She swirled her tongue around the sensitive tip, savoring the musky taste of him. He was so responsive, so open in his desire for her. It was intoxicating.
“Don’t stop,” he growled, fisting a hand in her hair.
She had no intention of stopping. She took him deeper, relaxing her throat to accommodate his impressive length. He was huge, and the thought of having him inside her sent a wave of heat through her body. She wanted this, wanted him, with an intensity that was almost frightening.
“Look at me.” His voice was rough with desire.
She looked up, meeting his burning blue gaze, and the look in his eyes—possessive, hungry, desperate—sent a jolt of pure lust straight through her. He was watching her, watching as she took him deeper, as she pleasured him with her mouth, and the knowledge that she was giving him this, that she was the one who could make him lose control like this, was the most powerful aphrodisiac she had ever known.
He came with a guttural cry, spilling himself into her mouth. She swallowed eagerly, her body humming with pure feminine satisfaction at having pleasured her mate so completely.
He was still gasping for breath when she rose to her feet, straddling his lap. His hands immediately went to her hips, holding her steady as she positioned herself over him.
“I want you inside me,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with desire.
He kissed her, a deep, possessive kiss that tasted of himself and of the wild, untamed desire that had been simmering betweenthem for weeks. “Always,” he murmured against her lips as he lowered her slowly over his still hard shaft. Thank god for rabbit stamina, she thought, but then he began to move and her ability to think disappeared.
CHAPTER 21
Ben’s fingers wouldn’t stop trembling.
He stared down at them—hands that could dice onions paper-thin, that could hold Sara with perfect control, that hadn’t shaken like this in six goddamn years—and willed them to be still.
They didn’t listen.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”
Adrian’s voice cut through the backstage chaos of the spring festival. Ben stopped pacing long enough to shoot his friend a murderous look before resuming his circuit around the cramped tent that served as the performers’ green room.
“Helpful. Thank you.”
“Just making an observation.” The werewolf lounged against a stack of equipment cases, arms crossed, watching him with entirely too much amusement. “You know, for someone who used to sell out stadiums, you’re acting like you’ve never seen a microphone before.”
“That was different.”
“Different how?”
He dragged a hand over his ears, pressing them flat against his skull. The noise from outside filtered through the canvas walls—laughing children, carnival games, and the low thrum of anticipation from the crowd gathering in front of the main stage. His stage. In approximately… he checked his watch… twelve minutes.
Eleven minutes and forty-three seconds.
“Different because I was a different person then,” he growled. “I was young and stupid and didn’t give a shit about anything except the next pleasure. The music, the crowds, the women—it was all just fuel for the fire.”
“And now?”
“Now I give too many shits. About everything.” He resumed pacing. “What if I can’t do it anymore? What if I get up there and forget every word? What if?—”
“What if you’re incredible and everyone loves it and you remember why you started playing in the first place?”
He stopped. Turned. Stared at Adrian like he’d grown a second head.
“Did you just… say something sincere?”
“Don’t get used to it.” Adrian pushed off from the equipment cases, his expression shifting to something almost serious. “Look, man. I’ve known you for six years. I’ve watched you work yourself half to death, deny yourself every pleasure, and build walls so high even I couldn’t see over them. And in the last fewmonths, I’ve watched a sweet kindergarten teacher with killer brownies tear those walls down piece by piece.”
“Your point?”
“My point is that you already did the hard part. You let someone in. You built a nest. You claimed a mate.” Adrian clapped him on the shoulder. “Playing a few songs for some townspeople? That’s nothing. That’s a victory lap.”
