Page 6 of Love, Clumsily (Fur Real Love #2)

That earned me another laugh and the press of his palm against the bulge in my jeans. I moaned, pushing up into his touch.

“I’ve wanted this since I fell on you in the park,” he confessed, working open the button of my jeans. “You smelled so good, and your eyes… I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Even covered in pasta salad?” I managed to joke, lifting my hips so he could slide my jeans down.

“Even then,” he confirmed, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of me in just my boxer briefs. “Especially then.”

I reached for him, tugging him back up for a kiss while my hands worked at his jeans. Getting them open was a challenge—partly because of our position and partly because he was straining against the fabric in a way that left little room for maneuvering.

When I finally got them unfastened and slipped my hand inside, we both groaned. He was huge, hot and hard against my palm, leaking already through his underwear.

“Jesus, Mason,” I breathed, stroking him through the fabric.

He made that rumbling sound again, deeper this time, and buried his face in my neck. I could feel him trembling with the effort of restraint.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, turning to speak directly into his ear. “Let go a little. I can take it.”

A shudder ran through his powerful body. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, echoing his words from our first night.

“Then show me,” I challenged again.

His control snapped. With a growl that was decidedly inhuman, he pushed himself up and practically tore my underwear down my legs, leaving me naked and exposed beneath him.

Before I could process that, he’d stripped off his own remaining clothing and was back, pressing me into the mattress with his considerable weight.

The feeling of skin on skin was electric. He was so hot—everywhere—and the contrast of smooth skin and rough hair created friction that had me gasping. His cock pressed against mine, larger and hotter than any partner I’d been with before.

“Mason,” I moaned, clutching at his shoulders.

He captured my mouth in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, primal and possessive. When he pulled back, his eyes were fully gold now, glowing slightly in the dim room.

“Still not scared?” he asked, his voice deeper and rougher than I’d ever heard it.

“Not even a little,” I lied, because there was fear mixed with my arousal—a primal, instinctive response to the predator currently pinning me to my bed—but it only heightened the experience.

He grinned, and I caught a glimpse of teeth that were definitely sharper than normal. “Good.”

His mouth moved down my body, leaving a trail of kisses, nips, and what would definitely be marks tomorrow. When he reached my cock, he looked up at me, and the sight of those inhuman golden eyes peering up from between my thighs nearly made me come on the spot.

“Please,” I whispered, not even sure what I was begging for.

He didn’t tease. His mouth enveloped me in wet heat, and I cried out, my hands flying to his hair. He took me deep—deeper than should be physically possible—and the sensation of his throat constricting around me had my eyes rolling back.

His hands held my hips in a grip that would leave bruises, keeping me from thrusting up into his mouth. The restraint was its own kind of thrill—the reminder of his inhuman strength and how easily he could hold me down.

Just when I thought I might embarrass myself by coming too quickly, he pulled off, his eyes wild and his breathing ragged.

“Turn over,” he said, his voice a growl.

I complied eagerly, rolling onto my stomach. His hands gripped my hips, pulling them up until I was on my knees, face pressed into the pillow. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and impossibly turned on.

“Lube?” he asked, a hint of his normal voice breaking through the growl.

I gestured vaguely toward the nightstand, and he leaned over me to retrieve it, his body covering mine completely for a moment. The weight of him, the heat, the feeling of being completely surrounded by his larger frame—it was intoxicating.

I heard the cap snap open, and then his fingers, slick and warm, were circling my entrance. He was surprisingly gentle, working one thick finger into me slowly, carefully, despite the obvious struggle for control evident in his labored breathing.

“More,” I demanded, pushing back against his hand.

He complied, adding a second finger and scissoring them gently, stretching me. When he curled them just right, hitting my prostate, I let out a sound that was embarrassingly close to a whimper.

“Like that?” he murmured, repeating the motion.

“Yes—god—please, Mason, I’m ready,” I gasped.

“Not yet,” he said, adding a third finger. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The care he was taking, even while obviously fighting his more primal instincts, made my chest tight with emotion. I turned my head to look back at him and was startled by his appearance.

His eyes were fully golden now, glowing in the dim light. His canines had elongated into distinct fangs, visible when he parted his lips. Most startling of all, his nails had transformed into short, blunt claws—not long enough to be dangerous but definitely not human.

