Lysaria
After that, things changed. The heat didn’t let up, but Zayne continued to show a tenderness and gentleness that took my breath away. The fear was still a hum beneath my skin, but the all-consuming terror was gone.
“How long did it take that other woman to find her wolf?” I asked once, in one of the quiet moments when the heat receded for a bit.
“I’m not sure,” He replied. “Joseph didn’t say, but he did say that it would take patience.” I grimaced. Now that I knew I might actually have a wolf, I was impatient to meet her. "Patience" was the last advice I wanted to hear.
“I don’t understand. Why have I never felt her before?” I said, half to myself. I wasn’t used to talking to someone or having them care what I had to say.
“You likely have, but it would have been when you were very young, before she hid herself away,” He replied.
“So how do I get her back?” I asked, my voice breaking.
He sat beside me on the bed and pulled me into his arms.
I stiffened slightly, an instinctual reaction, but then I relaxed.
He hadn’t pushed for anything sexual beyond the grip of the heat, and I had never felt the comfort of a hug before.
It was fast becoming something I desired.
“We have to make her feel safe, feel loved. Then she will know that she doesn’t need to protect you anymore, and that’s when she will emerge,” he replied, stroking my back. I sighed, then idly traced abstract patterns on the fabric of his shirt.
“I’m sorry, Zayne,” I whispered. “You deserve someone whole, but instead you got me.”
“Hey,” he said, cupping my face and tilting it up so that I met his eyes.
“You are the strongest wolf I have ever met, and I wouldn’t choose anyone else. The gods knew what they were doing when they chose us for each other.”
He leaned down and kissed me softly. “You are beautiful, Lysaria, and I know your wolf will be magnificent.”
I sighed, parting my lips slightly, and he deepened the kiss.
The heat was building again, but this time the fear was a shadow of its former self.
I kissed him back, tentatively, and he growled softly in approval.
His hand slid beneath the sheet, tracing the line of my spine.
I hadn’t bothered to put the robe back on after the last round; it seemed pointless.
Modesty wasn't the issue, it was more a fear of being vulnerable.
With him, it was starting to feel okay to be vulnerable.
I couldn’t resist slipping my hand under his shirt, enjoying the feel of his warm skin as I traced the hard planes of his abdomen with my fingertips.
He shuddered under my touch and groaned against my lips.
His hand slid down my side, over the curve of my stomach, before rising to cup my breast.
I shuddered, arching my back and pressing myself into his hand. His lips moved to my neck, and his thumb brushed over my nipple, making me gasp. I felt his teeth scrape against my skin, and instead of scaring me, it made the heat in my belly flare up, washing over me in a wave of hunger and need.
I whimpered softly and pulled on his shirt, wanting to feel the warmth of his skin against mine. He lifted his head, pulling back and ripping the shirt over his head. Then he was back, kissing me fiercely, his hands tracing the lines of my body.
I ran my hands over his chest, marveling at the solidness of him, the smooth curve of muscle beneath his skin.
His hands moved lower, cupping my ass, kneading the soft globes.
I sighed in pleasure and pressed my hips against him, feeling the hard length of him between us.
His fingers moved lower, teasing the sensitive flesh between my legs.
I gasped, my fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders.
“Zayne,” his name was a plea. And he answered in the only way he could. His fingers plunged into me, and his thumb found the little bundle of nerves at the apex of my sex. I cried out, throwing my head back as my hips bucked against his hand.
“That’s it,” he whispered in my ear. “That’s my girl.”
My arms went around his neck, holding on for dear life.
The pressure continued to build, and I tangled my hands in his hair, weaving my fingers into the silky strands.
I buried my face in his neck, breathing in his scent, reveling in the wildness of it.
When the peak came, it washed over me, a warm tide of pleasure. I shuddered in his arms. He removed his fingers and replaced them with the head of his shaft. I groaned as he entered me, flinching a bit as he stretched already tender flesh.
“Sore?” he whispered in my ear. I nodded, and he shifted position, rolling onto his back and taking me with him, our bodies still connected.
“There,” he said, as I sat up, straddling his hips, his length hard and hot inside me. “Now, you're in control. Ride me, little one.” His hands came up to grab my hips, to steady, but not direct. I paused for a moment, startled. Then I froze. What was I supposed to do? What if I did it wrong?
Zayne slid his hands up my sides, pulling me down for a kiss.
“Stop thinking, Lysaria,” he growled against my lips.
“Just let yourself feel.” Then he released me, his hands going back to my hips.
He held me steady and rolled his hips against mine.
I gasped and copied his movement. He groaned, his fingers tightening on my skin.
I did it again. The pleasure was intense; the new position allowing him to reach different places than before.
I began to move faster, bracing my hands on his chest.
“That’s right, little one,” he growled, his voice a low rumble of approval. “Take what’s yours.” The pressure reached a breaking point, and I screamed his name as my body spasmed around his. He roared, slamming his hips up into mine, his grip on my hips absolute.
I felt it then, a curious presence at the back of my mind, cautiously peering out of the shadows of my soul.
I collapsed against his chest, sighing deeply as I tried to hold on to the feeling, but it slipped away.
I buried my face in his neck, my shoulders slumping in disappointment.
He stroked my hair, pushing it back from my face and kissing my temple.
“Hey, it’s ok. There’s no rush, we have plenty of time,” he said, gently. “She’s curious, that’s a start.” I smiled against his neck, in spite of myself.