Chapter 7 #2
She dragged in a slow breath, a frown pulling at her eyebrows.
“The bank foreclosed on Dad’s bridging loan and we were forced off our farm.
Forced out by city money. Dad went to work in the local abattoir, slaughtering sheep and cattle almost starved, to feed the country’s population—the majority of which complained because the cost of milk had gone up, meat was becoming too expensive and farmers were just winging for a government hand-out.
He came home every night stinking of blood and offal.
Emotionally he died the day we had to leave the farm, but the abattoir killed his spirit.
The only thing that pulled us through it all—living in Dad’s old work truck, surviving on stale bread and food-coupons—was our love for each other. ”
She sighed, raking her hands through her hair before continuing, each word she spoke making Declan’s gut wrench.
“Mum did everything she could to make the nightmare an adventure, but I’ll never forget those months.
They were the worst of my life. And the best. It showed me who I was, who my family was, and I was proud of those revelations.
But I couldn’t have walked away the person I am now if it wasn’t for my brother—Peter. He was my rock. Is my rock.”
She stopped, the calmly delivered account both horrific and moving for the simplicity of her words. Declan stared at her. He’d wondered when he first met her what type of person risked their life for animals incapable of defending themselves and now he knew.
“Regan…”
She shook her head, leaning forward to place the ends of her fingers on his lips.
“What I’m saying, Declan, is this. I know how strong the love of family is.
I know what heartache is.” Her eyes held his for a long moment.
Declan’s breath caught in his throat and his heart pounded in his chest, an increasing rhythm so strong he felt his body quake under its beat.
“I know,” she said. Before leaning closer still and replacing her fingers on his lips with hers.
The kiss was gentle. Almost hesitant. He felt the apprehension still holding her, but he felt something else. Something more powerful. A longing to be released of the memory. A desire to create a new one. A smoldering passion surging through her blood. As it did his.
He opened his mouth, the touch of her tongue against his teeth like a surge of raw energy, charging his body with concentrated need.
He buried his hands in the tumble of her hair, pulled their bodies together.
She fit so well between his legs, her hips pressed to his inner thighs, her soft mound brushing his stiffening shaft.
He took her tongue deeper into his mouth, reveling in the way she tasted, the way she felt.
Her hands smoothed up his back, her palms like mist on his fevered flesh.
She traced his spine down, fluttered her fingertips along the waistband of his borrowed boxers.
Hot blood flooded his groin at the contact, his cock growing full and heavy.
Its stiff length nudged the warm junction of her thighs and a deep moan sounded in her throat.
Nails scoring a wickedly delicious path back up to his shoulders, as if to hold him a prisoner in her embrace, she broke the kiss, green eyes heady as she looked into his. “You scare the shit out of me, Declan O’Connell.”
“You scare the shit out of me, Regan Thomas.”
Regan chuckled, dragging her hands from his shoulders, under his armpits to flatten her palms on his chest. She captured his nipples, rolling them gently between her fingers as she pushed her sex closer to his. “Well, at least we’re even then.”
He shook his head slightly. “Oh, no, Regan. There’s nothing remotely ‘even’ about this relationship. When it comes to the balance of power, you have me firmly in the palm of your hand.”
One of Regan’s eyebrows arched and her lips—those extremely kissable lips—twitched. Eyes holding his, she shifted slightly, sliding one hand down his torso, past the elastic band of his boxers to enclose his rigid cock in a snug grip. “This hand?”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “That would be the one.”
“Hmmmm.” Her thumb rolled over the head of his cock and he pulled in another breath, heartbeat tripling. “Best not be letting my power go to waste then.”
She pushed him backward, her other hand smoothing over his stomach as he stretched out on the chaise.
With almost tender fingers, she traced the line of his scar, the hideous mark left by Epoc almost two years ago.
He closed his eyes, her touch like a feather on the violent path.
It soothed him. Dulled the angry burn of his side.
When her lips brushed the white, jagged line of scar tissue, when she touched it with the tip of her tongue, his breath caught in his throat and his hands fisted the cushions.
So much of his life was about pain, and here was a creature wanting to take it away. The pain, the heartache. With a kiss…
Her tongue traced the scar. From its knotted starting point in the dip of his navel, to where its ragged path disappeared behind the thick thatch of his pubic hair.
