Bad Wolf (Wild Men 4)

“What do you think?” He catches my face in his hands, eyes zeroing in on my mouth. “Fuck, I need you, Gigi. So bad. More than I ever thought I could need anyone, and…”

I kiss him. Can’t help myself. His full mouth is so close, and I’ve been dying to touch him again. He tastes of bitter tobacco and smoky alcohol and sugar.

He kisses me back, and the world fades. His palms tighten on my cheeks, rough and cool, as his lips move over mine, as his teeth nip and his tongue sweeps into my mouth, stealing my last scraps of reason.

I’d tried to ignore how I missed him, even those few hours we were apart, how I can’t get enough of his touches and kisses. I need that connection to him. He probably doesn’t see it that way, but to me that’s a promise.

The greatest promise of all: how we hold each other, and bring each other pleasure, how our desire strips us of our control, and how our feelings turn those touches gentler.

Unless it’s just me. Those feelings… am I the only one who has them? What he did for me, for my family today, he was just being kind, or does he care for me?

We move toward the sofa, losing our clothes on the way, stumbling and somehow never breaking the kiss except to pull off a sweater or a T-shirt.

By the time he rolls me on the cushions, I’m tossing off my bra and he’s also naked, gorgeous and aroused, his slick cock sliding on my thigh as I open my legs to let him between them.

“Fuck, condom.” He fishes blindly by the sofa for his pants and his wallet.

I keep distracting him, kissing his mouth, his jaw, his neck, his chest, his arm. I’ve never been fascinated by a man’s body so much, tracing the veins under his skin, the bulging biceps as he braces himself on the backrest, his small, taut nipples, the ink flowing over his ribs and arms.

“What does it mean?”

“What?” He glances up, the torn package of the condom in his hand, gaze unfocused.

“Your ink. These.” I caress the knights and warriors and castles tattooed on his smooth skin. “Battles and medieval armor and walls.”

He looks down at himself as if he forgot all about his tattoos. “Oh that. It was something Connor said. Back when I lived with him. That every day is a battle. That we’re fighters, you know? And after he died, I just…” He shrugs, a roll of those powerful shoulders. “It’s all I have left of him.”

My eyes well up. My fingertips skim over more drawings, inks and watchful eyes and skulls. “And these?”

“He said that the dead watch over us.” He shivers when my hand trails over his ribs.

“And this one?” It’s a smirking devil drinking from a bottle on his shoulder.

He goes cross-eyed, squinting down. “Dunno. I was drunk for that one.”

I laugh, and the somber mood is broken. “What about this, then?” I put my hand around his cock, and he hisses through gritted teeth.

“That’s… great.” The condom falls from his hand to the floor, and I doubt he’s noticed.

I love watching his face as I stroke his hard-on, the way his lips part, his lashes flutter, his jaw slackens, the way his body tenses up and those delicious abs clench.

He’s beautiful.

I brush my hand over his cock and it jumps. His breath comes out in a gasp.

Then he’s on top of me, his pupils blown huge, his mouth crushing mine, and his cock is pushing into me, stretching me open.

I cry out, and he swallows the sound, thrusting deeper, until I don’t think I can take anymore. I can’t breathe, so full of him, my pussy stretched to its limits, my body unsure if it’s feeling pain or pleasure.

“Fuck,” he breathes suddenly. “Condom.”

“I’m on the pill.”

He groans in response, a sound of relief and need rolled into one. He shifts, pulls back an inch or two, pushes back inside with a roll of his hips, and it’s all pleasure.

I arch up, helplessly moaning. He tugs my lower lip between his teeth, rocking again, startling a cry from me. The pleasure is like lightning, striking all my nerve endings, burning me from the inside out. I have current in my veins, and with his every thrust, my body seizes and the pressure in my belly becomes unbearable.

I need to come.