9. Avery #3
When he gestured instead of meeting me halfway, presumably not wanting to get his socks wet from the rain earlier, I jogged over to him, but stopped when I got close. He looked sort of sleep-rumpled and warm, and my instinct was to lunge, but I resisted. Somehow.
“Avery?” He lifted his arms, beckoning me.
“I haven’t showered, and I probably stink, badly, and––”
“Come here,” he demanded, and his tone, all alpha, told me not to fuck with him.
I lost it.
Rushing forward, I hit him hard. For other men I’d been with, had in my bed, it would have been too much. Too much exerted power, too much speed, too much raw, clawing desire.
Not Graeme. I didn’t move him a fraction, and he absorbed my frantic movement as I writhed against him and tried to get closer, pressing my face to the hollow of his throat, inhaling his scent as my hands slipped up under his T-shirt to his warm, sleek skin.
“Avery,” he murmured into my hair, and when I lifted my head, met his gaze, he bent and kissed me.
I wanted to drown in that kiss, and the hand that cupped the back of my head, and the other on the small of my back, were perfect.
Coiling my arms around his neck, I hung on as his tongue rubbed over mine, tangled and tasted, sucking and gently biting my bottom lip.
His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back gently so he could breathe me in, and he slid his other hand down to my ass, fingers sliding over my crease.
I bucked forward, my cock hard and, I was embarrassed to admit, leaking in my underwear.
When he grabbed hold of my ass with both hands and lifted with those powerful arms, I hopped at the same time, held against him, arms and legs wrapped around him as I mauled his mouth.
He held my thighs tight in his hands as he turned and climbed the steps, like my hundred and seventy-five pounds was nothing. It was impressive, but then, everything about the man was.
I didn’t stop kissing him to look around, couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to.
I was peripherally aware of passing room after room, and while I would have been horrified, under normal circumstances, that I was grinding over the man’s abdomen in full view of anyone who might see me, the friction was the only thing allowing me not to howl in desperate, ravenous hunger.
The open door he went through put us in a room that was warm with the lingering scent of cedar and musk.
I heard the door slam behind us and thought he must have kicked it shut, but then my brain was entirely too occupied with him falling down onto his bed with me in his arms, pinning me under him before he took a quick gulp of air and kissed me again, to care.
I heard a sound that took me a moment to realize I was its source. It was a whimpering, panting cry, and when he lifted up off me, I growled.
“I know,” he soothed me, sitting with his long, muscular legs folded under him, lifting one of my feet, then the other, taking off my sneakers and socks before reaching for my belt.
Pulling the sweater up over my head, I got caught in it and the T-shirt underneath. His low chuckle should have been embarrassing, but it was so warm, like I was dear.
“I’m stuck,” I whined.
“For the moment, yes. Stay there,” he ordered, the sexy, seductive rumble in his voice making me arch up off the bed.
He worked open my belt and the button, pulled down my zipper, and I called his name as he yanked my briefs and pants halfway down my thighs.
The air hit my hot cock and made me shiver.
“You’re so hard,” he almost purred, and he licked the underside of my dick.
“Graeme,” I rasped, my breath catching, “please.”
He took me down the back of this throat then, sucking hard, and I screamed, rough and hoarse, and tore my arms free from the restraint of my sweater and T-shirt, wrestling them off.
I meant to fist my hands in his thick, glossy brown hair and hold him still while I thrust into him, but I ran my fingers through it instead, gentle, savoring the feel of the silky strands on my skin.
My cock slipped free of his lips, and I felt hot tears in the corners of my eyes.
He sat up, scrambled off the end of the bed, and reached for my left ankle, pulling off one pantleg, then the other.
He took the time to kiss each ankle, reaching up and dragging my underwear down and off before rolling me to my stomach.
I lay there and watched as he went to his nightstand and pulled what looked like a small bottle with a ground-glass stopper from a drawer and came back.
He lifted my ass, and I heard the clink of glass striking glass before two fingers were pressed inside of my tight entrance.
It should have hurt, had hurt in the past when other lovers had done it without first loosening me or rimming me, but all I felt was good, the consuming ache, the want and need of his kiss, his sweat, his cum.
