15. Eliza #2
I can't answer. My throat is too tight, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
He doesn't seem to need words. His hands move from my face, one sliding down my back to press me flush against him, the other tangling in my hair, tilting my head to give him better access.
He trails hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jaw, down the sensitive column of my throat.
Every place his lips touch sparks to life, a current running straight to my core.
This is insane. I barely know him. He's a werewolf, an enforcer, a dangerous man who shadows my every move.
But the thought of him stopping now is physically painful.
The fight I've been waging against this pull, this undeniable connection, evaporates.
I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of being scared.
Right now, in his arms, I feel safe for the first time in weeks.
I arch into him, a silent invitation. He takes it, his lips finding that sensitive spot just below my ear that makes me gasp.
His other hand slides lower, cupping my ass and pulling my hips against his.
The hard ridge of his erection presses against me, and a fresh wave of heat floods my system.
This is real. This is happening. And God help me, I want it.
"Cade," I finally manage to breathe out, his name a prayer on my lips. "Please."
He pulls back just enough to see my face, his thumb stroking my cheek.
"Please what, Eliza?" His voice is husky, laced with an edge of vulnerability I haven't seen before. "Tell me what you need."
I don't know how to put it into words. I need him.
I need this. I need to feel something other than fear.
I need to drown in him and forget the mutant wolves, the danger, the suffocating feeling of being hunted.
Instead of trying to explain, I show him.
I rise up on my toes and crush my mouth to his, pouring all my frustration, fear, and desperate need into the kiss.
I'm no longer accepting this; I'm demanding it.
And from the way he responds, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he deepens the kiss, he's more than willing to give me everything I'm asking for.
My frantic kiss is all the permission he needs.
With a guttural growl, Cade lifts me, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. The world tilts, and then my back is against the wall, the cool plaster a shocking contrast to the heat radiating from his body.
He's everywhere, his mouth devouring mine, his hands roaming, gripping, claiming.
There's no finesse, only a desperate, primal need that mirrors my own.
"Too many clothes," I gasp against his lips, my fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
He chuckles, a low, rough sound.
"Agreed."
In one fluid motion, he sets me down and rips his shirt over his head, revealing a landscape of sculpted muscle and scars that tells a story of violence and survival.
My own shirt is next, his hands impatient, the sound of fabric tearing barely registering before his hot mouth is on my breast, closing over my nipple through the thin lace of my bra.
I cry out, my head falling back against the wall as a jolt of pure electricity shoots straight to my clit.
His hands are everywhere, one sliding up my thigh to hook into my panties, dragging them down, while the other works the clasp of my bra.
It falls away, and his mouth is back on me, licking, sucking, nipping with just enough edge to make me gasp.
My own hands are busy, fumbling with his belt, the button of his jeans.
I need to feel him, all of him. When his jeans and boxers are finally shoved down his powerful thighs and his cock springs free, thick and hard, a fresh wave of arousal slicks my thighs.
He lifts me again, and this time there's no barrier. I'm naked against him, his skin hot and rough. He pins me with his hips, his cock sliding through my wetness, teasing my entrance.
"Eliza," he breathes, his forehead resting against mine. "Look at me."
I force my eyes open, meeting his burning gaze. There's something wild and untamed there, but also a fierce possessiveness that should terrify me and instead makes me feel cherished.
"I'm right here," I whisper.
That's all it takes. With one powerful thrust, he's inside me, filling me completely.
I cry out, a mix of pain and overwhelming pleasure as my body stretches to accommodate him.
He stills for a moment, letting me adjust, but the frantic energy is still humming between us.
I rock my hips, a silent plea, and he takes over.
There's nothing gentle about it. It's a frantic, desperate race.
Each thrust is hard, deep, hitting a spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyes.
My nails dig into his shoulders, holding on as he pounds into me against the wall.
The sounds are raw and primal—skin slapping against skin, our harsh panting breaths, my desperate cries and his low growls.
It's messy and frantic and absolutely perfect.
The pressure builds impossibly fast, a tight coil in my belly winding tighter and tighter with every stroke.
"Cade," I gasp, "I'm gonna..."
"Come for me," he commands, his voice a rough rasp against my ear. "Now, Eliza. Let go."
His words are my undoing. The coil snaps, and my orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave.
I scream his name as my body convulses, waves of pleasure so intense they border on pain ripping through me.
My inner walls clench around him, and that's all it takes for him to follow.
He roars my name, his hips jerking as he comes too, his hot seed pulsing deep inside me.
For a long moment, we just stay there, our bodies pressed together, our breathing ragged.
He's still inside me, a comforting weight that anchors me.
Slowly, he lowers my legs, and I wobble, my limbs feeling like jelly.
He scoops me up effortlessly, carrying me to the bed and laying me down gently before collapsing beside me, pulling me into his arms. The frantic energy is gone, replaced by a sated, peaceful calm.
And in the quiet aftermath, tangled in his arms, I know with absolute certainty that my life will never be the same.