Cry Wolf (Wolves of Angels Rest #7)(8)

She squirmed, her thighs rubbing together in the slick wetness he’d teased from her body. “When do I get to spank you for living dangerously.”

“When you can catch me.” He flattened himself to her spine, spreading her arms out to either side so her breasts squished to the glass. One knee nudged between her thighs, spreading her legs. “But until then, you stay right here. If you move…”

He didn’t finish the threat, but her mind spun off in all sorts of delicious directions that made her almost as aroused as the friction of his body. Before she could act on any of it, he returned, and the wet, squeaky glide of his cock against her skin told her he’d sheathed himself again.

He brushed her hair off her nape and kissed the crook of her neck. “Your skin shines in the moonlight.”

Moon. Shine. She shivered as his teeth skimmed over the column of her throat, his hot breath a gust of desert wind across her skin. It was almost too much, how easily he found her secret places. Not just her *, that wasn’t so secret, but the way he played on the edge of pain with his teeth and his big cock pushing her to her limits.

Even now he was nudging between her folds, stretching her open again. She whimpered at the tender abrasion of sensitive flesh.

“Too much?” His whisper in her ear made it seem as if he was reading her mind. “I think you can take all of me.”

Slow but relentless, he penetrated her. She had nothing to hold onto except the smooth glass, and she felt as if she was falling out into the darkness.

She stared up at the silver orb in the sky, her breath hitching. All she had to say was moonshine…

The iron tang of blood flooded her tongue as she bit down. No way would she end this.

With his fingers wrapped in her hair, he drew her head back and kissed her deeply just as his cock filled her. Grinding his haunches into her ass, he reached around to find her clit. Remorselessly gentle, he circled the tight nub of nerves, sending an arpeggio reverberating through her core, like he’d strummed across the strings of her guitar.

So slow, as if he was timing his strokes to the progression of the moon across the sky, he filled her and retreated, each stroke longer and more lingering until her whole body was thrumming with her oncoming release. She quivered, almost with fear, at the threatening tidal wave force building up between them. Her inner muscles clenched for the wild ride.

He must have felt the clutch and thought he could outrun her because he sped his strokes, matching his thrusts to the helpless contractions of her *. His breath gusted harshly in her ear, like a predator chasing down its prey, and the image of going down beneath him made every muscle inside her spasm with desire.

The chain reaction cascaded through her with an explosion of white-hot sensation. Only his grip on her hair kept her from bonking her head on the window when she cried out and tried to curl into the force of her orgasm. But he held her taut and at the same moment kissed her.

She didn’t mean to bite him, but the force of her release smashed their mouths together, lips and tongue getting in the way of clashing teeth, and she tasted another metallic tang of blood.

Just as he thrust one last time, lifting her clear off her feet and slamming them both to the glass.

He came in silence and held her there pinned, both of them quivering, though she never once feared he’d drop her. Not unless she said the magic words, of course.

And she never would.

She closed her eyes and let her head loll back on his shoulder. His gusting breaths finally slowed, and he let her slide down off his body and turned her to face him.

Before she could think of something to say—not that she had any big ideas—he swept her up into his arms.

She squeaked in surprised and looped an arm behind his neck. She remembered being carried when she was a little girl, but she hadn’t been little for a very long time. Even the choreography of the show called for zero lifts, though there was one point where Seth and Arlan linked their arms through hers and whirled her around, square dance style.

Diesel hefted her like she was made of marshmallow fluff. Which she was, partially.

He strode toward the bedroom, and she gave a frantic kick. “Wait. Put me down.”

He paused. “What’s the word?”

“Please?”

“No. The other word.”

She nibbled on her lower lip. “You left the condoms on the coffee table.”

“What I’m doing to you next, we don’t need a condom.”

She wanted to strangle him, but his neck was too thick.

He stared down at her. “The word?”

If she said it, she knew he’d drop her right here at the doorway to her bedroom.

And then he’d leave.

“I have to pee,” she said sullenly.

He strode through the doorway.

No light from the entry chandelier reached the bedroom, only the ambient glow of the neon outside the window. But Diesel didn’t seem to need the illumination.

He set her on her feet and gave her ass a squeeze. “If you need to hide in the bathroom and stare at yourself in the mirror for a minute, no worries. But you didn’t say the word, so I’ll still be here when you get out.”

He nudged her toward the smaller doorway then turned toward the window, hands on his hips. He looked so big and dark and kind of menacing, standing in her gold and white room. Before he could turn around and catch her staring, she fled.