by Kati Wilde
But I’m certain that I want to find out.
I nip his bottom lip, then gently tug. A growl rumbles up from his chest that makes me smile against his lips and rock forward—oh so teasingly—over the rigid length of his erection. His mouth opens on a quiet grunt and I flick my tongue past his teeth, a slick taste and retreat that sets off an explosion of need deep inside me.
I wondered about Ethan’s control? Oh god. I should have worried about my own.
Because it’s gone. Burnt to ashes by a single lick. I fist my hand in his thick hair, pulling his head back for a deeper kiss, hot and wet and greedy. Sheer pleasure follows, like rain after a wildfire that ought to soothe and cool, but instead every drop sizzles and steams until a fog of arousal clouds every thought and feeling, except for the ones that are filled by Ethan, his taste and his scent and his hardness and his heat.
But it’s not enough. No matter how searing and sweet. Because I asked him to hold back. And he is. For me.
So he’s kissing me back, but it’s not the kiss I need. Not the kiss I ran away from the first night, that made me long for something I didn’t have. The kiss that said I was everything to him.
But I wasn’t everything to him. It was just a scent. Something he couldn’t control. So I try to fill up the absence now with pleasure, because this is still Ethan. He’s still big and hard and when I grind against that steely length, my inner muscles clench in a deliciously carnal demand. And I’m so slippery that each roll of my hips needs to be harder, faster, chasing the friction that tightens everything inside me into a contracting spiral of ecstasy, that makes him growl and shake beneath me.
But it’s all empty pleasure. Because I’ve done this before. Used someone—or a toy—to drive my body toward orgasm. I bet Ethan has, too. And he’s kissing me like I could be anyone.
Because I asked him to. And I know—I know—his restraint is just another way of showing me how much I mean to him.
Anything you want, he said. But until it was gone, I didn’t truly know what I wanted. Or didn’t let myself accept it.
What I want is to feel as if I’m everything to him. I want to know his hunger, his craving, and know it’s just for me. I want to believe that I’m the only woman in the world for him.
The same way he’s becoming the only man for me.
My chest heaving with my ragged breaths, I lift my head. He’s just as aroused as I am, his skin flushed and gaze heavy-lidded. And my heart clenches painfully, because it’s right there. What I was searching for in his kiss. It’s in the way he’s looking up at me with those burning amber eyes.
Looking at me like that, but not touching me like that. Because my words had been as effective as the rings, preventing him from unleashing all the fire inside.
I need that fire. Even if it doesn’t last forever, even if it’s really just because of my scent…for a short time, at least, I’ll have everything I’ve wanted.
Maybe he sees it. Maybe I’m looking at him now the same way he looks at me, because his breath stops and his body stills.
“Makena?”
“Hey,” I reply awkwardly, because all this realization is still frightening and new, as if I’ve been introduced to a part of myself that was hidden before. My trembling fingertips trace his bottom lip, the firm curve glistening from our kiss. “So…I don’t need you to hold back anymore.”
I don’t know what I expected. Okay, no, that’s a lie—I know exactly what I expected. That Ethan’s cock would do that Hulk impression through his zipper, that he’d fill up my pussy and fuck me as if the world was ending tomorrow. Or that he’d flip me over facedown on the swing and, oh god, mount me from behind, and stake his claim with me on my knees and his cock so deep inside me.
Just imagining it has me squirming against him. Because maybe it’s not just what I expected, but also hoped for.
Yet he doesn’t do either of those things. Instead…instead…
He just continues what we were doing before. His callused palm cups my nape and gently pulls me back down into a kiss. With his other hand, he takes my ass in a firm grip and begins urging me forward and back, rocking against him. All the same.
Yet so completely different. How can it be? Yet it is. Hot and sweet and a little slower now, but everything I needed is suddenly here. A knot forms in my throat and I close my eyes against the burning sting of emotion.
