Searching for Beautiful(97)

“Not sure I can take it, sweetheart. Maybe you should come up here before I lose it.”

“Maybe you’ve been a big bully and it’s time to pay the piper.” He went to reach for her, but she pulled back and wagged her finger. “Stay put. And don’t spill any water. This may take a while.”

“Gen—”

She opened her mouth, grasped his cock, and took him deep.

He tasted so good. Salty. Musky. Male. She didn’t worry about doing it right, or using technique like she had with David. Her instincts to pleasure him, to explore every last inch of his gorgeous body and make him weep for her in pure need, drove her forward, her tongue flicking his piercing, her mouth sucking hard, while her hands fisted and stroked up and down the base, squeezing his balls lightly until her name broke from his lips in a litany of music. David had forced her to do things in the name of love she hadn’t enjoyed. Tonight, with Wolfe, she needed him on such a basic level there were no barriers or rules or holding back.

“I’m going to—”

She sucked harder, dragging her tongue across the slit, and took him to the back of her throat.

He came, shuddering and cursing, and she swallowed every drop without thought. Her knees ached, her mouth was swollen, but her spirit soared so high and so fast even God couldn’t catch her. Kissing him, caressing gently, she rose back up and took the glass back, resting it on the side table. His face was carved out in blissful lines, the gorgeous scruff of his beard bracketing full lips, the piercing sapphire heat of his eyes, the relaxed muscles of his cheeks and jaw.

His voice was a husky growl. “I didn’t spill.”

Gen laughed, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tight. They held each other for a long while, caught in time, as the sun chased the dark and dawn grew close.


WOLFE RAN THE DAMP washcloth over her sweat-beaded brow, slowly cleaning her with gentle strokes. When he pressed the cloth between her legs, over her inner thighs, Gen whimpered in pleasure and relaxed her thighs. Open. Vulnerable. Loving.

His throat tightened, and suddenly his chest felt funny. Emotions surged in a rocking mess until he didn’t know which were the safe ones to separate from the pack. He continued tending to her, looking at her various bruises and feeling like shit that he was glad he’d marked her.

At least, for a little while.

He’d need to deal with their actions in the morning. Talk. Decide what was best to salvage the most important relationship he’d ever had. And he would, but right now he wanted to enjoy being her lover, tend to her, care, fuck, bruise, own, until every inch of her skin was forever claimed as his.

Yeah, he was screwed up.

“Why a serpent?”

Her beautiful blue eyes probed his, asking for something he’d never given her before. An answer to the mysteries of his past. A glimmer of who he’d been and was. He couldn’t deny her anything now, but he was surprised how easily he responded.

“It embodies everything I want to express,” he said simply. He paused, trying to make sense and explain fighting through the horror to get to the other side. He’d never tell the whole truth. Couldn’t, not even to her. But she deserved to hear more and understand why he was too broken to ever be involved in a healthy relationship. “The serpent is a symbol of light and dark. I was fighting for my sanity back then. I stumbled on an old library book someone had thrown in a Dumpster that detailed the history of snakes and various legends. Fascinating. Snakes shed their skin and become new. They’re also full of deceit, marked by a forked tongue that mingles truth with lies. It represents fury such as poison and vengefulness when it strikes, never warning the victims beforehand.” The past battled to breach the wall he’d carefully built, but most of his defenses held tight. He continued talking in an academic tone. “The serpent is also a symbol of guardianship. Even when threatened, it holds its ground and defends. When I found myself in the tattoo parlor, I didn’t think twice. I wanted to remember every time I looked at my body.”

She studied him in silence, both assessing and delving deeper than any woman before. Why did he suddenly crave to spill his guts? His belly clenched. No. Some secrets were meant to be buried in the ground forever.

As usual, she surprised him by both her acceptance of his speech and her question.

“What is it whispering to you?”

His hand rubbed the side of his neck where the forked tongue stopped, curling around his ear. The skin beneath his leather wristbands itched and burned. How did she know? Wolfe swallowed and kept his voice steady. “Live.”

She never jerked back or reached for him. Her gaze flicked to his covered wrists as if she knew that was the key to his secrets but then she just nodded. That quiet understanding and acceptance of his one-word answer soothed him in a way nothing ever had. His body lit, and the hungry need to bury himself back in her sweetness shook him to the core. Without hesitation, she reached for him again, welcoming and opening her thighs.