Blackwolf's Redemption

She felt her nipples tighten, her breasts lift with desire. He had yet to touch her. Still, she had never before been so aware of her body’s reactions to a man.

But then, there’d never been a man like Jesse.

The feeling was exciting. Even frightening. She wanted it never, ever to stop.

“Jesse?” she whispered.

He raised his head. Her breath caught. His beautiful face was all bones and angles and sharply etched planes. He looked at her for what seemed like forever, and then, eyes on hers, he touched his hand to her breast. One soft touch, the brush of his knuckles over her nipple.

A sob burst from her throat.

“It’s too much,” she said. “Jesse, Jesse…”

His thumb whispered over the taut bud. Once. Twice. Again. Sienna sobbed his name. Caught his hand but he ignored her, gently pushed her hand aside and went on stroking her, touching her before, slowly, he dipped his head and put his mouth to her other breast. Her other nipple. Sucked it into his hot, wet mouth.

“Jesse, please. I’m going to—I’m going to—”

The world stopped.

She gave a cry as wild as the storm and Jesse growled her name, lifted his head and took possession of her mouth, swallowing her cry of completion, making it a part of him as she came apart in his arms, her body weeping with desire.

She gasped his name. Pulled at his shirt. He said something low and urgent, pushed her hands away, tore at the shirt himself. She heard buttons pop, fabric tear, and then his skin was against hers, all that heat, that hard muscle, the faint abrasion of his hair-roughened chest. She moved her hands over him with feverish determination, loving the feel of him. The wide shoulders, the sculpted biceps, the abs that might have been chiseled from stone.

She’d wanted to lose herself, but something more was happening here. Something she had not expected and—and—

“Lift up,” he whispered, and she did, and he pulled down her sweatpants and now…

Now she was completely naked in his arms.

“Sienna.”

He whispered her name against her mouth. Her throat. Her breasts. His hand cupped one breast, his fingers deliciously calloused against the sensitive nipple, then moved down her side, shaping her waist, her hip, her thigh. She cried out. It was too much. Too much. Too…

And then his hand was between her thighs and Sienna stopped thinking and fell headlong into sensation.

Sensation. He was drowning in it. Sienna’s taste. The silk of her skin. The hammer of her heart, the soft cries she made as he touched her. And the scent of her body, musky and aroused and so exciting he could feel himself starting to slide over the edge.

Jesse shut his eyes, breathed deep, fought for control. He couldn’t let this end so quickly. He knew there were times sex should be fast, times it could be hot and quick….

But not this time.

The woman in his arms was wild and beautiful, and he wanted the taking of her, the giving of himself, to go on forever.

But he wanted her. Her soft mouth. Her sweet nipples. That hidden bud in her body’s feminine delta that he could kiss and taste as it flowered, as he brought her the release she deserved.

She’d come once, but he wanted it to happen again and again, until she was exhausted, until she lay beneath him knowing him, only him, no other man but him.

He knew that kind of thinking was dangerous…and then it was too late to think. All he could do was kiss her. Let her taste fill him.

Honey. Cream. Her skin, her lips. He moved down her body, caressing her everywhere, groaning at the feel of her hands on him. He pressed a kiss to her belly, and when he tried to put his mouth even lower she dug her hands into his hair, dragged his face up to hers.

He let her do it. Took her mouth. Stroked his tongue against hers. Let her set the pace, but he needed more.

She whispered his name.

Her hips rose. Pressed against him. Moved against him.

He could feel the earth slipping away. On a low growl, he swept one hand beneath her, raised her to him despite her shocked gasp, used his fingers to seek the very heart of her.

A brush of his thumb and she moaned. Another stroke; she cried out. He brought his mouth to her, kissed her hungrily, a man thirsting for a life-sustaining drink after a long, endless drought, and she gave a long, broken cry and came against his mouth.

“Yes,” he said, “yes, baby. Like that. Like that, for me. Only for me.”

He kissed her breasts, her throat, lingered in the delicate hollow, felt the way her pulse raced against his lips. Kissed her collarbone, the elegant slope of her breast. Kissed her nipples, tongued them, sucked them deep into his mouth, sweat beading on his forehead from the effort of not taking her.

He knew he would not last long, once he was inside her; he was a man who never lost control, but he was close to losing it now.