And still she didn’t stop. Her lips continued their journey, nibbling a steady trail over the black curls, the hand gripping his cock slowly pumping up and down as her tongue flicked at its wide, swollen base before moving on to his balls.
She licked one then the other, drawing his right nut into the wet, warm well of her mouth.
A rolling tsunami of searing heat spread through his body, stealing his breath and making his heart pound. “Jesus, Mary!”
Regan’s tongue curled and flicked and licked at his balls. Her fingers stroked his cock, the organ so hard he felt its veins coursing with eager blood. Damn, it felt good. So good he thought sure he was going to come. Or transform.
Control it, Dec. If you change now…
The beast roared. Denied. Hungry for the pleasure Regan would bring.
He dug his nails into the softness of the cushions, wishing—wanting—them to be the softness of Regan’s breasts or thighs or butt, but knowing if he so much as touched her he would come.
Fuck, he was going insane. Driving mad with desire, lust and agony.
His side burned like fire, his blood sang like demons. His cock felt like a pillar of steel…
… and then Regan’s lips closed over its tip and it felt nothing like steel. It felt like existence. Scorching, consuming existence surrounded by Heaven. Hot, wet, sucking Heaven.
She slid her tongue up and down the underside, teased the web of skin below its head, circled the distended edge, all the while massaging and fondling his balls with a hand both gentle and aggressive.
Every inch of his body quivered, every fiber of his being—both the man and the wolf—trembled, like the note held by a maestro, played by her amazing tongue and hands.
He arched his back, drove his shoulders harder into the chaise and his shaft harder into her taking mouth.
Praise Mary, he couldn’t hold on much longer.
The hands on his balls skimmed down to his ass cheeks, squeezing each as her mouth plundered his cock. He bucked, feeling an exquisite tingle begin in the soles of his feet, the base of his spine…
Hold it, Dec. Hold it.
“Fuck, Regan,” he ground out, gripping at the cushions, knowing he punctured the fabric with claws, not human fingernails. Knowing, but incapable of retracting them. “I’m going to come if you don’t stop.”
The suction on his cock lessened, the hands on his ass stilled.
Before, as though weighing up his raw statement and deciding her course of action, she plunged her mouth savagely down his shaft.
So deep her lips pressed against his balls and he felt his cock-head press the back of her throat. “Jesus.”
Blistering pleasure ripped through him. He threw back his head and howled, the sound purely wolf, purely wild.
Crushing heat possessed his sac, smashed up into his cock, making his body buck in violent spasms. He thrashed his head from side to side, fighting to stay a man, fighting to stay alive.
Fighting to stay on his back when what he wanted to do more than anything was leap to his feet, throw Regan to the floor and fuck her until they both were drained beyond movement, his cock locked in her tight sex, his scent forever on her flesh.
Marking her his forever. “Yes, Regan. Yes. Yes. Yes.”
His cock was a rod of burning steel. His body a building crescendo of rapturous tension. “Fuck,” he cried out, claws shredding the cushions as her teeth sank into his shaft. “Holy fucking Christ.”
The hands on his ass moved back to his balls, squeezed them.
A steady finger pressed his perineum in perfect rhythm with the ruptures of heat consuming him and he snapped into an arc, explosion after explosion of pleasure detonating in his balls.
Cohesive thought deserted him. The wolf and the man blurred. He had no idea which he was.
And then Regan’s mouth slid from his cock.
He flung open his eyes. Stared at her as she suddenly rose to her feet, stepped out of her shorts and—green stare holding him frozen—impaled herself on his throbbing length. “Jesus Christ.”
Her slick folds engulfed him, an exquisite sheath of tight, wet muscles.
Fluid filled his balls, pleasure pulsated through his being.
Christ, how could she be doing this to him?
How could he not being coming now? Unbelievable bliss pressed against his prostate, his cock, his scrotum.
He gazed into her face, sweat stinging his eyes. “Jesus.” His voice was choked. Hoarse.
Her lids fluttered closed, a soft moan fell from her lips. She rocked against him in gentle rhythm, taking him deeper into her pussy with each slight move, grinding her clit against his pelvic bone. Her hands stole to her breasts, cupping them, mauling them.