He murmured something graphic, stepping even closer, his hands finding her long, curly hair. "Slide down a little more now, meu amor. That's it. That's what I want. You can take so much more of me this way."
Her head was back, throat arched, breasts thrust upward, her body laid out like a feast. To stay in control, he circled the base of his shaft with one hand and pushed the head against her waiting mouth, teasing her lips. Her tongue flicked out, and she did a long, slow lick, curling it at the end, like she was scooping ice cream out of a cone.
She made him wait. A heartbeat. Two. The world stood still. Time faltered and his heart lurched. Her mouth engulfed him like a silken glove, slid over his cock, her tongue swirling under the head and up over it, teasing and darting around while she suckled.
His hips jerked. A sound escaped, something suspiciously close to a rough growl. Pleasure burst through him, rushing like a drug through his system. More than pleasure. Love. With his cock in her mouth, he doubted he should have been feeling anything but lust, but maybe love drove his lust for her, because he couldn't imagine another woman more beautiful, or sexier. He couldn't imagine feeling this desire, so intense it was a wild storm crashing through him, for anyone else. His breath exploded out of his lungs. His body shuddered as the fire raced up his spine.
She ran another long, slow lick up and down the shaft, watching him, watching his reaction. He felt her in his mind, sharing the fire, sharing each wave of sensation she created as she drew him back deeper, her mouth
hot and tight.
His hands bunched in her hair. His hips thrust forward, using his own hand to keep each forward movement short as he filled her mouth. Her tongue was a velvet rasp as she licked the underside, and then she was suckling again, drawing him deeper. Her eyes remained locked on his, tearing at his heart, his soul, as he watched her swallow him, watched raw desire heat her gaze.
She took him into her mouth, a long, slow draw, keeping her mouth tight, her tongue flat while she applied pressure and then whipped her head up fast, meeting his thrust, taking him deeper, so that streaks of fire spread through his groin.
MaryAnn felt her body going up in flames. Her breasts were swollen and aching, begging for attention. The junction between her legs throbbed and was drenched with heat. He was making rough sounds of pleasure, each one vibrating through her, so that the walls of her sheath contracted and rippled and begged for mercy. He was tugging at her hair with each thrust as he began to lose his control, pulling her toward him as his thrusts deepened.
"Harder," he encouraged.
She felt him swelling and knew by his husky groan he was close. She couldn't move, locked beneath him, his hands controlling her head, the short, tight movements as her mouth moved up and down his shaft. He directed the arch of her neck, allowing her to take more of him.
"Relax your throat for me," he instructed, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. "Yes. Like that. Like that. Squeeze down." The thrusts were faster now, short and hard, but he used the leverage to go deeper, the tugs on her hair sending pulses of pleasure shooting through her body.
"You have to stop, sivamet" His voice was hardly his own, so gravelly, on the edge of desperation. Because he couldn't. Because even though he locked her down in the traditional way of his kind, he couldn't leave that hot, moist cavern, so tight as she suckled at him. It was such a carnal pleasure to indulge in, to be indulged. "Stop before it's too late."
Traditional way of his kind. Where had that thought come from? Why did he have such a desire to hold her still while he plunged in and out of her incredible mouth?
MaryAnn wanted him, all of him, was desperate for him. She felt like a woman on the brink of sanity, starving for what he had to offer. His cock thickened. Jerked. Grew hot and full. There was something terribly erotic about lying all sprawled out, held tightly in place, knowing she was pushing him past all control, even as he was controlling her. She knew it was the wolf. She scented the musky call of the male wolf as Manolito thrust hard, his hands rough now, his cock jerking, the hot jets of semen exploding into her. It was the way of the wolf to dominate, and looking up at him, she could see the amber lights flickering in the black depths of his eyes.
He reached for her breasts, his fingers tugging at her nipples while her mouth pulled at him. Without warning, he simply bent over her, his long body covering hers, and buried his face between her thighs. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Her body bucked and writhed as his tongue stabbed deep. She was forced to turn her head and release him, and all he did was crawl up her body and pull her hips up to his marauding mouth. Her vision blurred. Her body belonged to him. To his hands and mouth and the long, muscled length of him.