Chapter 5 #3
Her absolute surrender to the pleasure in her body detonated a carnal lust deep in Declan’s being. He sucked in another musk-heavy breath and, heart pounding, balls throbbing, lowered his mouth to her sex once again. Needing to taste her pleasure as well as feel it drench his hand.
Her muscles constricted. Sucked at his fingers as surely as he sucked at her clit.
His balls rose up and he squeezed his cock painfully, struggling for control.
The scent of her sex, the clamping of her pussy and rectum, the sounds of her rapturous desire were pushing him so close to the edge he felt his scrotum swell.
Regan’s hands fisted in his hair. “I’m going to come, Declan. Oh, my God, I’m going to come.”
Declan’s cock throbbed eagerly at the panted exclamation.
He drove his thumb harder into her, his finger deeper into her ass, wriggling and twisting them, seeking the sweetest of spots that would release the building, mounting pressure of her orgasm and flood her pussy with creamy juice.
His tongue flicked and rolled and tortured her clit.
He didn’t want her to come. He wanted her to erupt.
Her hands jerked on his hair, her toes curled into his shoulders. He sucked her clit, wiggled his fingers, stroked the inner wall of heaven.
Regan snapped into a sharp arc and her fists yanked convulsively on his hair. “Oh, my fucking God!”
Cream gushed from her. Warm ambrosia. Declan lapped at her gushing climax, his balls two scorching worlds of exquisite agony. He dragged his thumb up the throbbing length of his cock, over the bulbous bulge of its head, readying to slam it into Regan’s sopping sheath.
He lifted his head, saw her face contorted in release. And felt his wolf’s blood thicken…
Mary, Mother of God. No!
The change shuddered through him. His canines lengthened. His flesh rippled. The wolf inside roared—demanding release, existence, fulfillment.
No! No! No!
Staring hard at Regan, at her thrashing head and squeezed-shut eyes, he sank his teeth into his bottom lip and his nails into his engorged, distended cock.
Blood flooded his tongue. Pain exploded through him.
Before, body screaming with denial, desire and fury, he collapsed to the floor.
The sound of Regan’s explosive climax ringing in his ears.
Epoc watched the Manly ferry cross Sydney Harbor under the mid-morning sun, carrying—no doubt—the maximum limit of passengers, ninety percent of which would be tourists.
Tourists heading to the zoo to gawk in brainless amusement at the animals imprisoned there.
What would they do if they saw the real animals of the world? Those not trapped in just one form?
Turning his gaze from the over-burdened vessel, Epoc flicked a glance at the man standing beside him, noticed with a certain sense of satisfaction the wildly pounding pulse in his thick neck.
Good. He was scared. As he should be. “I don’t care how many people saw you change, McCoy,” he said, returning his gaze to the busy harbor below.
“People are stupid. Almost as stupid as you, it seems, if you let O’Connell best you in human form. ”
Off to the left sat Kirrabilli House, the Prime Minister’s private harbor-side residence.
The PM was coming for dinner tonight—an intimate little occasion during which Epoc planned to suggest that Australia needed a biological warfare assault division.
Controlled by Epoc, of course. The PM would go for it.
When the suggestion came from Epoc, he always did.
Casting McCoy a barely concealed look of contempt, he threaded his fingers behind his back, power making his cock thick and heavy. “Find the Irish son of a bitch and the cunt with him or it’ll be you I strap into the shackles and drain, do you understand?”
McCoy’s red-gold eyes widened but he straightened, his mammoth frame towering over Epoc’s even as sour capitulation threaded through his scent. “I understand, sir.”
Epoc stared out the window, agitation flaying at his calm.
The first successful extraction was but an inserted plastic tube away.
The lab but awaited the subject. If it weren’t for Regan Thomas, Declan O’Connell’s life-force—that powerful, existential elixir of spirit and being—would already be a part of his own, leaving the bastard’s blood dry, worthless corpuscles in withered, useless veins.
The last of the Onchú clan destroyed. Aine’s brutal death avenged.
But plans had gone awry. Very awry.
He pulled in a silent breath, tasting McCoy’s submission and fear on the particles in the air.
Declan O’Connell would suffer for the annoyance, as would the human bitch.
He would see to it. It wasn’t just werewolves he could perform the extraction on.
It would not garner him anything of use, but to a human, the procedure would be like having every fiber of their body shredded.
“I want them both,” he growled, letting McCoy hear his consuming rage. “Before sunset. Or everyone the cunt knows and loves will suffer. Starting with her brother.”