His tongue started stroking my clit in a rhythm that drove me wild.
I could feel the rise of an orgasm, that first sweet swell of pleasure, and then Drake . . . stopped. He just fucking stopped.
“Argh!”
“Patience, my beauty,” he said in a hoarse voice.
I was reminded then that he’d received nothing from me, no stroking or touching, unless you counted frantic hair pulling. I had eagerly accepted the gift of his unselfish pursuit of my pleasure.
“Patience,” I agreed. And I would so pay him back for his torment. We’d see who had patience then. Mwuhahahaha—“Oh,” I said as his tongue slid over my clit, offering me both relief and agitation.
He slowly stroked me with that talented wolf-man tongue, building the fires again, and then I felt two of his fingers penetrate me. Whoa. He began to pump his fingers in the same rhythm as his tongue.
I sucked in deep breaths, but I couldn’t get enough air. The sensations incurred by such devoted skill forced my thoughts into a foggy daze. I couldn’t think beyond Ohmyfreakingawdmoremoremore.
Because Drake apparently knew exactly what he was doing, because he was single-minded in his purpose, and because he could make me almost die from the pure, raw wanting . . . he curled his fingers upward and found a knot of flesh just inside my entrance.
He relentlessly licked my clit.
And that spot he’d found was a very sensitive bundle of nerves, which he stroked in a rough, wonderful way, matching the rhythm of his tongue once more.
I felt the swift rise of my pleasure, the orgasm that ballooned into heat and sound and light . . . and then burst like the crashing crescendo of every great song. My thighs clenched around Drake’s head, but he didn’t seem to mind. He slipped his fingers out of me, and slowed his tongue’s movements to soothing strokes.
I wanted him to experience the same as I had. I wanted him to feel as shaken as I did.
And I wanted him inside me.
I tugged on his shoulders until he took the hint and slid up to lie beside me. I turned into his embrace and saw the animal eyes. I was reminded that Drake was, quite literally, an animal. A werewolf.
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
“No,” I lied. But it wasn’t him that I was afraid of. It was this unfolding moment, this feeling that I had been changed by Drake’s lovemaking.
And it wasn’t over.
I kissed him.
I tasted my own essence on his lips, and merged my tongue with his. We melted into each other’s arms, deepened our contact. We both smelled like sex, and like need.
Desire and need streaked through me, pooling wet and hot between my still trembling thighs. Reaching between us, I stroked Drake’s cock through his jeans. Good Lord, he was huge.
He growled.
And I felt powerful.
I was provoking a werewolf.
I pulled away from his lips and kissed his jaw, dragging my mouth down his neck, then back up again. My fingers curled under the edge of his T-shirt, which I pulled up to expose the muscled planes of his body.
Drake was built. The man had nice abs. Hell, he had nice everything. Brown hair lightly furred his pecs and stomach. Feast! I worked my way over his pectorals, taking a detour to one coin-sized aureola and its tiny, hard peak. I tugged it between my teeth, flicking the tip rapidly. He groaned, his hands threading into my hair as I attacked his other nipple and gave it the same treatment.
“Liebling,” he said. “Moira.”
I moved farther down his chest, exploring the muscled ridges of his stomach with my hands, my mouth, my tongue.
I slipped between his legs and tugged open the button to his jeans. I couldn’t get the goddamned zipper over his penis, so he choked out a laugh and helped me.
I removed his boots, then pulled off his jeans and silk boxers.
Then it was like Christmas morning and I had a new toy to play with. I grasped his cock, loving the silky hard feel of it against my palm.
Cupping his balls, I squeezed them lightly as I licked the tip of his cock, and then, because I didn’t have his patience, I leaned down and sucked him into my mouth. I swirled my tongue around the rim of his head.
His breathing went ragged and his thighs tensed.
He was breathing harshly, his hands cupping my head as I took him as far down as I could. I really liked the feel of his cock invading my mouth, and though I couldn’t admit to porn-star skill, I certainly had enthusiasm.
“Moira.” My name was both plea and demand.
I released his cock, gave the tip one last flick of my tongue, and then straddled his hips. I gripped his shaft and guided it inside me. For a moment I sat there, impaled, and enjoyed the feel of his penetration as he stretched, as he filled me.
He cupped my breasts, brushing the hard peaks with his thumbs. I leaned down, and he drew a nipple into his mouth and flicked his tongue rapidly across the peak. He switched to the other breast and gave it the same treatment.