I know that the human half of shifters can be as primal and instinct-driven as their inner animals, especially when it comes to something like sex. What I realize too late is that wolves love the challenge, love the hunt and chase. My simple act of trying to hold Camden at a distance just kicked his dominating instincts into overdrive.
I can somehow feel—probably through our bond—that this Alphawantsme to fight him. He wants me to push him away and run, only so that he can have the elation of chasing me down and claiming me as his prize.
Logically, I know I should stop squirming. Challenging Camden in any way right now won’t bode well for me. However, the logical part of my brain shuts down at the feral look in his eyes, and all I can think is that I need to get away from him before he loses all control.
When I try to scramble back again, one of his hands grasps the bare skin of my throat; I go limp as that simple touch seems to invade my very soul, forcing me to not only accept his touch but revel in it. His hold isn’t hard enough to cut off my air, but it isn’t soft either. He’s telling me without words that he has all the control in this situation, and there is nothing I can do about that fact.
Why is the thought of that causing wetness to gather between my thighs?
When he leans down to nuzzle the side of my neck before sucking on my pulse, I let out a whimper that embarrasses me. The feel of his hot tongue on my throat is so insanely good that my eyesbriefly roll to the back of my head. Tingles travel throughout my body, focusing on my core and making my body hum without my permission.
“That’s it,” he whispers against my skin. “Relax for me.”
Hearing him say that pisses me off. I don’t want to relax for him. I don’t want to feel aroused for him. I don’t want to find strange comfort in his touch. I can’t seem to control my body when he touches me, which isinfuriating.I shove at his chest with all the strength in my body, and actually somehow manage to force this man who is twice my size to slightly lose his balance, giving me the chance to leap off the couch.
Exhilaration surges through me, but it doesn’t last. Before I can take even one step toward the exit, Camden grabs me by the waist again and pulls me back down on the couch. This time, he straddles me so that his entire weight is resting on my hips, holding me in place, and his hands shift to pin mine over my head.
“Stop struggling,” he grits out, sounding like the words pain him. “It’ll only excite me more.”
I open my mouth to yell at him; he takes the opportunity to claim my lips yet again, thrusting his tongue into my mouth. This time, the kiss is nothing short of violent. I bite his tongue to attempt to get him to back off, he responds by biting my lip so hard the metallic taste of blood flavors the kiss.
My anger heightens, putting a much-needed damper on my arousal. Camden growls, feeling the change. Shifting my wrists into one of his hands, he uses the other to slip under the neckline of my shirt and beneath my bra, cupping my breast. Though I’m still seething mad in my mind, my body isn’t on board with my emotions—my back arches up into his hand. He brushes his thumb over my nipple, back and forth, again and again. Each brush sends a violentjolt of pleasure through my system, and I can feel my panties growingsoaked.
He pulls away from my mouth, releases my wrists, uses both hands to tear the soft shirt I changed into after the dinner disaster right off of me, and then slides his hands under my back to unclip and discard my bra with an expertise that hints to plenty of experience. Before I can make a protest of any kind, both of his hands cup my breasts.
“My gods, you’re perfection embodied,” he whispers, sounding awed. He stares at my bared breasts with hunger and reverence warring for supremacy in his gaze.
In spite of myself, his words warm some long-dead part of me. The young part of me that used to adore receiving praise—reveled in it. Of course, this is a very different kind of praise than what I was accustomed to in my youth, but it serves to send warmth through my chest.
He pinches both of my nipples softly, releasing a low noise of satisfaction when I arch into his hands with an unwilling moan. I open my mouth to tell him to stop, but I can’t physically get the words past my lips. It’s like the bond is prohibiting me from rejecting him again—it craves his touch so much that it’s barring me from refusing.
He leans down and licks along the swell of my breasts before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh right above one of my nipples. My yelp of pain turns into a moan when he swipes his tongue over the bite, soothing it.
“You have no idea how impossible it’s been to keep from marking up every inch of you,” he rumbles. “I’m driven to leave bruises and bites all over you; to warn everyone else away from what’s mine. Since you’re not ready to wear my mark on your neck yet, I’ll make do by marking you elsewhere.”
His words are a straight-up threat—he’s telling me that he’s driven tohurtme to stake his claim. I can’t manage to muster any fear over that though, because the bite he left on my breast turned me on even more than his scorching kiss did; the pain somehow heightened my pleasure.
I moan yet again when he pulls one of my nipples into his mouth and laves his tongue over it before sucking so hard his cheeks hollow. With a whimper, I bury my hands in his hair, unable to stop myself from clutching him closer to me, chasing the insane pleasure his touch offers. He pulls back only long enough to say, “So. Fucking. Perfect,” before switching to my other nipple.
Realizing that I’m helpless to stop this, and that deep down I don’t truly want to, I relax entirely. Camden, feeling the tension seep out of me, releases a pleased growl that makes my thighs clench. Of course, he notices. He releases my nipple and studies my facial expression closely, carefully. “You like it when I growl?”
It takes all my effort to hold back from nodding frantically. That would be entirely pathetic. When I stay still, Camden leans forward until his mouth is right by my ear and lets out another chest-deep growl that I can feel against my skin. Somehow, that alone makes me moan in pleasure.
Holy shit.How is that so hot? Why does that send my libido even further into overdrive?
Pulling back again, he says with amusement, “Look at you rubbing your thighs together, chasing your pleasure.”
Realizing that Iamrubbing my thighs together, my core seeking friction, I freeze guiltily.What is wrong with me?
Camden tsks, shifting his body lower. “Don’t be ashamed, Sierra. Never with me.” He slowly spreads my legs and settles between them; I watch, wide-eyed and totally enthralled. Once again, his words seemto reach a deep part of me—the part that does feel shame in seeking pleasure from him because he’s the enemy. With a few simple words, he manages to subdue that part.
Just how strong is our bond for him to affect me so deeply?
He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my loose sleeping pants and panties simultaneously, then pulls both down my legs and throws them somewhere to the side.
Panic sparks within me. What is he going to do? Is he trying to lead up to sex?I’m not ready for that. Yet.I sit up, ready to push him away—he flattens his hand on my stomach and pushes me back down on the soft cushions.
As though reading my mind, Camden assures me, “I’m not going to fuck you, but I will taste you.” When I bite down on my lip, confused about my feelings and unsure what he’s planning on doing, he presses, “This is a lifelong fantasy of mine, Sierra. Don’t deny me your pussy now.”
