He starts slow and reverent, the heat of his breath ghosting against my needy sex. He takes in a deep inhale, followed by a groan. I thought I was wearing shorts at least, but after the way he ripped through my underwear the other night there’s a good chance this is now a terrible denim skirt.
I wriggle against his iron grip on my ankles that keeps my legs spread apart, when he parts me with his tongue.
“Shawn,” I gasp, my hips bucking into his mouth when he delves his tongue deep into my core. The heat of it makes me forget what I was going to say, except, “Oh, god, keep doing that.”
Every stroke of his tongue that makes me keen with pleasure grows closer, a heat and tension building deep in my core. Heat spreads through my body, and I feel tingles up to my shoulder blades.
After a few tantalizingly slow laves against my cunt, he finds my clit and focuses on it, and my body traitorously threatens to orgasm before I’ve enjoyed enough of this.
It’s too much, it’s too intense.
I bite my lip to hold back a cry, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as I rut against his face for every greedy taste he takes from me, riding out my climax.
“Tell me you missed this,” he growls with a dark note of jealousy before dragging his tongue hard against me, every additional stroke against my over-sensitive nerves makes me moan. “Tell me you thought about this when others tried to please you.”
I should maybe kick him for just assuming I couldn’t find good sex with anyone after him, and I think to say as much to him when his tongue delves deep within me again, unsated. I whine in response, lifting my hips to shy away from the intensity of the pleasure.
“You don’t have to compete with guys I broke up with”—I pant, my body just a mess of aftershock twitches—“but I did. I thought of you every time.”
His hands dig hard into my hips, spurred by a possessive surge, something sharper and thicker than his nails creasing into my skin. I get a glimpse of the fur starting to cover his arm for just a second, before he unleashes another vicious focus on my clit, and my head tips back involuntarily with a gasp.
Suddenly, his tongue feels a little different than I’m used to, a different texture, rougher, hotter, more ravenous against my sex. Each drag through my folds that reaches my clit makes me whimper for more. My hands are twisted in his hair like I’m hanging on for dear life. He’s always known how to make me feel good, but I had no idea how much he was holding back.
It doesn’t cease, even when I struggle against his hold on me, even when I can’t keep fully quiet. If there’s been a deficiency of orgasms from my last partners, he’s more than making up for lost time.
My thighs clamp together around his head, my hips bucking again as he licks me through another orgasm, not stopping for as much as a breath.
I think I forgot he was like this. Maybe convinced myself I’d made it up that he had to put me through a couple orgasms before he’d even get a condom out.
“Slow down,” I pant, tapping at his shoulder, the top of his head, whatever I can reach. His grip on my hips remains, but he at least parts his mouth from my cunt.
He drags his teeth against the fat of my thighs in a way that is familiar, but also, I completely forgot he always did that, andit makes a lot of sense now. I think. There’s a lot of little things I just brushed off that are starting to make a weird sort of sense, reinforcing what I can’t believe I saw.
Shawn is a werewolf. The werewolf I’ve been having dreams about. The wolf I’ve been ready to ride in what I’m not entirely sure were dreams now. It didn’t seem possible that it could have been real.
I lean up on my elbows as Shawn plucks one of the clean dish towels up from the stack and dries his face with it. He starts to offer it to me, when he stills, and then I hear someone coming down the stairs.
I scramble to push off the counter, tugging down my less functional shorts to cover myself. The kitchen light flicks on before I finish checking myself over.
Logan stands in the doorway. His eyes fall on us immediately, looking rather unimpressed even as Shawn leans against the counter to hide his erection. It’s probably fairly obvious we weren’t just chatting at five a.m.
“Christ, man. Now I owe Aiden money.”
Logan saves most of his judgment for his brother, barely glancing at me. I turn and head out the kitchen side door before my embarrassment can catch up with me.
A different sensation does instead. Something splits, and it feels like I’m standing on the edge of my dreams and my usual reality. Logan showing up reminded me of everything I’d been willing to put aside earlier.
Shawn may be the beast my body has been craving, but he’s still my ex-husband.
19
Shawn
“Did Dad ever talk to you guys about knotting?”
I ask the question under my breath, the words barely audible.
The small clothing boutique isn’t devoid of other people, but the two with supernatural hearing glance at me with near identical expressions of horror and incredulousness. Logan is halfway through buttoning up probably the fifth suit jacket he’s tried on, frowning impressively more than usual. The shop is nicely kept and there’s a lot of what I think are vintage prom dresses all in plastic protective bags.
