Cry Wolf (Wolves of Angels Rest #7)(6)

“Then I’ll have to make the most of it,” she said. She shoved his jeans down to his knees, and with the leverage binding his legs together, flipped him over on the couch to his back.

She straddled his thighs and snagged the condoms off the coffee table. Ripping one loose, she peeled it open to the juicy sound of extra lube. Not that she was going to need that tonight. She gave him one more pump as if to make sure he was entirely erect—not that he needed that—and centered the rubber on the bulbous head of his dick.

Between her legs, his muscles bunched, and she shot a glance at his face. He half closed his eyes so she wouldn’t see the glitter of the wolf, but he watched her avidly. More than anything he wanted to throw her on her back and take her. But he would let her play.

Apparently she thought play meant torture. She slicked some of the lube down his shaft, and damn if his massive erection didn’t thicken another degree. The bulging veins pulsed, echoing the heavy thud of his blood, a counterpoint to her hitched, racing breath. His cock flexed under her fingertips, and she almost lost the condom. He clamped his hand over hers. No way was he letting even one of those go to waste, not tonight.

As if she sensed his weakening hold on his control, she unfurled the condom down his dick. The damn thing was too tight and too small, but he wasn’t going to say a word. She was safe from him since werewolves didn’t catch or pass human infections.

Except for the wolf spirit, of course, but that was special occasion only. There were enough barriers between them to prevent that: latex, the wrong season, the lack of a mating bond. Hell, any bond at all. Nothing would happen.

Even if a small part of him—smaller than the damned condom—wished maybe something could.





Chapter 3

It was too small. Not his dick. The condom. He was mostly covered, but it had to be hurting him. Willow bit her lip uncertainly.

Until he braced his big hands on her hips. “Ride me, cowgirl.”

Oh my. Diesel was so big and strong and not at all used to giving up control, she could tell. His jaw kept tensing, and the skin over his cheekbones was taut and feverish. The dark glitter of his eyes made her heart hammer with skittishness. And desire.

When she’d pushed him onto his back, his eyebrows had shot up so high she thought she might have to get makeup to draw them on again. She’d always been stronger than she looked. And she could fling around those twenty extra pounds when she needed to.

Now, straddling him, she eased aside the tiny scrap of her thong, catching her breath when the fabric tweaked her swollen clit. He reached up to palm her breasts, rubbing tight circles over the soft flesh, and for once she was glad of the stiff, scratchy bustier that made her tits stand at attention. They were certainly begging for him now, her nipples stiff and bright red with blood.

He gave them a soft pinch, and she whined at the bolt of sensation, like hitting a high note and a power chord and the final chorus all at once.

She sank down on his jutting cock, desperate to catch that feeling, hold onto it so she wouldn’t forget.

She braced her hands on the ridged muscles of his belly, hazily noting the tattoo around his navel broken up by her widespread fingers. But then she forgot everything as the thick head of his erection split her weeping folds, shattering her concentration. Before she could move farther, he slid one hand down the dip of her waist to grab her hip. His fingers sank in, holding her in place, half impaled.

“Take it slow,” he hissed. He fisted his other hand at the base of his cock where the condom didn’t quite cover. “Make it last.”

He looked like a man signing his own death warrant, and she wanted to kiss him for his iron discipline. Because clearly she had none. She eased up a bit then sank lower yet. He rumbled low in his throat, his clenched teeth flashing in a snarl, as if he was fighting himself not to plunge up inside her.

She clamped her hand over his fingers, sliding them behind to rest on her ass, together lifting and sinking deeper and deeper until her clit grazed his knuckles. She whimpered and bumped him again.

He let out a hoarse groan and angled his thumb to tickle that knot of nerves every time she thrust.

Since his hands were otherwise occupied, she cupped her own breasts above the bustier, pinching her nipples until the jolts of pleasure through her body were a full symphony of sensation.

“Bring those here, pretty girl, and let me bite you.”

She braced herself on his shoulders and lowered her heaving tits to his face. He lapped from one to the other, never letting up on the teasing strokes of her clit. She beat her crotch against his fist, wanting to take him all, cursing the condom between them.

Her heart and her inner muscles set up a rhythm more primal than anything she’d ever played, and his cock was the mallet pounding out the beat. Her fingers tightened on the heavy muscle in his shoulders, driving flesh to bone, and when his teeth clamped on her nipple, she came with startled cry, every nerve exploding outward like a string of firecrackers.

She arched back, pulling her nipple free of his lips with a succulent pop, and slammed her * on his fist.

He held her there as she spasmed, and as she collapsed, he rolled her easily on the cushions to loom over her. One foot on the floor, his fist still clenched around the base of his cock, he pounded into her, always stopping just a little short.

She choked back another cry as she orgasmed again, helplessly jackknifing against him as he pinned her with the force of his own silent release.