Dibs On The Ginger #2
“You’re very good at apologies,” he tries to say around his overly stuffed mouth.
I chuckle, glad he likes what I made for him, but inside, I’m already vowing to never do anything that means we need to bake apology cookies ever again.
Taking another cookie for the journey, I lure my hungry and overtired mate out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Running on autopilot, I presume, he heads straight for the little guest room at the end of the hallway. I pass him the second cookie and steer him into the bathroom.
While he munches and shimmies, I strip and set up the shower. Then I turn my attention to my mate. Milo, apparently having only just noticed we’re in the bathroom and not the bedroom, cocks a brow, and his piercing glints under the overhead lights.
My underwear is still damp from my earlier skinny dip, but Milo’s is more so because he didn’t take his off before wading into the ocean. The white tank top is almost see-through, and sticks to the little balls of his nipple piercings.
I approach him slowly, telegraphing my intention as I reach for the hem.
Wordlessly, Milo raises his arms, and I pull it off and over his head.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen him shirtless, but it is the first time I’m doing so with his permission.
Dropping the shirt on the floor, I lightly trail the backs of my knuckles over the soft skin of his arms, delighting in the localised wake of peaked flesh that follows.
“Do ye need help with yer jeans?” I ask, voice low and quiet.
He sucks his lower lip back between his teeth, then nods.
Keeping my touch soft, I edge my fingers along his waistband, and then grip the heavy material tightly.
Crystal-grey eyes watch me keenly as I pop the button and drop the zipper.
Leaning closer, I peel open his jeans and use the flaps to bring him flush against me.
His breaths are warm on my skin, and I lower my head to nudge his cheek with my nose.
Milo’s moan is barely audible above the patter of the shower in the empty stall, and I place a kiss to the corner of his lips.
“Our first time isn’t going to be in the bathroom, it’s going to be in our bed—after we’ve slept. But I need to take care of you before we get there. Will ye let me take care of you, mate?”
His nod, and his submission, is instant.
Chasing more kisses, Milo’s pillowy lips stroke over mine.
I kiss him back, fully and wholly, while I work my hands inside his jeans to push them over his hips and arse.
He pushes up into my hold, and I’m not even sure he knows he’s doing it.
My tongue skates over his, and I inhale him.
I hadn’t meant to get either of us worked up, but when he surrenders like this it calls to my wolf on some primal level. He scrapes my lip with his teeth like he does his own, and a tumbling growl builds through my chest while my cock swells.
Ignoring it, and Milo’s whine of protest when I sink to my knees, I drag his jeans all the way down.
Lean and fair, the toned expanse of his abs now fills my field of vision, and I bury my face against his skin and breathe in his apple scent.
His fingers push and tangle their way through my hair as he secures my head in place against him.
Kissing and licking every inch of skin within reach, I encourage him to step out of his jeans, which leaves him standing in translucent white underwear directly in front of my face. Unable to suppress him, my wolf pushes forward so much the bridge of my nose widens and my brow deepens.
Milo’s slender cock is as strained as mine feels, the difference is that the flushed head of his is visible through the material, and it makes me salivate. Nudging his hip, right over the mark that looks exactly like my russet wolf howling in front of a moon, I bury my face deeper still.
“I might actually come from this,” he jokes. His fingers on the back of my head anchor his grip, and he rolls his hips over my face.
Canine teeth push against my lips, and I graze them in a barely there touch along the outline of his dick.
“I’m not fucking ye tonight,” I remind him—remind myself. “That’s not how our first time goes.”
“Mmm, don’t have to fuck me to get me off, Ro.” He swaps one hand from the back of my head to flicking and tugging the bar through his nipple.
But that name for me from his lips, and his head thrown back with his mouth parted in desire, is doing things to my critical-thinking skills it shouldn’t be doing. I alter my grip too, placing my hands wide on his hips and encouraging him to raise a leg and prop it over my shoulder.
Not that he needs the motivation. The air is thick with the scent of his precum, and I push my face right up against his perineum so my wolf can taste his essence.
Milo moans, loudly this time. The alpha in me swells that we can bring him so close to the edge without even touching him.
Cautious of my approach, I rub my thumb up and down that thin band of fabric between his cheeks that covers his hole. More precum.
“Tell me ye like to bottom, mate.” My voice is rough and raw, my words not fully human-formed.
Milo’s answering nod ricochets through his body and into mine. Slowly, teasingly, I push against his hole, and my own dick leaks. This hadn’t been my intention, but now that we’re here…
Once more, I press my face flat against him, then slide his underwear to the side and settle him onto my tongue.
Mate. Mine. Fuck.
As if he instinctively knows what my wolf and I need, as if he needs the same thing, Milo rocks himself back and forth on my tongue.
He tastes of apples and salty ocean water.
The only thing that’s missing is my own spiced scent to wrap around his.
The thought of having my scent permanently mixed with his drives me wild, and I risk removing my other hand from his hip to bring myself some relief.
Milo doesn’t stop. I don’t want him to. He’s lost to the pleasure I bring him, and the knowledge that every moan and spurt of precum is caused by me—is for me—is all I need.
My fingers are slick with my own precum, and it eases their glide.
Last time I did this, I cut myself off with Milo’s name on my lips.
This time, I indulge. I fall headfirst into the reality of what we’re doing.
Into the knowledge that he’s my mate, and that we’re here, doing what we are, because we both want it.
Those telltale tingles build at the base of my spine. I’d thought it might have been an off-season rut last time, but now I know it was my wolf trying to tell me that my mate was sleeping in the room next door.
Milo’s steady rhythm falters. “Cl-close,” he warns.
I hum in response, and his orgasm hits. The smell of it is overwhelming, potent, and delivered straight to my wolf, my own release is instant.
My mate’s legs tremble, and as soon as I have enough post-nut clarity, I help him set both feet firmly back on the floor. His chest rises and falls with each rapid breath, and his heart beats rabbit-fast in his chest.
I rest my forehead against his thighs while we each catch our breaths.
Then Milo lets out a quiet laugh. “If I wasn’t tired before…”
Smiling, I place a kiss to each hip bone and push to standing. My mate’s cheeks are flushed and those unique rainbow-grey eyes sparkle despite the cum-drunk glaze in them.
“Aye. Shower and bed. Come on.” I take his hand and bring him into the stall with me.