessly.

She squirmed underneath him, fumbling over her head for one of the built-in gear drawers. Diesel reached past her to retrieve what she’d been looking for, ripped the condom package open, and sheathed himself with his free hand, stroking her all the while.

Since his hands were otherwise occupied, he didn’t have the leverage to protect himself when she wrestled him to his back.

He looked up at her, his fingers still buried in her *. “You caught me.”

She ground down against his hand. “I did.”

“What you gonna do with me now?”

“Wicked things.”

She straddled him and centered over his rampant cock. Her knees dug through the futon to steel—more bruises that would be a reminder of this night shadowed in her skin.

As she sank down onto his shaft, he bowed up off the mattress, all his muscles tensing. She braced herself on his heaving chest, her fingers kneading the heavy flesh of his pecs. He anchored his hands on her hips, guiding each rising and falling stroke.

She straightened and stripped off her hoodie and tank top, reveling in the cooler touch of the air. Maybe next time she’d f*ck him outside.

But maybe there wouldn’t be a next time. She had to make this last.

When he propped himself up on his elbows to lick at her breasts, the feedback that swept through her was overwhelming. She was deafened, blinded, insensate except for the places he touched her.

She came in a burst of silence and stars, her breath seizing in her throat.

He followed her up, his lips leaving a hot, wet trail from her nipples to the arch of her neck. He sucked hard, hard enough to leave a mark, but she wished he’d bite hard enough to break the silence, share the wonder screaming through her veins.

Instead, he rolled her—by this time, they were upside down on the bed—never losing their connection. He pounded her across the mattress; those bruises she wouldn’t see, but she would feel them tomorrow, she knew.

She wrapped her heels behind his ass, driving him deeper into her with each thrust, and held tight to his shoulders.

When his orgasm hit, he reared up, almost bumping his head. She grasped him, her gaze fixed on his wide chest and sculpted belly. And halfway around his navel, the faint tattoo of a crescent moon.