I don't start gentle. The Wolf is driving. I spread her folds with my thumbs, exposing the pink, swollen heart of her. I press my tongue flat against her clit andpush.
She screams around my cock, her thighs clamping down on my ears.
"Yes," I growl against her slick flesh. "Feed me."
I find her rhythm instantly. I lap at her, broad, heavy strokes that mimic the way I want to fuck her. She tastes sweet—impossibly sweet—mixed with the tang of her own arousal. It’s addictive. It’s a drug I’ll never get clean from.
Above me, she’s working. Her head bobs up and down, taking more of me than I thought possible. She sucks hard, the suction pulling at my soul. I can feel her tongue swirling around the ridge, treating me like a puzzle she’s trying to solve with her mouth.
"So wet, feels like heaven," I praise, sliding two fingers inside her while my tongue works her clit. She’s tight, gripping myfingers like a vice. "You're so wet for me,chérie. You feel so good."
"Jax... Jax, I can't... the pressure..." Her voice is muffled, frantic. She’s losing the rhythm, her hips grinding into my face.
"Don't run from it," I command, curling my fingers inside her, hitting that rough spot on the front wall. "Take it. Take all of it."
I pick up the pace. My tongue flicks faster, harder, vibrating against the nerve bundle. My fingers piston in and out, stretching her, prepping her, claiming her.
She’s unraveling. I can feel her muscles spasming around my fingers. I can hear the little broken noises she’s making, the way her breath is hitching in short, sharp gasps.
"I’m going to... Oh God, I’m is crashing..." she chokes out, lifting her head off my cock to gasp for air.
"Crash for me," I snarl. I grab her hips, holding her in place, and suck hard on her clit.
She breaks.
Her body goes rigid. She screams my name, a high, keening wail that cuts through the thunder. Her inner muscles clamp down on my fingers, milking them in a violent, rhythmic pulse.
And then it hits me.
The scent.
It explodes out of her with the orgasm.
The burnt sugar is gone. The brass is gone. In its place is something raw. Something wild.
Musk. Pine. Iron. Heat.
It smells like a female wolf in estrus. It smells likePack.
The shock of it—the sheer, biological wrongness and rightness of it—hits my brain like a sledgehammer. It bypasses every safeguard I have.
I roar, my hips snapping up. I drive into her mouth, burying myself to the hilt. I come hard, my release violent andimmediate, emptying myself into her throat while I drink her juices. The pleasure is blinding, white-hot, searing every nerve ending.
We stay like that for a long minute, panting, twitching, the only sound the rain and our ragged breathing.
Slowly, the haze clears.
But the scent remains.
It’s not fading. It’s stronger.
I gently lift her hips, easing my fingers out of her. I pull out of her mouth.
She collapses onto the furs beside me, her chest heaving, her skin flushed a deep, blotchy pink. She looks wrecked. Beautiful.
I scramble backward, pushing myself up until my back hits the log wall. I’m breathing hard, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wants out.
I stare at her.
