12. Cheribelle
Cheribelle
It Takes Two to Tango
Never in a hundred, million years did I ever expect to be under Paul VanMarche as he kissed me senseless, his movements full of just as much bite as he had passion.
For once, my brain was quiet.
I was so locked in on the moment, only experiencing what was happening and focusing on the now, it was like a drug. And my dealer was the handsome wolf shifter above me.
I knew it meant nothing. We were just letting off some steam. But man, was I elated that he hadn’t kicked me to the curb. He had every right to, because what I’d done had been sneaky and selfish. I didn’t deserve a second chance.
Yet he was giving me one.
And that second chance wasn’t contingent on what we were doing now. Even though he’d never said it, it was so implicit in the multiple ways he tried to make sure he had my full consent. Which he had, unequivocally.
I liked sex a little rough around the edges. I preferred my pleasure to have a bit of bite and burn along with the ecstasy. I liked being put in my place just as much as I loved pushing boundaries and defying any sort of authority—but only if I trusted and felt safe with my partner.
And I really did trust Paul.
That was completely crazy since this was only our second time being in each other’s presence, but that was double the length of a one-night stand, so who cared?
Despite how badly I’d fucked up, we had a connection, so who better to celebrate the fact that we’d survived a run-in with a very angry dryad than Paul?
By the way, you really need to follow up with that.
Not now, brain! Fun times! Endorphins.
Fuck, his abs are delicious!
When we broke apart to catch our breath, I gently removed his glasses. The simple act seemed heavily weighted as I hung them from my easel.
“Kiss me,” I demanded again, and the snarl he let out had me dripping in my panties. Maybe one day I’d examine that particular reaction, but not today. Right now, my brain was finally fully occupied with a task.
Granted, that task was getting laid, and if that wasn’t worth concentrating on, I didn’t know what was.
“Brat,” he hissed before his teeth scraped against my neck. It was a thrilling sort of threat, and I tried to squeeze my thighs together, but Paul filled the space between them with all his heat and hard muscle.
I’d read about mating glands and how shifters bit into each other’s in a very important, ancestral ceremony that was even more important than marriage to them.
That had been interesting enough, but what I’d found really fascinating was that there was an entire thing called gland play (unsexiest name ever!) where they teased the area with fangs or fingers.
So, even though I didn’t have that particular anatomical part, I liked that Paul was treating me like I did.
“You know it,” I murmured as he sealed his lips over my skin and sucked. It would leave a mark, which sent a delicious thrill through me. The idea of wearing his mark made me even wetter. If he didn’t get inside me soon…
That hazy thought was disrupted when he pulled away from my neck and knelt in front of me, keeping his eyes on mine as he draped my knees over his shoulders.
And holy fuck, his entire half of the room was completely saturated with unmitigated lust. It made my breath catch in my throat.
Vibrant pink mist shimmered this way and that in what little streetlight filtered through my lace curtains.
Feral pinwheels of burgundy slowly rose into the air like dandelion puffs, disappearing through the ceiling.
Streaks of deep purple desire. Scarlet domination.
Lightning strikes of vermillion debauchery without a hint of shade to dilute them.
Did he really feel that way about me? Even after I’d lied to him?
“Oh my god,” I whispered, so turned on I was surprised I didn’t combust.
“My name’s Paul, actually. But close enough.”
It was the cockiest shit I’d ever heard, but I didn’t have a chance to respond before his mouth was on me.
“Paul!” I cried, my hand flying to the edge of the table to grip it, sending more papers and things flying. Practically everything that had covered the surface was on the floor now, but whatever. I’d pick it up later when the hottest guy I’d ever met didn’t have his face buried in my pussy.
The touch was electric. I could feel the heat of him so intensely as he licked, but it wasn’t enough because of the thin barrier of fabric between us.
I was desperate to rip my underwear in two, and I almost asked Paul to do it, but then I remembered they were my comfy bamboo-fiber ones that I ordered online.
Once I’d hit twenty-five, I realized I was too old for packs of polyester panties that didn’t let my lady bits breathe.
“Paul…” I whispered, as if I could possibly string enough words together to explain. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about it for long. Paul hooked his fingers around the soaked fabric and pulled it to the side.
