Broken Heart 08 Must Love Lycans (17 page)

“What now?” he asked.

“Hmm.” I tilted my head and studied him, tapping my chin as if in deep thought. “How about this?”

I leaned down and kissed his naked chest. His skin was taut, all muscled curves and ridges, with dips and lines similar to those on his back—battle scars, I was sure. He was a warrior—fierce and dangerous and mine. I feasted on his pectorals, peppering kisses on every inch of delicious flesh. I laved his tiny brown nipples into hardness, then flicked my tongue across each nub until a soft growl issued from Damian. Glancing up at his face, I saw his gaze on mine, and his expression was one of tortured pleasure.

I licked the space between his pecs, tasting the faint musk of his skin. Moving upward to his neck, I used my tongue to trace patterns from collarbone to ear. He allowed me to explore, to play, to kiss, and to touch. And boiling like lava under a thin layer of rock, was his passion. For me. It was a heady stuff—like good wine or gourmet chocolate—to know he wanted me. His only motivation was to give me pleasure, and through that, he would take his.

Emotions could not lie.

His hands were restless on my back, my shoulders, my buttocks. He threaded his fingers into my hair.

Then he looped his hands under my arms and pulled me forward so his mouth could ravage my breasts. I forgot that I was supposed to be in charge, that it was my turn to torment him with pleasure. I think I was reaching that particular goal, although certainly not because I was being proactive. Damian tugged one peak, then the other, between his teeth and flicked his tongue rapidly against the turgid points. The need built—an ache that bloomed between my thighs, a heat that engulfed my whole body.

“Damian,”
I cried.

He used his chin to gently abrade the space between my breasts. He looked at me lazily, as if I didn’t realize his cock was rubbing against my clit again. He wanted to be inside me, but he was being far too kind about my virginity.

I wiggled back onto his thighs, which popped my breasts out of his reach. He looked at me reproachfully, an expression that changed quickly as I wrapped my hand around his hard-on. Well, as much as I could. He was big. I squeezed it, loving the silky hard feel of his cock. I stroked it—just experimentally.

His moan zapped the pit of my stomach.

I crawled between his legs, my hands coasting up his rock-hard thighs. I had promised torture, so I spent several minutes fondling his balls and caressing his cock. His hands fisted in the bedcovers and his hips thrust, a silent begging for relief.

I had never given a blow job. I’d read about them, seen them in certain movies (shut up), and generally understood the idea. Prior to this moment, I had thought that putting my mouth on a penis would be an interesting experience. You know, something to try, but not necessarily an act that would bring me any pleasure.

I had not considered how turned on the idea of sucking on Damian would make me feel.

He said something low and harsh, German, I guess, and that’s when I realized I had sorta zapped him with my own eagerness. He was tense, his gaze glittering, as he watched me.

I squirmed between his legs and then I put my lips against his flesh. I inhaled a musky scent, which was not unpleasant. He tasted salty, which I liked. I wished I had some whipped cream or chocolate or … well, the possibilities were endless. And this wasn’t the only time, I reminded myself. This was only the first. The beginning of more, a lot more. There would be plenty of opportunities to explore edible options.

I just went with instinct—and tried to remember some of those videos I’d watched in college. Mostly, I savored him. Worshiped him. I kissed his cock from base to head; then I took sucked on the tip.

“Just. Kill. Me.”

“Working on it,” I murmured. Then I proceeded to torment him with endless tongue swirls and long licks.

I laved his shaft, sorta getting the hang of it—at least I thought so. Damian’s fingers were digging into the mattress, his body so tense, I thought he might break in half.

“I want to fuck you,” he said.

The raw words burrowed like arrows. My breath went out in a rush, over his engorged cock. His hissed.

Then I sucked the top part of his shaft and I gripped the base, giving short hard strokes that matched the rhythm of my mouth.

His hands dove into my hair and held me captive. No longer content (well, if he ever was) with my gentle movements, he started moving. I held on to his thighs and took his strokes, trying to keep my throat relaxed. My tongue teased the cock pumping between my lips.

With a persecuted groan, Damian released me, shuddering as he sucked in deep breaths. I did the same. Then I saw a bead of white on his penis, and impulsively, I gripped his shaft and sucked it away.

“Don’t.” Damian’s demand was delivered between clenched teeth. He looked at me. “I want to come inside you.”

“Oh,” I said. “That would be nice.”

“Nice,” he said, murder in his tone.

His gaze dropped to my mouth. His nostrils flared as though he were scenting me, which, of course, he was. Then his eyes filled with an intensity that made me want to leap off the bed.

Or into his arms.

He took the choice from me.

He looped his hand around my wrist and yanked me on top of him. Then he rolled me onto my back, and I was smushed against the solid flesh of his chest.

His breathing was harsh, erratic.

Like mine.

I felt his heart thudding, and its wild beat matched the savageness of my own.

He breathed in my scent, his tongue flickering up my neck. This … this intensity of need vibrated from him and sank into me, until I felt the growing heat of his lust, the thickening of desire in my womb, the shredding of control. Mine. His.

This was different now. There was no more tempting or cajoling or bantering.

His control was slipping—I could feel it uncoiling, loosening, and soon it would be falling, and there would be no escape for me.

I would soon be left with the wolf.

I scored his tiny brown nipples with my nails.

He reciprocated by sucking on my nipples, making noises in his throat—whimpers and growls. One of his hands slid between us to stroke my aching clit.

“Damian,” I said. “Please.”

