“That doesn’t matter to the wolf,” he says, his finger still drawing lazy patterns on my skin. “Time is a human construct. The wolf knows what it wants.” He tilts his head, studying me with newfound intensity. “So, what was I doing to you in this dream that wasn’t a nightmare?”
My breath catches in my throat.
I shouldn’t tell him.
I shouldn’t encourage whatever this is. But my resistance is crumbling under the weight of his stare, the gentle pressure of his finger on my thigh.
“You kissed me,” I whisper.
His eyebrow arches. “Where?”
My face burns hotter.
“My... my pussy,” I manage to say, the word feeling foreign on my tongue.
A slow, dark smile spreads across his face. It’s predatory, possessive, and it should frighten me. Instead, it sends another rush of wetness between my legs.
“Why don’t you open your legs?” he says, his voice suddenly deeper, more authoritative. “I can investigate what’s happening to you.”
Something in his tone bypasses all rational thought, triggering that same strange compulsion I felt with Marcus. I want to resist, to maintain some semblance of dignity, but my body betrays me once again. I’m weak from sleep, from the lingering arousal of my dream, and from the overpowering presence of the man before me.
Slowly, I allow my legs to part, the bathrobe falling open to expose me completely. I lie back against the pillows, heart hammering so hard I can hear my pulse in my ears.
Lorenzo’s gaze drops to the juncture of my thighs, and his smile widens.
“Moons,” he breathes, voice thick with desire. “There’s slick dripping out of you like no tomorrow.”
“Slick?” I repeat, unfamiliar with the term.
Without answering, he reaches out and runs one finger through my folds, collecting the moisture there. He holds it up so I can see the clear, viscous liquid coating his skin. “This is slick. It’s what an omega produces when she’s aroused. Human women get wet, but omegas produce slick. It’s thicker, sweeter.”
He brings his finger to my mouth, and I can’t help but suck it in, tasting myself. It’s sweet and a little salty, the texture thick and slippery. He watches, his eyes darkening, and then he slides down the bed, pushing my knees higher.
He buries his face in my pussy and moans, the vibrations adding to the sensation as his tongue begins to explore. Unlike Marcus’s frantic devouring, Lorenzo’s approach is slow, methodical, almost reverent. He kisses my pussy like he’s making out with my mouth, his tongue darting and swirling, his lips sucking gently then releasing.
“Oh my god,” I whimper, my hands flying to his hair, fingers tangling in his soft curls. I don’t know if I’m trying to push him away or pull him closer.
I don’t even have time to brace myself.
His tongue is long and strong, lapping at my clit, plunging inside me, licking up every drop of slick. He eats me like he’s starving, groaning into my cunt, his hands gripping my thighs so tight I know I’ll have bruises in the morning.
“Don’t stop,” I moan, hoping for release.
My hips jerk up, and he just pins them down, never letting up. He sucks on my clit, flicking it with his tongue until I see stars. Then he pushes two fingers inside me, unable to go all the way inside as he sucks harder.
I come fast.
My vision whites and my whole body tenses as a gush of fluid squirts out of me, spraying his face. He smiles and keeps licking, lapping up every drop despite my sensitive clit.
“Fuck,” he growls against my flesh, sending aftershocks through me. “You taste so fucking good.”
“I want to suck you. Your dick,” I whisper, hesitantly touching his erection through his green pajama pants.
“Ah, what a wonderful girl you are,” he says as he kneels on the bed, straddling my chest, and tugs his pajama pants down. His cock is huge, tan, and veined, the head glistening with precum.
His balls are heavy and smooth, hanging low between his legs.
I’m not prepared for how big he is.
