Dreaming of the Wolf (Heart of the Wolf #8)(41)

At first, a peculiar sense of recognition washed over her, reassuring her that she was safe, that whoever or whatever she was sensing wouldn’t harm her.

Then she saw him, materializing in the darkness like a shadowed lover. Distractedly, she remembered the phone call she hadn’t made. Damn. Tomorrow, first thing.

Jake approached, and she forgot everything else but him.

Advancing, his hair the color of rich, dark-brown earth after a summer rain, his eyes of the same shade and darkly intense, his masculine lips curved up faintly in the hint of a smile, he moved toward her in a slow, methodical, predatory way. In the past few weeks, when her world seemed only to be spiraling downhill faster, only Jake had made her life bearable after that fateful night she’d been turned. And she wanted him at night, every night, for as long as she lived, which might not be very long the way things were going.

Naked, he flexed his muscles, stood a little taller, and saw her and only her. Still covered in the comforter up to her neck because of the chill in the air, she gave him a refrained smile back. It was always the same. An acknowledgment that they were here in concert for this, but no wild throwing themselves together in the heat of the moment. Deep down, she felt it was because she feared that if she did leap from the bed and jump into his waiting arms, he’d just vanish. Poof. And never come again.

So she waited for him, waited for his large capable fingers to pull back the comforter, to feel his hands lifting her gown off her. He always started with his gentle, then urgent strokes, his lips and tongue teasing her, his mouth on her breast.

But this time he seemed hesitant. She frowned a little. He couldn’t leave her now. Not when he was the only bright spot in her life. A too-real figment of her imagination.

He raked his fingers through his hair. She parted her lips as if to speak. She never had spoken to him before. Had never needed to. Didn’t think she really could. But he seemed so unsure, as if he was reevaluating why he was here.

He couldn’t. He was here because she made him come. She pulled her arms free from the comforter and was about to stretch them out to him, to encourage him to join her. How could he come to her and then decide he couldn’t do this?

And then he sighed, although she never could hear sounds in her dreams, except for the blood rushing in her ears, her own panting breath when he stroked her into submission, her heart beating wildly. Her smile widened.

But he didn’t smile back. Still reserved, she thought. Still bothered by something. Yet he approached her with an aggressive stride, yanked the covers aside, and stared at her belly, the pale blue gown she wore having risen to her thighs. Her naked legs didn’t hold his attention, but his gaze focused on her waist. He slid the silky fabric up her thighs, past her hips, higher until her belly was exposed, then kissed her there. She wasn’t sure how to read his actions, but then she reached for him, spread her legs willingly, opened herself to him, and encouraged him to join her.

He climbed onto the bed, situating himself between her legs, but kept his weight off her as he tackled her mouth with his. His kiss was hard and fierce, his jaw lightly whiskered and rough. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she’d have whisker burns on her cheeks after they made love. His tongue dove into her mouth, impatient, impassioned, and she met his craving move for move. God, he was beautiful and she desired him with all her heart.

“You’re the only good thing in my life,” she mouthed against his lips, wishing there could be more to their relationship than this.

He paused, staring at her with such intensity that it was as if he’d truly heard her words and felt her sentiment, and then he kissed her hard again. His hand encompassed a breast, fondled, and stroked, caressed her nipple with the pad of his thumb, teasing the tip, which was tingling and aching with need. Her breasts were slightly tender, fuller, more sensitive to his touch. Then his mouth moved down her throat, and he brushed his lips across her sensitive skin, licking her there. He seemed desperate with wanting her, just as much as she felt about him. His hand stroked her deeply between her legs, where she was already hot and wet and swollen for him, her core aching with such an intensity that she could barely last.

She envisioned she was still at home in her own bed with the man in her dreams making wild passionate love with her. His fingers dipped in between her legs, caressing her into climax while she gripped his waist and never wanted to let go.

She felt the earth shift, the bed, the room, the whole world as she reached the peak and shattered with the most riveting ecstasy. Vaguely, she felt his fingers withdraw before he filled her with his arousal, hard and hot and very much ready for action.

But this time he raised her legs over his shoulders for maximum penetration and dove into her with hard, deep, satisfying thrusts, his face dipping to kiss her breast, to lick the nipple, her hands running through his hair as she moaned with satisfaction. He knew how to give her pleasure like she’d never felt before. His lusty gaze shifted to hers. His expression was still dark, and she couldn’t read it now. Before, he’d always been so pleased with her, to see her, to be with her, but now… something was amiss. As if he was tired of playing this game. But he was hers, her dream. He had to be here for her whenever she drifted off to her fantasy world of dreams.

She moaned as he stole her thoughts, brought her rising again on another tidal wave of pleasure, had her grasping for his sinewy arms, and he groaned, pumping into her until he was spent, then collapsed and didn’t move. He was heavy and sweaty and felt protective and manly and wonderful.