“If you truly want me to stop, I will,” she whispered, “but I don’t think you want to. I don’t want to stop.”
His throat bobbed, a desperate sound escaping his lips.
With a quickness that made her gasp, he pushed her back into the tree and reached above them to dig every single one of his claws into the bark.
“If…it’s what you want,” he murmured.
This man. If that’s what you need to tell yourself.
“It’s what I want,” she assured him, ducking his chin with her nose.
Still, she took her time with him, fingers swirling over his leather-clad thigh. It took little effort to find the engorged swell of his cock, hot and throbbing beneath his kilt. Maeve bit her lip around her smile of pleasure.
A deep, gratifying groan hollowed out his chest as she ran the tip of a fingernail over his cockhead. That great body shuddered again, and she thought she heard the sound of wood splintering somewhere.
Down, down, down slipped her questing fingers. She wouldn’t be denied, not now, not with the hunger burning her blood.
She loved this part. The build, the tease, daring to walk to the edge but just hold off. Anticipation clutched her tight, and Maeve squeezed her thighs together to relieve a little of the pressure building in her belly.
She heard him hold his breath as her hand slipped beneath the leather. Up, up, up his furred thigh she went, determined now to claim her prize. Pushing the kilt up, she revealed the bulging tip to the cooling night air. Maeve cooed and sighed in approval, greedily taking him in hand.
Soren rocked forward. “Kam-kala,” he groaned.
“Just feel good for me,” she whispered. “That’s all you have to do.”
His head fell to hers again, and she felt how his breath wobbled as she began to stroke him.
It was dark, and he was half hidden by his kilt, but fates, he was more than a handful. Maeve couldn’t help her own little needy moan as she stroked him, feeling every inch from root to tip. By touch, she could feel his differences; a spade-shaped head and an intriguing engorged part at the base.
Fates, he’ll feel so good.Her nipples hardened just thinkingabout how his size and differences would feel inside her. She rubbed her chest against him, creating delicious friction.
He buried his nose in her hair, and she felt more than heard him groan her name.
Wetting her palm with the droplets of spend from his cockhead, Maeve slicked her hand up and down, up and down. His hips began to rock with her rhythm, his thick thighs shivering and his breath sawing in and out of his chest.
His heat was scorching, his formidable strength enticing. She watched him fight for control, deny the impending orgasm.
But Maeve was tired of being denied.
On the next stroke, she twisted her wrist and tightened her fist around his cockhead.
A strangled noise caught in his throat, but then he was roaring. Birds cawed and leapt into the sky; the trees shook and rattled. The forest seemed to bend around them as Maeve brought him to the peak and mercilessly pushed him over.
That’s it. Come for me.
Her own pleasure seared her from the inside out, but she didn’t need her own peak. It was more than enough to have the world stop spinning.
This, giving pleasure, handling a man, she understood.
And in handling Soren, nuzzling that tuft of hair on his chest and listening to him purr and gasp for breath, Maeve thought she understood him a little more, too.
14
Soren’s ears hadn’t stopped ringing since the night before. Was that normal? It couldn’t be healthy. Had he burst his own eardrums roaring through the greatest, most intense orgasm of his life?
Kud, how did he explain that to anyone, let alone a healer. He dared not go to Sofie Brádaigh.She’ll know.
Without school being in session that next day, the first day of Soren’s brand new existence, there was no excuse to go there and see Maeve. He didn’t know what to do with himself, unable to sleep, unable to think.