He saw me looking and froze, his partially transformed hand still inside me. “I’m sorry,” he said, starting to pull away. “I told you I couldn’t control—”

“Don’t you dare stop,” I interrupted, reaching back to grab his wrist. “I want this. I want you—all of you.”

He stared at me for a long moment, searching my face for any sign of fear or revulsion. Finding none, he nodded once and resumed his movements, stretching me thoroughly while I writhed beneath him.

When he finally withdrew his fingers, I felt empty, aching for him. I heard the sound of the lube cap again, then the blunt head of his cock pressed against my entrance.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice barely recognizable.

“Yes,” I breathed, pushing back against him.

He entered me slowly, giving me time to adjust to his considerable size. The stretch was intense, bordering on painful, but in the best possible way. By the time he was fully seated, I was panting into the pillow, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so completely filled.

“Okay?” he asked, holding perfectly still despite the trembling I could feel in his thighs.

“Move,” I commanded. “Please, Mason, move.”

He started slowly, shallow thrusts that gradually deepened as I relaxed around him. Each stroke sent sparks of pleasure through me, and when he shifted the angle slightly, hitting my prostate directly, I cried out sharply.

“There,” I gasped. “Right there.”

He growled—a sound no human throat could produce—and increased his pace, hitting that perfect spot with each thrust. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, holding me in place as he pounded into me.

I was lost in sensation, reduced to incoherent moans and pleas. Every nerve ending was on fire, pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. I reached between my legs to stroke myself, matching his rhythm.

“Julian,” he groaned, his voice deepening further. “I’m close—I can’t—”

“Let go,” I urged, feeling my own orgasm approaching rapidly. “Completely, Mason. I want all of you.”

A sound that was more wolf than man tore from his throat. His thrusts became harder, faster, less controlled. I felt something change—his cock seemed to swell at the base, stretching me further in a way that should have been uncomfortable but instead pushed me right to the edge of orgasm.

“What—” I gasped, not sure what was happening.

“Knot,” he growled in my ear, his chest pressing against my back, completely covering me. “Wolf thing. Tell me to stop if—”

“Don’t you dare stop,” I interrupted, pushing back against him. The increased pressure against my prostate was mind-blowing. “I’m going to—Mason, I’m—”

My orgasm hit me like a freight train, tearing a shout from my throat as I came harder than I ever had in my life, spilling over my hand and onto the sheets below. My body clenched around him, and with a howl—an actual howl—Mason followed, his hips jerking erratically as he came deep inside me.

The knot swelled fully, locking us together, prolonging my orgasm until I was shaking with oversensitivity. Mason’s arms wrapped around me, carefully lowering us to our sides without disconnecting, his body curled protectively around mine.

For several minutes, we lay there in silence, our ragged breathing the only sound. I could feel his heart hammering against my back, gradually slowing to a more normal rhythm. His face was pressed into my neck, and occasional tremors ran through his powerful frame.

When I finally trusted my voice, I said, “So… that was a werewolf thing, huh?”

A startled laugh gusted against my neck. “Yeah,” he said, sounding more like himself again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—it just happens sometimes when I lose control.”

I reached back, finding his hand and interlacing our fingers. “Don’t apologize. That was… intense. In the best possible way.”

He was quiet for a moment. “You’re really okay? With what I am? With… this?”

I shifted slightly, careful of where we were still connected, to look back at him. His eyes were fading back to their normal amber, the fangs receding. There was vulnerability in his expression that made my heart ache.

“More than okay,” I assured him. “Though you could have mentioned the whole knot thing before we started. That was a surprise.”

He winced. “I didn’t think it would happen the first time. It usually only happens when… when there’s a strong connection. Or during certain times of the month.”

“A strong connection, huh?” I smiled. “So what you’re saying is, you like me. You really, really like me.”

He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide his smile. “I more than like you, Julian. That’s what scared me so much.”

“Because you’re a werewolf?”

“Because I’ve never felt this way about anyone,” he said quietly. “And being what I am makes everything more complicated.”

I turned my head to kiss him softly. “I’m good with complicated.”