“There you are,” he said in that loud rumble that sent heat coursing through me. His fingers gently followed the path his tongue had tread, teasing at my clit before sliding down. “Already so wet for me.”
I wish I had some witty repartee, but no, the motor-mouthed Cheribelle of Haus de Donmoue could make no other sounds but little gasps as he teased me.
And teased me.
And teased me.
“More,” I whined without an ounce of shame. Why should I feel bad about anything when he was making me feel so good? “P-please, more.”
“This isn’t enough for you?” Paul growled, placing a gentle kiss on my center.
It really wasn’t. Not when I could feel ecstasy was only a few experienced movements away. And I could tell that Paul knew it. It figured that the composed, always responsible VanMarche had a sadistic streak in him. It was always the quiet ones.
“N-no,” I rasped, then his mouth was truly on me, and my soul promptly fled my body. “Fuck. Like that. P-p-please, just like that!”
Normally, I wasn’t one to beg so easily, but it had been a lifetime-and-a-half since I was eaten out properly. Paul, although not the most chatty individual, certainly knew how to use his mouth.
His warm, strong tongue teased around my clit before flicking over it, slowly building pressure until I was bucking against him.
He gripped my left hip, keeping me from lifting entirely off the table as he circled my entrance with the fingers of his free hand, then slid inside me, curling just so to drive me crazy.
And oh God, did I feel like I was going insane in all of the best ways. Pressure was building up in my abdomen, a delicious promise of what could be and what would be.
“More, more, more,” I chanted. I’d always been a mouthy lover—big surprise—but I couldn’t help it. I wanted him to know exactly how he was ruining me. And since he didn’t have the ability to see people’s feelings in bold technicolor, I needed to use my words.
And he gave me more.
Despite the impossibility of it, despite the fact that every nerve in my body was electrified, I continued to spiral higher and higher until it was finally too much, and everything that had been building in me exploded in a vibrant wave of colors and sensation.
It was too much, far too much, but I drank it down, reveling in every second of pleasure that surged through my body. I could barely breathe, and a keening sound ripped its way out of my throat as I arched up off the surface of the table.
“ Paul! ” I gasped. Or did I scream?
He devoured me like he truly had a wolf’s appetite, and when he pulled away, the lower half of his face was shiny. He gave me a satisfied grin, like he was the one who just had the best orgasm in… God, it had to have been years.
“Marks…” he rumbled, his canines so sharp in his mouth that I almost missed what he said. I was learning a whole lot about myself, and I’d have to think about it all when I wasn’t about to get cracked like a glowstick.
“Huh?”
“I left some marks,” he said again, and I didn’t know if he was articulating better or if I was actually listening, but this time I understood enough to look down at my thighs. I had little knicks where he’d gripped my thigh. I stared at them a moment, realizing they were just superficial and yet…
Is that hot?
Yes.
Hell yeah.
“You did,” I said, licking my lips. “You wanna make more?”
His eyes flashed at that, going from cool, slate-gray to golden around the edges. Instead of being frightened of the incursion of his animal side, I was intrigued.
Furry.
Shut up!
He didn’t answer my question, at least not verbally. His lips crashed against mine with all the teeth and bite one would imagine. I pushed into it, wanting to grate against all his sharp edges.
Call it sensation-seeking, call it being a masochist, call it me being my normal, impetuous self. I didn’t care. I was high on everything I was feeling and the thrill of something completely and totally new. I wanted it all.
Even if it didn’t mean anything. Because it didn’t have to.
I gave as good as I got, and it wasn’t long before I was breathless and dizzy in the best way from his dominating, bruising kiss. Blissful in my haze of debauchery, I reached for his pants again, unfastening his belt and freeing it from its loops without breaking our liplock.
He helped me with his tactical pants, however, and thank God, because I was so hopped up on adrenaline and lust, I didn’t think I could force that kind of dexterity in my shaking hands.
He was just as eager as I was, because all he did was unbutton and shove them down just enough to get his cock out of the front of his underwear.
The friction from his zipper and the rough fabric was going to be a bitch against my thighs, but I was so far from caring that it was laughable. If anything, the possible chafing would be a way to keep this lingering in my mind for an extra day or two before it got buried under real life.
“You want this?” he growled, gripping his cock at the base.