Chapter 17 #3
One powerful roll, and my back hits the bed with a soft thud, the air leaving my lungs in a rush.
My sharp inhale is cut off and turned into a choked gasp when his hand delves between my thighs, dragging through the slick he’d coaxed from my cunt.
He gathers what I’ve made for him and spreads it over the length of his cock.
His fist works in slow, deliberate strokes that make my stomach clench.
I watch, hypnotized by the devastating sight of him glistening with me.
And when his other hand returns to my core, fingertips brushing where I crave him most.
“Ren!” I gasp when he thrusts two fingers inside me, deep enough that my body tightens around the intrusion in grateful shock.
The stretch is perfect, a delicious twinge that has my head tipping back against the blankets.
He sets a rhythm, slow at first, then deeper, timed to the way his other hand works over his cock.
When his thumb joins in, pressing circles against my clit, my vision blurs.
It’s the fullness that does it. The way his thick digits fill the hollow that’s been pulsing for him to fill, the place that’s felt unbearably empty since he held himself back.
I come apart for him, unable to hold back the storm—the moans, the shaking, the way my legs try to snap shut.
Rennick doesn’t tolerate it. Won’t let me keep him out.
He leans partially over me and forces my thighs to remain open, to give him access, as I writhe and moan with my release.
He doesn’t let up, working me through every pulse, every spasm, refusing to let me go until he’s sure there’s nothing left for him to take. He leaves me nothing but a breathless mess with light scattering behind my closed eyelids.
I’m starting to float back into the framework of my bones when he goes taut between my thighs and my name breaks from his throat.
Rough and reverent all at once. The heat that follows paints my skin, thick and wet where it lands across my lower belly and the top of my pulsing pussy.
It marks me in a way that feels like a warped union between holy and sin.
Something primal sparks to life, roaring its approval somewhere deep inside me.
My eyes snap open just to watch him—head thrown back, the cords of his neck tight, caught in the intoxicating space between agony and relief. His hand moves once more, slow and deliberate, milking the last drops of his cum with a low groan that sounds a lot like the end of a prayer.
He collapses forward, caging me beneath him. He catches himself above me with the same hand that had just been working his release from his body. His breath pants against my cheek in rough, uneven bursts, matching the erratic rise and fall of my exposed breasts.
When his eyes lift, they’re in flux—deep gray to that pale ghostly shade I know belongs to his wolf.
He’s close to the surface. Fighting the impulse to take, to claim.
I sympathize. My own animal half presses at the bars of her cage, purring with satisfaction, but still restless.
She’s desperate for the feel of his fur against hers. I wish I could give her that.
Rennick doesn’t shift until he’s got his beastly half under control.
His other hand moves, the one still buried between my thighs.
He twists his wrist, dragging his fingers from inside me with a slow, knowing curl that grazes every raw, trembling nerve of my pussy’s walls on the way out.
My sharp gasp makes his mouth twitch into that sinful smirk I refuse to admit that I love.
Without breaking eye contact, he lifts those fingers to his mouth and sucks. His tongue traces each digit, collecting every bit of my essence like he’s starving for its taste. The view unravels me all over again, igniting the fire in my belly he’d only just put out.
When he finishes, he drags those same fingers through the mess he’s spilled across my pale skin
I go still when he lifts his hand, the light catching on his cum-covered fingertips.
His eyes, heated and possessive, never leave mine as he drags them across my mouth, tracing the shape of my bottom lip.
The scent floods my senses—salt, musk, him—and I can’t stop my tongue from darting out, tasting him.
The flavor is heady, addictive. The animal residing within me hums in contentment.
He watches me like he can read every thought unraveling in my head.
My lips part again, wordless, asking.
“You want more, baby?” His voice drips low, all gravel and affection, the sound wrapping around me like a physical embrace.
I can’t speak. I just breathe him in and open wider.
When he slides two fingers past my lips, I take them willingly, greedily. His taste coats my tongue, tangled with the faint sweetness of my own arousal that still ghosts his skin. A low vibration builds behind his ribs.
Rennick purrs for me as he feeds me his cum, the sound deep enough to make my vision blur at the edges and my body cedes without thought, neck tipping back in submission for my alpha.
His taste on my tongue and his rumble filling the room sate something deep inside me—something feral and starving—that stem from my omega.
Fingers thoroughly clean, I slide my mouth off of them with a pop and continue to stare up at him.
He lowers beside me, his weight dipping the mattress as his body curves against mine.
One hand props his head while the other drifts over my stomach, my ribs, my collarbone—each slow pass leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
When his palm collars my throat, I still. He squeezes. His grip isn’t suffocating, it’s just hard enough for me to feel owned. Possessed. I swallow against his palm but don’t try to break free.
“You look so pretty with my cum all over you, sweet Noa,” he rasps, voice thick with satisfaction.
His hold on my throat tightens just enough to make me shiver and his thumb swipes over the spot on my pulse point he’d fixated on earlier.
“I like my scent clinging to your skin. My claim.” He snarls the word, his wolf pushing through.
Dipping his chin, he uses his control on my jugular to hold me right where he wants and kisses me breathless.
“Keep me on you,” he growls against my lips. “All day. Don’t wash me off.”
To anyone else, it would sound like an Alpha’s command. Unyielding. Final. But that’s not what this is. I hear the edge beneath it, the strain.
It isn’t authority. It’s a plea. Mate to mate.
His face is still close, breath mingling with mine, when I find myself nodding.