Chapter 30 #3
“Careful,” she murmurs.
“I’m always careful with you.”
“They’re sensitive.”
“I know.”
I lave my tongue over her swollen nipple in slow, wet circles, sucking gently, then a little harder, savoring the way her breath catches. I switch to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention until she’s squirming beneath me, fingers threading through my hair.
I work her cotton pants down her legs, and she lifts her hips.
She’s wearing nothing underneath. I drag my mouth down the inside of one thigh, then the other, deliberately avoiding where she wants me most. I kiss and nip at the soft skin, letting my breath ghost over her slick folds without touching them.
“Grayson...” Her voice is already breathy, needy.
I smile against her thigh. “Patience, sweetheart. I want to taste every inch of you tonight.”
I tease her for long minutes, licking along the crease where her thigh meets her center, pressing open-mouthed kisses just beside her clit, never quite giving her what she craves.
Every time she tries to tilt her hips toward my mouth, I pull back slightly, keeping her on edge until she’s whimpering.
Only when her thighs are trembling do I finally give in. I drag my tongue slowly up her slit, savoring her taste, then circle her swollen clit with lazy strokes. I slide two fingers into her carefully, curling them against that spot inside her while my mouth seals around her clit and sucks gently.
Miranda’s back arches hard. “Oh God—”
I hum against her, the vibration making her cry out.
I take my time, alternating between long, slow licks and focused suction, fucking her steadily with my fingers while my other arm braces under her hips to support the weight of her belly.
Her hand fists tightly in my hair, thighs clamping around my head as she starts to shake.
She comes the first time with a broken moan, her walls fluttering hard around my fingers, flooding my tongue. I don’t stop. I keep licking her through it, softer now, drawing out every last pulse until she’s gasping and oversensitive.
I crawl up her body carefully and kiss her with the taste of her still on my mouth.
“Get inside me, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I shove the rest of my clothes off and settle between her thighs. I tease her entrance with the head of my cock, rubbing it up and down her soaked slit, bumping deliberately over her clit until she’s whining and trying to pull me closer.
“Grayson, don’t tease—”
I push in just the tip, then pull back out, repeating it until she’s clutching at my shoulders. Finally, I sink into her in one long, smooth thrust, burying myself to the hilt. Her heat envelops me, tight and perfect.
“Fuck, Miranda...” I groan, staying deep for a moment, letting her adjust.
I start moving, slow and deep at first, grinding against her with every thrust so her clit gets constant pressure.
But the hunger builds fast. Soon my pace turns harder, more demanding.
I brace one hand beside her head, the other cradling the curve of her stomach protectively as I start to pound into her.
The wet sound of our bodies meeting fills the room. I drive into her harder, deeper, the bed creaking beneath us. Every thrust is powerful and possessive, my hips snapping forward as I take her. Miranda’s nails dig into my back, her moans turning into sharp cries with every stroke.
“Harder—Grayson, please—”
I give her what she wants. I fuck her with deep, relentless strokes, pounding into her tight heat while I watch her face, drunk on the way her eyes flutter and her mouth falls open. The bond between us flares hot, our wolves brushing and twisting together in pleasure.
She comes the second time with a broken cry, clenching hard around my cock, her face pressed into my throat. The pulsing grip of her walls drags me over the edge right after her. I bury myself as deep as I can and come hard, groaning her name against the mating mark on her neck.
We lie tangled afterward. The lamp is still on. The house is quiet. Down the hall, my son sleeps under his blanket, across the hall my daughter sleeps with her cheek to the mattress, and the curve of my next child rests warm under my palm.
Miranda’s hand has come up to rest in my hair. Her thumb strokes idly against my temple.
“Are you happy, Grayson?”
I lift my head to look at her. Her eyes are warm, a little sleepy, the lamplight gilding the side of her face.
“I’m the happiest man alive, sweetheart.”
“That makes me happy too.” She smiles, soft and tired, entirely mine. “I am, Grayson. So happy some days I don’t know what to do with it.”
I kiss her forehead and pull the blanket up over both of us. Her head finds the curve of my shoulder where it’s lived for three years. Her breathing goes slow and even within minutes.
I lie awake a little longer, my hand resting on the new curve of her, listening to the quiet sounds of the three lives sleeping under my roof and the fourth one growing under my palm. I don’t deserve this, I think, and I never did. I’m keeping it anyway.