This is more than a continuation of a kiss. It’s a continuation of everything that came before—the simple joy of being with him, conversing on a porch swing, the back and forth of debate and learning who he is. That was everything I wanted, too. And this is the same. Except instead of talking, now the touching and kissing provide that simple joy and pleasure, because I’m here with him. Two minutes ago when I was grinding over his erection, he could have been anyone. But now, this feeling could only be with him. This need could only be us.
And it’s so much hotter. So much more desperate. Not just determined to chase my pleasure or to get him there, too, but completely overwhelmed by the need tearing through me, desperate to be closer to him, to lose myself with him. I whimper low in my throat, my pussy clenching with every rocking grind against my clit. His big hands knead my ass and move me over his rigid thickness, rougher now, as if he knows that I’m going under.
“I got you, Makena,” he growls softly against my lips.
And he does. I bury my face against his neck to muffle my cry when his hand pushes into my shorts. When he finds me slippery and hot, his groan is a thick reverberation against my cheek.
I begin shaking as his thumb slicks over my clit, panting against the corded tendons of his neck, flicking my tongue to taste the salty sweat dampening his skin.
As if sparked by the wet touch of my tongue, Ethan harshly demands, “Give me your mouth again. I need to be tasting you.”
I need the same. But there’s almost no sweetness or finesse left in this kiss. Just hot and wet, our mouths open together and panting against each other’s lips, as his thumb strokes and slides. Then I’m almost there, right there, and as the orgasm breaks through Ethan devours my mouth, muffling my ragged cries. Helplessly I writhe against him, coming so hard, and his thumb doesn’t stop, just relentlessly circles my slippery clit until it’s too much. I break away from his mouth and catch his wrist, stopping that gloriously wicked caress over my oversensitive clit.
For a moment we stay there, motionless, with his hand down my shorts and our breaths shuddering together. Then a harder shiver wracks my body when he withdraws his hand, his fingers slipping through my wetness, his retreating thumb the barest brush of rough skin over my swollen clit.
And I should have known he would bring those glistening fingers to his mouth. His hunger is a fierce golden burn as he licks them clean. I watch, entranced, my inner walls tightening again with every slide of his tongue.
He’s still hard beneath me—and suddenly my mouth is watering for a taste.
“Ethan,” I say huskily, and reach down to clasp that hard length encased by denim. “I know that I said one step at a time. But how do you feel about taking another step tonight?”
I can’t imagine he’ll say no. But I’m a little surprised that he doesn’t immediately say yes, either.
Eyes narrowing, he silently regards me with that steady gaze. “You sure?”
“That I want you to come as hard as I just did? Yes.”
He sucks the remaining wetness from the tip of his thumb as he contemplates me for another second, then nods. “All right.”
Yes. Hot anticipation spears through me and I slide back along his thighs, intending to slip down off the swing and kneel on the porch.
Instead hard hands grab my hips, flip me around so that I’m sitting on the swing again, with Ethan looming over me. But before I can hold him there, he draws back—so fast—and my heart stops in my chest as he drags my shorts and panties with him. My mind still spinning, I realize that he’s in the same position that I’d meant to be, kneeling on the porch between my legs.
Breathless, I try to sit up and only get dragged down until my ass is at the edge of the seat again. “Wait a sec—”
“You agreed to another step,” he growls roughly. “So this step is gonna be me eating up your sweet little cunt.”
Oh god. My brain seems to fizz out for a second. But only a second. Because this isn’t what we just agreed to. “But I wanted to—”
“Make me come? I guarantee you, Makena, letting me lick your pussy is gonna do it. Because I told you”—he puts my right foot up on his shoulder, opening my legs to his ravenous gaze—“I’m real hungry tonight.”
Letting him lick my pussy. As if it’s me giving him the same pleasure that a blow job would. Maybe even more pleasure, the way he’s looking at me.
But my hesitation must be striking warning bells in his head, because he suddenly asks gruffly, “Are you saying no? You don’t want it?”