He rose above me, and I could feel his cock at my entrance. He refused to let me look away—not that I wanted to. I wasn’t sure what to expect. No amount of intellectual research could prepare me for the utter intensity, the giving and taking, and the mess of sex. It was barbaric and powerful and splendid.

Slowly, he buried himself within me. God, he was big. He sucked in breaths as he struggled with his control. I was grateful. It felt strange to be pierced in such a manner. It didn’t hurt, not really, but it was uncomfortable.

I think, maybe, Damian understood that I was sorta losing the mojo. Not on purpose. I was just unnerved by this part, and I really wanted it to work and be wonderful. But I wasn’t sold on the idea that it would be. (I know, I know. We virgins can be so melodramatic.)

He kissed me. “Relax,” he murmured.

Then the red-
beauty
-passion rolled over me. His. A sparkling gift that made me gasp, and arch, and moan. “Again,” I said.

He sent me his feelings again, and again, until I was squirming beneath him, begging for motion, for completion.

“Wrap your legs around me.”

I did.

He started slow, but I was past that. I dug my fingernails into his back and bit his earlobe. “Please,” I begged him. “Please.”

He let go then, and within the beat of a heart, I was being mastered.

His teeth sank into my shoulder as he pounded into me. Sweat dripped from us both. Pleasure crashed through me. I couldn’t stop the wave, the explosion. I gulped in breaths as I orgasmed, and still, Damian didn’t stop.

I was holding on, a complete sopping mess, and then he stiffened, his seed jetting into me as he bit down harder on my shoulder. Pain pulsed dully, joining the ache of my thighs and the throb of my well-abused clit.

But Damian’s passion was not easily satisfied.

He slipped out of me, and then began to pleasure me again with stroking fingers and a devouring mouth. He tortured my nipples, and rubbed my clit. My body responded to his touches, to his demands. Tingling heat spread through me. He slid two fingers inside me and worked me until I was soaked all over again, or maybe it was just more, and I was panting, my heart racing, and overwhelmed.

Was it always like this?

I couldn’t imagine anyone ever sleeping or eating (food) or going to work or being able to think if sex was always like this.

He rolled me onto my stomach.

“What are you—”

“Not. Now.” He knelt over me, planting his knees on either side of my hips. His big palms slid down my back, massaging. My sensitized nipples rubbed against the soft sheets. I bit my lip as he built the need within me once more.

I moaned as he worked the knots loose from my shoulders. How I could have stress knots in my muscles when I wasn’t sure my bones hadn’t liquefied, I don’t know. He stopped rubbing my back, and shifted so that he was between my legs. He lifted me by the hips, and then he worked his cock into me and started all over again.

My hands fisted in the pillow.

I had unleashed the werewolf fully. I understood now why the Goddess had cautioned me about werewolf sex. Damian was relentless and insatiable.

And somewhere inside me was the growing awareness of the same ravenous creature. The one who could meet Damian’s passions with her own, the one who could stand as his equal, the one who soon make her own demands—and he would meet them all.

Yes, he possessed me.

But I possessed him as well.

Damian groaned, shoving deeply, and came.

I was panting, trying to recover, when he flipped me onto my back. He knelt between my thighs and leaned down to suckle my clit.

Sweet mamma jamma.
I came so hard I nearly levitated.

Then he sat up, looking as regal and arrogant as the prince he was, and said, “I have claimed you, Kelsey. You are mine.”

Chapter 7

“
I
’ve claimed you, too,” I said.

“You certainly have,” he said. “I am a lucky man.” “The luckiest,” I agreed.

I would’ve never pegged Damian as the cuddle type. But after we collapsed to the bed, he pulled me close. I rested my head on his chest, my arm draped over his abdomen.

“Are we mated?” I asked.

“Do you want to be?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

He said nothing, and I knew he was trying to answer the question. You’d think it would be a simple yes or no, but complicated seemed to be our shtick. His emotions were a mixture of contentment and worry and, if you can freaking believe it, the ever-present rumbling of his lust. No doubt he was considering the idea that I might not make the full transition. I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to marry someone who might not be alive in a month. I felt a little hitch in my heart. Dying would so suck.

“I want to mate with you,” he finally said. “But it would be unwise to do so until we know that you will survive the shift.”

“Will it hurt?”

“Yes,” he said. “But you can handle it.” He stroked my back, and the light touches felt good. Affection was so very nice. “I will not allow anyone else to touch you. It’s … primal. I cannot stop it. I have this ache for you. Always.”

“I feel the same way,” I said. I glanced up at him. “I could survive the shift. What then?”

“One day at a time,
Schätzchen
.”

I was disappointed that he hadn’t proclaimed his undying love for me, but I guess he was too much of a pragmatist. He had claimed me, after all, which was definitely an emotional move. I supposed I would have to be satisfied with that until the situation played out.

“Werewolves are born in their human forms,” he said. “They usually attempt their first shifts after a year. It’s a natural process for our kind, but difficult. They still have to be taught so much. You are unique. You are … made. Not born.”

“Teach me, too.”

“I will,” he said.

Silently, I promised the same to him. Damian had a lot to learn about his own heart. I think I’d finally figured out my purpose—one that would certainly sustain me over the next month as I waited to see if I would be werewolf (or dead). I’d do my best to help Damian find himself again. And when he did, he would uncover his destiny and he would find freedom and hope and laughter.

That was my vow. And I would do everything in my power to honor it.

 

I had awakened alone, but before I could panic, Damian appeared almost instantly, as though he were a genie I had summoned.

He sat on the bed, pushed back my hair, and leaned down to give me a brief kiss.