“What’s on your mind?” He whispered in her ear, his voice low, his breath warming her, making a shudder wash over her body.
His voice was like the breeze on a cool spring day. His touch on her midriff was like a heavenly fire, burning, yet leaving her longing. His chest rumbled a vibration against her back.
“Is that your wolf? That rumbling?”
“Yeah. He likes to voice his opinion a little too much and too loud.”
“What opinion is he voicing?” She nuzzled backward, closer to his body.
“I asked first.”
She swallowed. “I was thinking of the last week.”
“What about the last week?” His thumb traced tiny patterns on her hip, under the thermal that belonged to him. She’d taken to wearing his shirts to bed, typically one he’d worn the day before. Unless it was stinky. She would inhale deeply when she was falling asleep and relish the scent of him.
“Ha,” she told him. “It’s your turn. What opinion is he voicing?”
“He’s pissed that I haven’t claimed you yet.”
She turned around to face him. “Claimed me? Like I’m at a pawn shop, and you have the ticket to claim me? Like I’m a lost puppy? Like I’m a piece of land where you can prospect for gold, and you need to stake your claim?”
He laughed so hard, he practically doubled over. She couldn’t help but join him, even though she found the terminology odd.
Finally, he stopped laughing. “It’s a shifter thing. A wolf thing.” He shrugged. “We claim our mates.”
“Your mates?” she said on a breath. She couldn’t move. She was paralyzed, her limbs frozen.
“Yeah, that. I guess I should have said something. Maybe I should have said it differently. More subtle-like or something.”
“Then you wouldn’t be you, now would you?” And with Freyja as her witness, there was something about this man, his bluntness, his honesty, his spirit, his heart, his soul, wolf, body, everything, that made her feel a completeness she hadn’t even realized was missing from her life before this week.
His gaze was so intense, all focused on her face, his eyes traveling from her eyes to her cheeks, her chin, her lips. And that was where they stopped.
Oh, they’d kissed more than once this last week, but no kiss they’d had during that time had prepared her for the anticipation she felt as his face drew closer to hers. He angled his head, his lips landing on hers, as that rumbling in his chest grew louder. She put her hands there, on that taut set of muscles covered by a black tank top which was fitted to his form, enhancing his pecs, showcasing those shoulders of his, tapering to the vee of his waist. He breathed, making the eight-pack ripple.
Under her hand, his wolf rumbled. His heartbeat raced, matching hers. She leaned close, put her lips to the spot where his chest was bare just above the hem of the shirt. “I hear you, wolf.”
The rumbling grew louder.
“He’s answering me.”
“He is. But this is my time.” He swooped down, his lips taking hers. His hands traveled under his shirt that she was wearing, over her stomach, then to her hips, then up, along her sides, his thumbs on her ribs.
She couldn’t breathe, anticipation of his touch was so strong within her. His mouth claimed hers, and she recognized exactly what he meant when he’d said the word claimed. She moaned, the noise a helpless whimper that was so very unlike her, but at the same time so very much her with Asa. He swallowed the sound and growled his need.
He pulled back. “Do you see yourself in my life? Tell me, what do you want?”
What did she want? She’d sooner show him than tell him. She reached behind her back and deftly unsnapped her bra, letting it fall loose though still cupping her breasts. She pulled his shirt off then shimmied out of her bra. He groaned and cupped her breasts. Between their bodies, his erection was pressing, demanding, needing. Her panties were soaked with yearning. A craving that would no longer be denied.
She pushed him back, laying him down, hooked her thumbs in the elastic band of his briefs and tugged them down over his hips—damn, she loved that part of him. She raised the fabric so it could slide down the length of him, the thickness of his length’s imprint against the fabric made her salivate with want. She allowed the tips of her index fingers to trail down the hardness of his swollen shaft. It jumped to attention the second she touched his flesh, and a tiny bit of moisture formed. She eyed it and licked her lips lazily, letting her tongue tease him the same way the last week had been a perpetual tease to her.
His stomach flexed with his growl of impatience, and she knew precisely what he was feeling. She was equally impatient. Similarly inclined. But she’d take her time seducing this man, showing him exactly what she felt for him, though the words had remained unspoken. Down, she trailed her wicked fingers, down, down—the entire magnificent size of him, relishing in the way his breathing had become ragged, his pulse raced, given away by the telltale throb on his neck. The way his Adam’s apple was working overtime.
His chest heaved, his eyes glowed a fierce amber. He bit down on his bottom lip, causing her a renewed and exacerbated sense of desire.
She teased her fingers lower and lower until she’d reached the base of his shaft, wrapped one hand around it while she dropped her head slowly, her eyes fixed on his.
Emme touched the tip of her tongue to her lip. He gasped. She lowered her head and collected the salty droplet off the tip of his mushroom head, then, still locking gazes with him, she let him enjoy the sight of her taking his head into her mouth. He groaned. His abs flexed and tense as his body rose from the bed.
She sucked gently, just the head, while his hips began to grind out a primeval dance, so imperceptible.
He uttered a low curse under his breath, then he rasped out her name. “Emme, fuck, woman, have mercy.” His arms rose to the ceiling in supplication.
Mercy was the farthest thing from her mind and the last thing she intended to give to him. Oh, there was no mercy in her heart for this once-damaged, incredibly sexy man. The only thing she had on her brain was taking him to the very verge of explosion, then pulling him back so she could do it again.
His hands dropped, twisted into her hair, inflicting the perfect blend of pain and pleasure while she let her head lower even farther and take as much of him as she could into her mouth. The rest of him she used her hands for, letting her saliva run down his shaft, collecting it with her hands, squeezing and teasing him with her fingers while her mouth drove him to distraction.
She cupped his testicles, hefted them, while she sucked and bobbed, letting her breasts tempt his thighs with her hardened nipples.
He thrusted into her mouth, filling and swelling as she relished the control she had over this incredible man who’d stormed into her life and taught her things about love she’d never known were possible.
He rumbled a growl and sat up, pulling her up. “Fuck, I don’t want my first time with you to be in your mouth.”
She loved that he thought that way, that he found the connection between them was sacred and wanted to spend it deep inside her.
He drew a rock-hard nipple into his mouth, pulled and tugged on it, his tongue flicking. His lips burned a track up her chest to her chin, then he locked his lips onto hers, relentless, steadfast, demanding. He was all of those things and so much more, but not with her. She melted deep within. Her body throbbed a rhythm that could have been her heartbeat or his or a merging of the two.