Santa Claws (Wyndham Werewolf #4)

Santa Claws (Wyndham Werewolf #4) Page 6

“Alec.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “M’sorry. Wait. I’ll be—nice again. In a minute.”

“Alec.”

“I can’t—stop. Just yet. S-Sorry. So sorry.” His hands were on her shoulders, pinning her down, keeping her in place for him. His sex was rearing between her legs, into her, out of her. Digging, shoving, filling her.

“Alec. If you do it a little faster, I’ll be able to come again.”

That got his attention; his eyes opened wide. And then he smiled, a grin of pure male satisfaction. And obliged. She heard the headboard start slamming against the wall and didn’t give a tin shit. She wriggled for a moment until he let go of her shoulders, then brought her arms around him and her legs up. And started doing a little pumping of her own. Their bellies clapped together, a lustful, urgent beat.

His eyes rolled back: “Ah, Jesus !” His mouth found hers and he kissed her savagely, biting her mouth, her lips. Then he abruptly pulled back, as if aware he was nearing a line he wasn’t ready to cross with her—absurd, given what they were engaged in. His head dropped and she could feel his face pressing against the hollow between her neck and shoulder. There was a sharp pain as he bit her.

He’s marking me, she thought. She heard a purring tear as he tore the sheets. He’s making me his own . That thought—so complicated, so strange, and so completely marvelous—spun her into orgasm.

He stiffened over her as she cried out; his grip tightened—painful for a split second, then he relaxed. “Do that again,” he growled in her ear, then bit her earlobe.

“I can’t,” she gasped, almost groaned. And still he was busy, still he was fucking her with long, fast strokes.

“Yes.”

“I—can’t!” Pump, pump, pump, and her neck stung where he had bitten her. As if sensing her thought, he bent to her and licked the bite, then kissed her mouth.

“I need to feel your sweet little cave tightening around me again,” he said into her mouth. “I must insist.”

“I’m done, please, I can’t anymore, please, Alec—” Oh, but her body was betraying her, she was arching her back so as to better meet his thrusts, and she could feel that now-familiar tightening between her thighs, the feeling that told her she would do it again, thank you very much. “Alec, please stop, please, I can’t. Stop! St—” Then it was singing through her, tearing through her, and this one made the other two seem like mild tickling in comparison, this one was the biggest thing to ever happen to her.

She felt him stiffen above her again, but, oh, Christ, he wasn’t done, he was still thrusting. He seized her knees and pushed them wide, spreading her, making her wider for him. She screamed in pleasure and despair: more of this was sure to kill her. It’d be the best death ever, but it’d still be death.

“More,” he muttered in her ear.

“...can’t.”

“Can.Will.”

She reached down, stroked his ass, felt, groped...then shoved her finger inside him, right up his ass, as far as she could. At the same time she clenched around him

(thank you, Kegel exercise)

and was gratified to hear his hoarse shout. Then he was pulsing inside her and throwing his head back and roaring at the ceiling. The headboard gave one more loud THUMP!, and was quiet.

She sobbed for breath and he soothed her with gentle strokes and small kisses. “Shhhh, sweetie, you’re all right. I just don’t think I am. Shhhh.”

“That was—that—”

“Easy. Shush, now. Get your breath back.”

As the ripples from her last, titanic orgasm faded, she realized she still throbbing. Still wanted him. She was a bookworm cursed with the body of a slut.

“That was—mmbelievable. ‘Mazing.” Oh, great, she was babbling like a cheerleader after her fifth beer. She tried again. “Unbelievable. Amazing. I’m sure you hear this all the time, but that was the best ever . I don’t mean for me. I mean in the history of lovemaking.”

He was kissing her forehead, her mouth, her cheeks. “For me, also. And I don’t hear it all the time. I haven’t been with a lady in almost a year.”

She nearly fell off the bed. “What? Why ? You’re so—I mean, the overall package is just—and then what you can do in the bedroom—what the hell have you been waiting for? Did you lose a bet?”

“I did not. Who,” he said. “Who the hell have I been waiting for. That’s the question.” He bent and nuzzled her cleavage. “God, I could get lost in you. So easily. Which means I have to kill you or marry you.”

“Har, har. And get your nose out of there, it tickles.” She could feel his cock on her thigh, very warm, and reached out. “Jesus! You’re hard again!”

