Chapter Eleven #3
Before I could argue, he flipped us. My back hit the mattress, and Crowbar caging me in with his arms. The weight of him pressed me down, his thighs bracketing mine, and fuck, I loved it. Loved the way he took control, the way my body responded like it had been waiting for this exact thing.
He kissed his way down my jaw, teeth grazing my throat. A sharp nip at my pulse point made me gasp—I bit my lip to stifle it.
“You scared?” he murmured against my skin, his voice a low rumble.
“Of what?”
“Me. What I’m gonna do to you.”
I reached up, my fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw, the stubble rough under my touch.
“No,” I said. “You saved me. You’re not scary. You’re not gonna hurt me.”
A sound escaped him, something raw and hungry. His eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense. “Gonna make you feel good.”
“Already do.”
“Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name.”
He sat back on his heels, his hands going to the button of my jeans. The denim parted, the zipper rasping as he dragged it down.
Cool air hit my skin as he peeled the fabric off my legs, taking my boxers with it. My cock sprang free, hard and aching, the tip already slick. Crowbar’s gaze dropped to it, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“Fuck,” I breathed, my hips twitching. “Touch me.”
“Patience.” His voice was rough, strained. He wrapped a hand around my cock, giving it one slow stroke. Pleasure jolted through me, and I bucked into his grip, my breath hitching.
“More,” I demanded.
“Greedy.” But his hand moved faster, his thumb swiping over the head, spreading the wetness there. “Gonna make you beg for it.”
“Already begging.” My voice broke on the words, my body trembling with need.
My hips jerked without permission, and his low chuckle was a dark vibration in the room. “Sensitive.”
“You did that.”
“Good.”
Crowbar’s hand left my skin. He stood, shoving his jeans down his thighs. His cock stood thick and heavy, already wet at the tip. My mouth flooded with saliva.
“I want your dick in my mouth,” I said.
Crowbar went still. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Sliding off the bed, I dropped to my knees on the hardwood floor. The position put me at eye level with his cock, and up close, it was even more intimidating than I remembered. Not that I cared.
I wrapped my good hand around his base, leaned in, and licked firmly from root to tip. The taste of salt and skin and him hit me, raw and unmistakable. His hand came to rest in my hair, fingers weaving through but not guiding.
“Fuck,” Crowbar exhaled.
I took his erection into my mouth, hollowing my cheeks as I sucked his cock deep. The groan that tore from him seemed to shake the walls. Encouraged, I took more, working my tongue along the thick vein underneath while my hand stroked what I couldn’t swallow.
His hips gave a slight thrust; his grip tightened almost imperceptibly. “Easy now. Don’t hurt yourself.”
I pulled back just enough to speak. “I’m not fragile.”
“I know. But your arm—”
“Is fine.” I leaned forward again, taking him back into my mouth until my jaw strained with the stretch. I didn’t care. All that mattered was the look on his face— like I was pulling him apart.
“Spencer.” My name was a choked sound. “Christ, your mouth…”
I hummed around him, setting a relentless rhythm—bobbing my head, twisting my fist at the base until his breathing fractured. Bitter pre-cum spilled onto my tongue and I swallowed without hesitation.
“You keep that up, I’m gonna come,” Crowbar warned.
Good. That was the point. I doubled down, sucking his cock harder, focusing my tongue just under the head until his thighs shook under my palm.
“Spencer.” A rough warning. “Baby, I’m—”
I pulled off with a wet sound and looked up. “I want you to fuck me now.”
Crowbar’s eyes went black. Not a metaphor. Pure black, like the wolf was right there staring out. “You sure?”
“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”
His hands were under my arms, lifting me up from my knees like I weighed nothing. He guided me back to the bed with that same careful control. “On your back. Don’t want you putting weight on that arm.”
I lay down, watching him open the nightstand drawer. The sound of him rummaging through it was loud in the quiet room. He pulled out a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms, dropping them onto the mattress beside my hip.
“We don’t need those,” I said, nodding at the condoms.
“Spencer—”
“I’m clean. Got tested after Ken and I split. And you’re…” I gestured vaguely at all of him. “I don’t know how werewolf biology works, but I’m guessing you can’t catch anything.”
“Can’t,” he confirmed. “And can’t get you pregnant either, if that’s a concern.” Crowbar chuckled.
“It’s not.” Heat flushed across my cheeks. “Just want to feel you. All of you.”
Something shifted in Crowbar’s eyes—dark, possessive. He tossed the condoms off the bed. When he climbed over me, his breath hit my cock, which was still hard and dripping against my stomach.
“Gonna open you up first,” he said. “Make sure you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now.”
“You’re not.” The cap of the lube snapped open. He slicked two fingers, the sound wet in the quiet room. “Relax.”
My whole body was thrumming with need, muscles coiled tight. When his slick finger pressed against my entrance, I flinched.
“Breathe,” Crowbar murmured. “I’ve got you.”
I forced air into my lungs as his finger pushed slowly inside. The stretch was sharp and perfect, a burning fullness that anchored me here, now, with him.
“That’s it.” His finger worked deeper, curling just right. “Doing so good for me.”
A second finger joined the first, stretching me wider. My breath hitched at the intrusion, the overwhelming sense of being filled. Crowbar moved with deliberate patience, scissoring his fingers until my hips began pushing back against his hand.
“More,” I begged.
“Greedy.” Approval warmed his voice. A third finger pressed in, stretching me to the limit. My back bowed off the mattress as pleasure-pain sparked through me. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he growled. “Taking all three like you were made for it.”
Pleasure crested so sharp it was almost unbearable, his fingers finding that spot and staying there, working it with slow, deliberate strokes until my thighs shook and my vision blurred at the edges.
“There,” I moaned. “Right there.”
“Found it.” He stroked over it again, deliberate and merciless, working me open with a patience that was making me insane. Each thrust of his fingers sent electricity racing up my spine and pooling low in my stomach where it coiled tighter and tighter.
My cock leaked steadily onto my stomach, untouched and aching. Reaching down with my good hand, I wrapped my fingers around the base.
“Don’t touch yourself.” His free hand closed around my wrist before I could get there. “That’s mine. You come on my cock or you don’t come at all.”
A whine tore out of me. “Please.” I said. “Crowbar. Please.”
“Not yet.” He withdrew his fingers and left me clenching around nothing, slick and open and desperate. “Need you ready.”
“I am ready.”
He slicked his cock, slow about it, watching my face while he did it. Then he settled his weight between my legs and pressed the head of his cock against me.
“Eyes on me,” he said.
I met his eyes. Still that impossible black, wolf and man both staring back at me with the same raw hunger. One hand gripped my hip hard enough to bruise. The other braced beside my head, caging me in.
“Mine,” he said.
“Yours.”
He pushed in, one relentless inch at a time, until his balls pressed flush against my skin. My hole burned, stretched obscenely around his thickness, but I didn’t care— I wanted it. Wanted him buried so deep I’d feel it tomorrow. Wanted to be split open on his cock.
“Fuck,” he growled, voice scraped raw. “You’re strangling my cock.”
I clenched around him just to hear him curse again.
He didn’t move, just held himself still, letting me adjust to the intrusion. The tremor in his arms betrayed his restraint, but he waited, jaw clenched, until I nodded.
“Good?” His breath was warm against my ear.
I rolled my hips, testing the angle, and my spine arched off the bed. “Fuck me already.”
He pulled back until just the head of his cock stretched me open, then drove back in. Not gentle. Not slow. The slap of skin against skin filled the room, the bed frame groaning under the force of it.
My fingers clawed at the sheets, knuckles white, while my bad arm stayed trapped against my side—useless, but I didn’t care.