Page 62 of Wild Games
Her nails rake down my thigh, harder this time, leaving burning trails that my wolf wants to lean into, pain and pleasure mixing until I can’t tell them apart. It’s not quite a mark, but the signs of her presence on my skin feel like a brand. One he’ll wear proudly.
“This is about proving to you that you do have control.” She does it again to the other thigh, marking me in her own way. “At least, when it comes to me.”
I’m not so certain she’s right.
“I want to touch you.” My voice doesn’t sound human anymore, more growl than words. “Want to taste you.”
“I know,” she whispers gleefully before leaning back in, tongue tracing patterns that make me see white while she looks up at me, revelling in my reactions. “But you’re too scared right now.”
I howl in defiance, primal and possessive, but she’s right. I’m overthinking. Terrified of marking her and then losing her when the council decides I’m broken beyond repair. Of hurting her wolf if we’re parted.
“But you need to stop over-thinking everything.”
She takes me deep into her mouth again, and rational thought scatters. The reasons I thought were so important slip through my fingers, unable to focus on anything but the ecstasy of having my mate on her knees before me.
My wolf howls in my head, beyond words now, just pure need and instinct demanding we claim our mate. My fangs lengthen without permission, the serum needed to stamp my scent into her skin already pooling in my mouth. The urge to bite is so strong, that I taste copper as I bite my own cheek attempting to hold back from lunging forward.
“Camille.” Her name comes out as a warning growl. “I’m going to... if you don’t stop... I can’t control...”
Something snaps then, and I fall forward an inch, looming over her.
But she doesn’t stop. If anything, she doubles her efforts, one hand coming up to grip my hip, nails digging in possessively. The other reaches higher, fingers linking with mine where they’re trapped above the chains.
That simple touch, that connection while she continues her sweet torture, breaks something fundamental in me. She’s showing me what we could have, what she’s offering, if I’m just brave enough to accept it. For however long our happiness might last.
The orgasm builds at the base of my spine like a wildfire. Every muscle in my body locks tightly, fighting it, trying to hold back and maintain some semblance of control. But she knows exactly what she’s doing now, has learned my body’s responses, and she’s relentless.
Thoughts of escape are gone. I wanted to come inside her, to claim her in every way possible, but it’s too late for that.
“Let go,” she murmurs against me, the words vibrating through me. “Stop fighting it.”
The permission destroys the last of my resistance. My release hits me like a lightning strike, ripping through me with violent intensity. I roar her name, the sound echoing off stone walls and probably carrying up through the house above. My whole body convulses, hips bucking helplessly, as she takes everything, gentling me through waves of pleasure so intense that it borders on pain.
She doesn’t pull away until the last aftershock fades, until I’m hanging limply in the chains, legs shaking so badly, they can barely hold me. When she finally sits back on her heels, licking her lips with a satisfied expression, I’m completely destroyed.
My wolf has gone quiet, overwhelmed and temporarily sated, but far from satisfied.
“Come to me,” I rasp out, throat raw from growling.
She stands slowly, gracefully, brushing dust from her knees. For a moment, I think she’s actually going to step into my arms, let me hold her close as I come down, and let me feel her warm body against mine. I’ll open the chains and carry her to my bed, taste her, and show her how much I do want her.
Instead, she simply pulls my scrubs back up, taking her time to adjust them carefully, purposefully remaining out of reach. Her hands linger on my hips, smoothing the fabric, and I lean into the touch helplessly, starved for any contact she’ll allow.
“Camille, I need to kiss you.” This is worse. The urge to pull her tight to my chest and hug her is overwhelming, crawling under my skin. It feels wrong after something as powerful as that to have any distance between us.
“No.”
The word doesn’t compute through my post-orgasm haze. “What?”
“I’m not hugging you.” She cups my face in her hands, forcing me to meet her eyes, as she slips her fingers, still slick with her juices, between my lips.
I moan, sucking them clean, but still staring at her, my brain is too fried to comprehend what’s going on here.
But then it clicks, and what I see in her beautiful eyes makes my chest tight, determination mixed with vulnerability. “You need to think about what you really want.”
“I think that’s pretty obvious,” I start. “Camille…”
“And what you’re going to do about it.”