Between my own raging desire and his possessive touch—the way he pushed in deep, twisted his fingers inside of me, and then slid them free only to repeat the motion, over and over until I shoved back against him, aching and begging—I was lost.
“Avery,” he growled, and the wide head of his cock notched against my opening, “are you mine?”
“Yes,” I cried out, lifting my ass as he pressed inside, filling me, stretching me around his club of a cock, going slow but never once stopping until he was buried to the hilt.
“My mate,” he ground out like it hurt, hands on my hips, holding tight, bracing himself as he eased back and then bottomed out again, his moan decadent and filthy.
I hooked my feet around the backs of his thighs, holding on to him as he slid out and in, each time increasing the speed and the depth of the plunge until he was thrusting to my core as he closed his fingers like a vise around my cock.
I shivered hard. The only sound that crawled out of my throat was his name.
“Tell me,” my alpha demanded, the sound savage and feral, as though he was on the cusp of his shift.
My alpha.
Mine.
It wasn’t just a word anymore. It wasn’t a rank that was important to others but not to me, or something that had no real relevance in my life. And it certainly was not a word to be taken for granted or spoken lightly to get what I wanted in the heated rush of passion.
I always tried to be a man first, to bury my wolf under layers of humanity, to fan the fires of logic and reason that kept the animal at bay.
But now…my wolf smelled blood when Graeme bit my lip, tasted salt and sweat when I licked it from his skin, and felt the euphoric high when I was manhandled by my mate, my alpha, made to do solely as he desired.
I was nothing more than his, and the animal I was reveled in the knowledge that I was safe, forever, in his den.
The man was the only alpha I would ever have, my one-in-a-million shot, and I knew, under my skin, in the blood rushing through my veins, down deep in muscle and bone, as Graham had said, that my wolf would run with his.
“Tell me,” he snarled as he turned my head, and his fangs were there, catching on and grazing my skin.
“I’m yours…my alpha.”
I expected pain, and it was there, blinding and choking, so overwhelming for a moment I thought I was drowning. Until, in a heartbeat, it rolled into pleasure as my climax roared up my spine when he bit down into the hollow between my shoulder and neck.
Fangs piercing flesh was agony.
The claiming bite of an alpha… my alpha …was ecstasy.
“Graeme!”
He was rutting hard, pistoning inside of me, pounding me through my orgasm, claws on my hips, teeth holding me still—his to do with as he pleased, taken and used.
Pumping into me even as cum ran down the inside of my thighs in warm rivulets, he released my throat and lapped at the wound, bathing it in saliva before he took my mouth.
The thrusting was endless and I reveled in the feel of him, of the claiming, of his dominance and my complete submission.
After long moments, he slowed then stopped, kissed me deeply, lifting me to my hands, and then broke the kiss to drape himself over my back.
“What’re you doing?” I asked, and heard the gravel in my voice. I had perhaps done more screaming than I thought.
He was panting. “I need a minute.”
“Lemme understand,” I said gruffly, biting my bottom lip so I wouldn’t smile. “You put me on my hands and knees so you could rest on top of me?”
“No,” he grumbled. “It’s because you’re so beautiful, and I’m admiring your––”
“Liar,” I accused him softly, chuckling as he rubbed his face in my hair and then slowly, carefully, with a tenderness I hadn’t expected, slipped free of my still-clenching channel.
“Do you feel that?”
“I feel your huge dick sliding out of my ass.”
“Your muscles are holding on; you want me to stay right there inside.”
I grunted. “I know you’re very pleased with yourself at the moment, but you need to get off me before I collapse.”
Smug male chuckle before he toppled me sideways and scrambled up toward the headboard of his ridiculously huge four-poster bed. It could easily sleep four comfortably.
Sitting up, I stared at him. “Usually have lots of company, do you?”
“Sure, of course—” He snickered. “—orgies every night, are you kidding?”
I scowled, and he laughed at me. “You know, I had no idea you were such an idiot.”
“That’s because I’m so relieved I put my mark on you, and heard how sweet my name sounded when I was inside of you, that I’m entirely undone.”
“You’re an ass,” I stated flatly.
“Yes,” he agreed, far too pleased with himself. “Always have been. But I would point out that whatever I am, I’m yours.”
The warmth as he stared at me, as though I was, without question, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, was overwhelming.