“No,” I immediately protest then realize it wasn’t clear enough. “I want it.”
“All right,” he growls, and I gasp as that response is followed by a hot lick across my inner ankle. “But you’ve got to do one thing for me.”
Anything. I’m ready to agree to anything.
But I wait for him to add, “You gotta stay quiet when you come, because your uncle’s snoring upstairs with the window open and I don’t want to wake him. And because if I wasn’t kissing you earlier, I’m pretty damn sure you would have been screaming.”
I’m pretty damn sure he’s right. So I bite my bottom lip and nod, showing him that I’m prepared.
He grins and turns his head to place a soft kiss against my calf. Already working his way up with his mouth, but his hands are ahead, his fingers sliding up the length of my inner thighs.
My muscles quiver beneath his touch but I can’t look away from his face. At the sheer ecstasy etched into every rugged line. At the way his chest lifts on a deep breath and he closes his eyes.
They open again when I give a shaky laugh.
“Tell me,” he demands softly, but his voice is pure gravel.
Tell him why I laughed. “Usually guys act like they’re doing a favor when they go down. But you… It’s like I’m doing you a favor.”
“Seems to me, you are. You’re giving me a glimpse of heaven, Makena,” he says and licks a scorching path up the inside of my knee. “And a taste of it, too.”
I think the heaven is his mouth. His touch, sliding higher, the soft scrape of work-roughened hands and—
I glance down and my breath catches in my throat. “Ethan,” I whisper. “You have claws.”
“Because everything about you is so goddamn overwhelming.” The admission is a harsh rasp, and a tortured expression moves over his features. “The scent of you. The taste of you. The feel of you. And good Christ, the look of you. Then you say my fucking name in that sexy way and I just… I don’t have a lot of practice with this.”
With eating a girl out? That wasn’t the impression I got. “It’s okay if you’re a first-timer.”
I’ll just lower my expectations.
A growl rumbles from his chest. “I’m not a first-timer. But I don’t have any practice wanting like this.”
Oh. The warmth of that confession melts through me, joining the molten heat of my arousal. “Well, I don’t either,” I tell him and his gaze softens.
“I won’t hurt you,” he says quietly.
I don’t know if he means with his claws or some other way. And I don’t know if it’s true—eventually, his leaving might tear me in two—but I’m certain that, physically, he would never harm me.
“I believe you,” I tell him.
He nods slowly, watching my face as I watch those clawed fingers skim higher. So maybe he sees the reaction in me that I never could have expected—because those razored claws are dangerous, but not frightening. Not when I know he would never hurt me. So seeing them and feeling them against my skin adds a thrilling edge to the pleasure.
So does the glimpse of sharpened teeth as he kisses his way up my inner thigh, until his mouth hovers directly over my pussy.
I shake wildly, whimpering in desperate anticipation as his heated breath warms my passion-slicked flesh. His amber eyes gleam with hunger and his voice is hoarse with need as he reminds me, “You stay real quiet.”
Then he leans in.
15
Ethan
I’m not a first-timer. And a few weeks ago, I resented that some woman out there had turned me into a last-timer. Resented that I’d never want anyone else. All because of her scent.
Now I can’t believe that I wasted three years. That I went so long without knowing her taste. Without knowing the sight of her laid out before me, her pussy glistening while her kiss still lingers on my lips.
For three fucking years, I didn’t have the brains or the guts to imagine someone like Makena at the other end of that fragrance. That’s a long stretch of stupidity to make up for. But I’m getting started on that now.
Her sweet perfume fills me up as I lean in closer, her scent so pure here, her arousal concentrated and distilled. It’s absolutely intoxicating, what her fragrance does to me. This essence of her, making my head swim and messing with my skins. All that talk about being able to control myself has turned into shit. As if I can’t bear that she’s so vulnerable like this, even before me, so my instincts are raging to let loose her protector. Or as if I need her to see me at my strongest, so she’ll know that I’m worthy of what she’s giving me.
