She was a study in contradictions. And it sounded like she was begging when she said, “More, Wolf.”
His movements were precise and deliberate. Not hurried. Oh, no. Not Wolf. He was metronome steady, his rhythm contrived to draw out their journey. To force them to feel every slow retreat, and then luxuriate in every vigorous advance.
Retreat and advance. Retreat and advance until her entire body was alive with the most astonishing sensations. Until she could feel that curling, furling tingle low in her belly, her womb aching and begging for that last little bit of friction that would release the spring coiling tighter and tighter at her center.
Her hand mapped his long, strong body. The hard muscles of his back. The uncompromising powerfulness of his tattooed arm. The hard flex of his ass as he continued to rock against her in that mind-numbingly wonderful back and forth. Rise and fall.
“Faster,” she whispered desperately. She just needed…
“Oh! My!God!” she cried after he pushed up, using the headboard as leverage, and started pistoning his hips faster. Faster.Harder.
The head of his fat cock knocked against her cervix. His veiny shaft rasped along that sensitive patch of nerves dedicated solely to carnal pleasure. Reaching one hand between them, he pressed the pad of his thumb into the top of her sex.
“Yes! Just like that!” she moaned.
Her eyes were bare slits, but she could see the perspiration beaded on his forehead. A low series of grunts bubbled up from deep inside his chest as he continued to drive into her. Over and over.
He was close. It was there in his eyes, in the tightness of the muscles in his jaw. And then she couldn’t see anything. She couldn’t hear or smell or taste either.
All she could do wasfeel.
Feel her orgasm building, rising, rushing toward her like a tidal wave. Then it broke over her. Lifting her up. Crashing her down. Tumbling her over.
Crying out his name, her body became one with the wave. A liquid, powerful force that pulled Wolf in its wake.
She felt him thrust into her, high and tight, holding himself still even as his impossibly swollen erection bucked and pulsed. She heard him growl her name in a voice so low and guttural, it didn’t even sound like him. And she saw the veins and tendons standing out in his neck as he strained with the power of his release.
For long moments, they simply stayed that way. Joined. Replete. Basking in each other’s gratification. And only when their breaths stilled, when their muscles relaxed, did he move to disengage their thoroughly wasted bodies.
After disposing of the condom, he rolled onto his back. With a come-hither motion, he invited her to join him.
She didn’t hesitate.
Throwing her leg over his much larger, much hairier one, she found the spot on his chest that seemed made for her head.
“Wolf…” She said his name simply because she wanted to hear it. Then something occurred to her. Propping her head in her hand, she gazed down at him. “How did you get that nickname anyway?”
“You mean Wolf?” He frowned.
She rolled her eyes. “What else would I be talking about?”
“Smart-ass.” He shook his head, but there was affection in his eyes. “I was confused since it’s not really a nickname. It’s my middle name.”
“Your middle name is Wolf?”
“Sort of.”
She blinked. “I’m confused.”
“My middle name is Waya, which is Cherokee for Wolf. When I was little, my family called me Waya. But once I started school, I was teased by the other boys for havin’ what they thought sounded like agirlname. So I asked everyone to start callin’ me by the English version.” He hitched his shoulder. “I’ve been Wolf since I was six years old. Although, myelisistill sometimes calls me Waya.”
“You don’t talk much about your indigenous heritage.” She cocked her head. “Why is that?”
He scratched his chin in thought. “Probably two reasons. The first one bein’ there’s still pervasive discrimination against Native peoples. I remember my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Yates, tellin’ the class ‘The only reason Oklahoma exists as a state is ’cause the Indians were too drunk and too stoned on peyote to keep their land.’”
Chrissy’s heart shriveled at the thought of little Wolf hearing that from an adult who was supposed to pass on the knowledge of cursive writing and multiplication tables, but instead passed on bigotry, hatred, and unspeakable misinformation.
“It was better to blend in,” he continued. “Which was actually pretty easy. I mean, it’s not like I was playin’ stickball and goin’ to pow wows and stomp dances every weekend. I was playin’ baseball, eatin’ hotdogs, and helpin’ my grandparents on their farm. Pretty much like every other kid from my neck of the woods.”