“Sorry,” he said dryly. “I can’t much help it if you’ve got the sweetest cunt. Not to mention some very talented fingers.”

“No, I mean...uh. I don’t know what I mean.” Their gaze met. Her eyes had long ago adjusted to the dark; she could see him quite well. “Do you want to keep going?”

He smiled slowly; it was like an extra spoonful of sugar being stirred into really good coffee. “Do you?”

“That’s not really relevant,” she said tartly. His eyebrows arched. “A promise is a promise, remember?”

“What I like about you—one of the things—is that you’re not done. With me.” His hand slid down the soft mound of her belly, cupped her between her legs. Then he gently parted her, and his fingers slid up inside her. She sucked in breath and moved with his hand. “You haven’t closed off,” he murmured into her mouth, “the way a lady will when she’s had enough.” She could hear herself whimpering softly as his fingers slid in and out and around, as he got slick with their juices. “Of course, you have other qualities, very fine ones.” His voice held a teasing note. “But I wouldn’t have guessed at this one while I was wooing you over lunch.”

“Wooing me?” she gasped. “Is that what you were doing?”

“What I was doing was concentrating on not bending you over the nearest table and taking you until my knees gave out. I’m amazed I was able to talk to you at all—ah, God, that’s sweet, Giselle. Those sounds you make in the back of your throat make me forget everything. Come down here.”

He pulled her until she was kneeling before the bed. She could feel him behind her, holding her around the waist, then stroking her buttocks and kneading the plump flush. “I could bite you here about a hundred times,” he muttered.

“Better not if you want to save room for breakfast.” She yelped as his kneading inched toward pinching. “Easy, Alec, I have to sit on that later.”

He swallowed a laugh. “Sorry. But Giselle sweetie, you do have the most luscious ass.” Then his hands moved lower until he was holding her open with his fingers. She could feel herself—everything in her—straining toward him. Silently begging for him.

“Oh, God, Alec...”

“I like that, Giselle. I like hearing you groan my name.” He eased into her, inch by delicious inch; she leaned forward and braced her arms on the bed. “Now, if y’don’t mind, I’d like to hear you scream it.” He thrust, hard.

He stroked, and his hands were everywhere...running up and down her back, cupping her breasts, stroking her nipples...then roughly pulling them between his fingers, as if he instinctively knew when she wanted him to be sweet and when she wanted—needed—him to be rough. She screamed his name, begged him to stop screwing around and do her, dammit . He laughed in pure delight, laughed while she writhed and groaned and shoved back at him. Then his strokes pushed her into orgasm and he abruptly quit laughing and gasped instead.

She realized the sun had come up a while ago. Well, who gave a rat’s ass? She couldn’t believe the man’s stamina. She couldn’t believe her stamina.

“Getting tired?” he panted in her ear. He was still crouched behind her, still filling her the way no man ever had. When he braced himself and thrust, she swore she could feel his cock in her throat. “Giselle? All right?”

“Yes, I’m tired, I’m exhausted, you big dolt, and don’t you dare stop.”

He chuckled and she could feel his fingers dancing along the length of her spine. Then his hand came around and found her clit. He stroked the throbbing bud with his thumb and said, “I wish my mouth was there right now. Later, it will be,” and that was enough, that tipped her into another orgasm.

She felt his grip tighten on her. “Oh, God, that’s so sweet,” he groaned. “Has anyone told you? When you come, your muscles lock.” He shuddered behind her as he at last found his release. “All your muscles.”

She giggled weakly and rested her head on the bed. Three times...or was that the fourth? The man wasn’t human. Thank God she was on the Pill.

He stood, then picked her up and cradled her in his arms as if she were a child. “You’ll sleep now,” he said, laying her in the bed and covering her. “And so will I...you’ve worn me out, m’lady.” Then, incongruously, “Do you have a passport?”

“No,” she said drowsily.

“Hmm. I’ll have to fix that. Can’t come toScotland without one of those.”

“You still want me to come?” She blushed, remember how they’d spent the last five hours. “ToScotland , I mean?”

“Of course.” He was arranging the covers over himself, pulling her into his embrace, wrapping his long legs around hers. She was instantly warm and sinfully comfortable. The throbbing between her thighs had finally quit. It quit because you’re numb, you twit. He’s fucked you numb. And it was just fine . “I said, didn’t I?”

“Well...” She yawned against his shoulder. “That was before I gave up the goods, so to speak.”