I’m not worthy. Not of this. And even as I’m battling against my hunger, trying to hold on to the bit of control I have left, she whispers huskily, “Ethan. Please,” while tilting her hips up.
And hunger wins.
With a soft growl, I take a long lick. And sweet fucking Christ—her scent is nothing but a faint echo of her taste. Her essence floods my tongue, her cunt so sultry with her arousal that I could feast for hours. And I might. Because I’ve never been as selfish or as greedy as I am now, taking another long slow lick from the entrance of her pussy to her clit.
Despite her promise to stay quiet, she makes noise. Fuck yes, she does. Deep in her throat, with her teeth digging into her bottom lip, but it doesn’t matter how much she muffles those sounds because I can hear them all, and they accompany the broad slick of my tongue through her succulent pussy lips, the soft flick against her engorged clit. The next noise she makes sounds like she’s hurting, but I know damn well she isn’t, because I keep licking away all those sweet pussy juices but her cunt stays sopping wet.
And it isn’t just her pussy that I’m hungry for. Not just her scent and her taste. It’s her, and the way she pants and squirms against my mouth. It’s her helpless moans when I suck on her hot little clit, and the frustrated cries that she stifles against her hand as I tease her tight entrance and lick up inside her.
I want everything Makena Laine has to give. Not just her cunt or her cum but her muffled screams, her rocking hips, the way she begins breathlessly chanting my name.
But these fucking claws, I can’t fill her up with my fingers the way her pussy is demanding—and filling her with my aching cock is a step too far tonight. Hungrily I kiss my way down to her tight entrance and begin fucking her with my tongue, strumming her clit with my thumb. All at once her thighs begin trembling and her back arches up, her heartbeat racing in a frantic rhythm. When she abruptly hauls her quilt off the seat and covers her face, biting down on the thick blanket, I push her over the edge with a hard thrust of my tongue.
And fuck, when she comes. Her cunt clamps down on my tongue, squeezing, even as her thighs crush my head in the sweetest prison I’ve ever known. She screams into that blanket, her body shaking, with my thumb working the slippery
knot of her clit until she shoves at my hand.
The vise of her thighs releases, but I’m not going anywhere yet. The rush of wetness that came with her orgasm saturates her silken folds. I could spend all night lapping it all up.
But I don’t have all damn night. So when she finally uncovers her face, bringing that quilt down to her chest with the material still bunched in her fists, I reluctantly abandon her pussy and kiss my way up over her lower belly, until I hit the bottom of her shirt.
“Those hunters stopped somewhere near the Rudder place,” I tell her gruffly.
She blinks. Then blinks again. She’s still breathless when she replies, “Maybe hoping for easy pickings in his pasture.”
“Maybe. But I probably ought to go check it out.”
She nods distractedly, her eyes seeming a little dazed. “Okay.” Then I straighten up, still kneeling but no longer bending over her, and her gaze goes straight to the bulge of my erection. “You said—”
“And I’m about to take care of that right now.”
She tries to sit up. “Let me—”
“Just lie back there. This visual is about as perfect as it gets.” So damn perfect. Makena all disheveled and rumpled, half-naked with her long legs parted in a boneless sprawl. And her pussy on display, well-fucked by my mouth, still glistening and swollen.
I drag my T-shirt up over my head and toss it onto the seat beside her. Her gaze goes to my chest, then lower as my hands work at the fastening of my jeans. I know the moment when she works out exactly how our current positions align us at the perfect height to fuck, that my cock is at the same level as her exposed cunt, because that lustful scent blooms again, perfuming the air with her desire.
She gasps a little, then again as I drag my erection free. Wrapping my fingers around the heavy shaft, I try to ease the ache, but stroking my cock only makes it worse.
So does the way Makena stares, her full lips parted, and the way her tongue slips out to moisten the bottom one before she says, “You should have whipped that monster out the first day. I’d have fired you on the spot.”
