A breath. Then—soft, shaky, wrecked: “Fuck me. I want your cock inside me. Ineedyour cock inside me.”
My hard-on pulses, straining behind my zipper, but I don’t move. Not yet.
“Good girl,” I whisper, my voice a sin dragging its teeth down her spine.
My hand slides to the base of her throat—gentle but firm. Not squeezing. Just holding. Possessing.
Claiming.
“Next time those words pass your lips…” my mouth hovers over her ear, heat bleeding into her skin, “I’m going to fuck the sanity out of you. You’ll come so hard you’ll forget where you are, who you are. You’ll scream so loud the walls will shake.”
She shivers with a rigor that rocks her whole frame.
Good. Let her tremble. It means she’s ready to fall.
“You won’t see me,” I say, breath hot against her skin, “but you’ll feel me. Everywhere, all around you, and inside you.”
My voice darkens into something possessive and final.
“I’ll ruin every other man for you, Laurette. Because after me, there will be no one else.”
She whimpers. God help me, she whimpers. And it’s the most beautiful fucking sound I’ve ever heard.
I ease onto the bed behind her, knees sinking into the mattress. She doesn’t move, not an inch.
With her head bowed and back straight, she’s obedient and gorgeous and mine.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is not to fuck you right now? To keep my hands off your cunt when I know it’s throbbing for me?”
The fabric rustles as her hands grip the sheets.
I lean forward, close enough for my chest to graze her back. “I’mdying to be inside you, Laurette. I want to ruin you slowly and completely. I want to make you forget your name and remember only mine on your lips, in your throat, carved into your fucking soul.”
Her breath quickens, shallow and uneven. I can’t see her eyes, but I don’t need to. The way she holds her body, rigid and pulsing with restraint, tells me everything.
She’s unraveling, but I’m not done. Not even close.
I reach around slowly, my fingers curling beneath her chin. I guide her face gently toward me, tilting her enough so my mouth can find her ear.
I trace the edge of her jaw with a single finger. “What do you want me to call you?” My voice is low, coaxing. “Say it. Don’t be afraid.”
A breath shudders out of her. “Babygirl,” she whispers. “I want to be your good girl.”
I smile against her skin. “You already are,” I whisper. “You really are.”
My hand slides down her arm, fingers gliding over silk-smooth skin until I reach her wrist. I hold her there, not restraining, just anchoring. A tether. A promise.
“What do you want to call me?”
She hesitates, and a breath catches in her throat. I sense the war playing out inside her—desire tangled with shame, curiosity brushing up against fear.
“It’s your choice, Babygirl. Whatever you want. Something dark, if that’s your flavor. Whatever makes your pussy throb when you say it.”
She doesn’t answer right away. I wait patiently, letting the silence stretch tight between us, coaxing her deeper into it.
Then softly, so soft I almost don’t hear it, she says, “My Wolf.”
My cock throbs hard enough to hurt.
