Chapter 21 Esmerelda #2
I slide down his body, tasting the salt of his skin as my lips trail over his perfect chest, down the taut ridges of his abs.
Every inch of him feels wrapped incredibly tight.
By the time I reach the waistband of his sweats, his breath is ragged, chest rising and falling as though I’ve already undone him.
He fists the sheets so hard the fabric strains, his jaw locked tight, a muscle ticking as though it’s the only thing keeping him from grabbing me and taking over. That flicker of control, his need to hold back, makes me want to ruin him.
I tug the sweats down, deliberately slow, then I take him into my mouth.
Heat, hardness, the sheer weight of him…
it fills me, pushes me to my limits, and gods, the taste makes my wolf rumble with satisfaction.
I move slowly at first, teasing, savoring, letting him feel every fraction of me surrendering to this.
His hips twitch off the bed despite his death grip on restraint, a guttural curse tearing from his throat. The sound turns into something raw and desperate that might be my name, and it makes me clench with need.
“Esme—stop.” His voice is ragged, strained, like the words are being torn out of him against his will.
I jerk back immediately, lips wet, heart slamming against my ribs. Panic flares hot and sharp in my chest. Did I do something wrong? Push too far? My wolf bristles, ready to bare her teeth at even the thought of rejection, but beneath it is a colder fear I can’t shake.
“What’s wrong?” The words rush out my mouth too fast, with a breathless edge that has nothing to do with how turned on I am and more to do with the fear brewing.
Should I get up? Move away? The taste of him still lingers, and I’m sure I will be able to close my eyes and remember every ridge of him against my tongue for an eternity.
The distance between us feels like a gulf apart.
He meets my gaze, eyes blazing with a heat that steals my breath. “I’m going to come. And when I do, it’s not going to be in your mouth.”
Before I can even process the words, the world flips. My back hits the mattress with a jolt, his weight caging me in, arms braced on either side of my head. He looms over me, every line of him taut with restraint and hunger, his gaze fierce and unrelenting.
“It’s your choice,” he says, voice cutting through the haze like steel. “If you don’t want this, say it now. No harm. No games.”
My pulse hammers, my wolf roaring at me to scream yes, to beg him to take me, to claim him in the same breath. She needn’t worry. Gods, I’d be insane to stop now.
I shake my head, breathless, “I want this. I want you.” Is that even my voice?
He exhales hard, like my words snapped chains he’s been holding onto for far too long. His eyes blaze, darker than I’ve ever seen them. “Say it, Esmerelda. I need to hear it.”
The demand sends a shiver through me, but I don’t hesitate. “I want you to fuck me.”
His answering growl vibrates straight through my bones, and there is no mistaking its claim. It rolls through me, causing my heart to stutter in my chest. My wolf arches inside me in recognition.
Then he moves. Sliding down my body with maddening slowness.
Dragging the moment out as if to punish me for teasing him earlier.
Every nerve in my body is pulled tight as he slips my panties down my legs.
His lips burn a path over my stomach, lower, lower, until he presses a kiss to the very top of my mound.
The shock of it makes my hips buck helplessly off the bed, a gasp ripping from me before I can swallow it back. “Marcus.” His name falls from my lips in a desperate plea.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his breath hot against my skin. The words are a claim, a vow to take me apart piece by piece, and his hands promise he won’t stop until I’m undone.
Then his mouth is on my clit. Hot, merciless, devastating. A cry rips from my throat before I can stop it, my back bowing off the bed, unable to contain the sudden jolt of pleasure.
His tongue moves slowly at first, maddening in its restraint. Each deliberate stroke teases, builds, winds the tension tighter and tighter until I’m trembling with it. My wolf thrashes inside me, snarling for more, pawing at my skin as if to force him deeper, harder, faster.
I fist his hair, dragging him closer, needing his mouth where I want it most. He doesn’t fight me. He doesn’t ignore me. He listens to my body, to every gasp and hitch of breath. He reads me with terrifying accuracy, like he’s always known exactly how to unravel me.
And gods help me, he’s doing it.
His finger teases at my entrance, circling with excruciating slowness. The anticipation is torture, dragging whimpers from my throat as my hips twist against him desperately, shamelessly. Every nerve is strung so tight I feel like I might unravel just from the anticipation of him alone.
Then, right as the pressure inside me crests, right as I shatter on the edge, he thrusts two fingers deep. His tongue never stops, relentless on my clit, merciless in its rhythm.
The climax tears through me like wildfire, burning everything else away. My body convulses around him, clenching so hard I nearly scream. Waves of pleasure crash over me again and again, until there’s nothing left but sensation. Endless pleasure.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I can do is ride it out as he wrings every last tremor, every last shudder, from my body like he owns them. Like he owns me.
When I finally collapse, trembling and utterly spent, my limbs feel like wet noodles.
He lingers between my thighs, drawing out the last sparks of my release with slow, lazy flicks of his tongue until I can’t handle the sensitivity anymore.
I shove weakly at his hair, and only then does he lift his head.
His lips glisten with my arousal, his mouth swollen from devouring me. The sight alone nearly results in another wave of relentless pleasure. His gaze pins me, feral. As if I’m the only thing in the world worth looking at.
“Fuck,” he growls, voice roughened to gravel. “You come so good for me, Esmerelda.”
The way he says my name, like he owns every syllable, sends another sliver of pleasure through me.
Gods, the man is sin personified as he gazes up at me through thick eyelashes and runs his tongue over his lips.
Gathering every last drop of my pleasure.
His eyes burn with an intensity that lets me know he isn’t nearly done with me. Not yet.
And I’m not mad at that at all.