by Naima Simone
But the first time she did today would be in his.
Before she could form a protest, he flipped her on her back, stripped her of her jeans, panties and socks. If she hadn’t damn near stopped his mind with that impromptu blow job, he could’ve taken a moment to admire her nakedness. But she had. And now, he took in the stunning beauty that was the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the toned muscle of her legs, but it was the bare, soaked flesh that demanded all of his attention.
Throwing her thighs over his shoulders, he wedged himself tight in that thickly scented V and feasted.
He licked her folds, following the path his fingers had enjoyed a day ago, and moaned as her sultry flavor hit his tongue. That jasmine-and-cedar scent was richer, stronger here. More delicious here. Fuck, he could survive on this for the rest of his life.
Flicking a caress over the nub of engorged flesh hidden in the top of her folds, he returned to circle it, softly suck it. With a raw cry, Nessa went wild beneath him. Unhooking an arm from beneath her leg, he laid it low across her hips, anchoring her, holding her still so he could continue to explore the sweetest flesh he’d ever had the privilege and pleasure to indulge in.
Over and over he licked, nibbled, kissed, losing himself in those swollen feminine lips, that pearl of flesh. She bucked into his mouth, clawed at his shoulders, pleaded with him to stop, don’t stop. And when he thrust two fingers into her slick, tight sex, she came with an abandon that sent pride streaking through him. That humbled him.
He pressed kisses to the curve of her hip, and on a whimper, she pushed his head away, curling into herself. Not removing his gaze from her, he finished removing his jeans and boots, pausing to grab his wallet and the condom he had stashed there. In seconds, he had the foil package ripped open and the protection rolled down his hard, throbbing cock.
Crawling to Nessa, he crouched over her, pressing his forehead to hers. Though it seemed his whole body had turned into one giant ache, he waited until her lashes fluttered open, and he lifted his head to meet her orgasm-glazed eyes.
“Kiss me.” It sounded exactly as it was meant—a request. An entreaty.
He needed her to center him, to leash the beast that threatened to fall on her in a ravenous haze. She could do that for him.
But more than that. He just wanted the quiet, intimate connection of their mouths. Of trading breath for breath. Of looking into those beautiful eyes and knowing she was right there with him.
Some of the fog cleared from her gaze, and she cupped his face, tipping his head down. Then she kissed him. Tenderly. Softly. Slipping one hand between them, she grasped his cock and guided him into her.
She gasped into his mouth. And he might’ve gasped into hers.
Such warmth. Such wet.
Such bliss.
He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Not when he fought the sensation of drowning with every inch of her too-tight, too-perfect sex. Like a victim going under for the final time, he battled the sense of panic that he would never emerge from this—from her—whole again. Hiding his face in the crook of her neck, he thrust forward, burying himself so deep inside her it propelled the breath from his lungs in a hot burst of air.
They stilled, the only movement in both of their bodies the rapid rise and fall of their chests. Her nails dug into the back of his neck and the space between his shoulder blades. Twin urges raged within him—never move again and for godsake, move.
But the flutter of her feminine flesh around his cock glued together his steadily fracturing control like nothing else could. He gritted his teeth, granting her time so she could become accustomed to him. No matter how long it took—no matter if it killed him—he’d wait.
“You with me?” He lifted his head and uncurled his fist to brush tangled, damp strands of hair away from her face. Later, he would be embarrassed that those fingers trembled. “Nessie?”
She nodded, shifting underneath him. A soft cry escaped her, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she arched and twisted. “Please. Wolf, move.”
It’s all he needed to hear. Entwining their fingers together and pressing their linked hands to the floor on either side of her head, he withdrew, slowly dragging his cock over slick, quivering flesh. Then, when cool air brushed every inch of his damp length except for the head still lodged within her, he paused, opened his mouth over her jaw and surged back in.
He shuddered, the pleasure racing over him—his skin, through muscle and bone—and almost ending it for him right there. But fuck, never. He never wanted this to end. Never wanted to leave this place.
Inside Nessa.
With Nessa.
Shutting his eyes, as if that would block out any more similar traitorous thoughts, Wolf powered into her, losing himself in her liquid heat. Nessa eagerly lifted her hips, bucking up to meet every thrust, every stroke, riding him even as he rode her. She took him with no inhibition, vulnerable and unreserved here in a way she wasn’t outside his cabin door. As he gazed down into her beautiful face, she allowed him to see every emotion, whether she intended to or not.
He accepted it as a gift, one he treasured just as much as her body and her pleasure.
Close to the edge, his pace stumbled, quickened. Not that Nessa seemed to mind. She damn near threw her body against his, their hips meeting in a clash, a supplication. Gripping the back of her neck, he hauled her closer, covering her mouth, thrusting his tongue between her lips in a mimicry of how he took her body.
Slipping a hand between them, he traced and firmly caressed that sweet nub of flesh at the top of her sex.
“Give it to me, baby.” He pistoned into her, rubbed her. Needing her to come first because he refused to go without her. “Get there for me.”
With a cry that echoed in the room, she shattered. Her sex clamped down on him, drawing a pleasure-pained grunt at the almost bruising grip on his cock. Fuck, he loved it. Gathering her impossibly closer, he drove harder, faster, between her spasming walls, ensuring she received every measure of the orgasm racking her body.
And only when those shivers started to ease did he let go. He pounded into her, but after only a few strokes, he cracked, following her into that blazing fire that both consumed and rebirthed him. Leaving him powerful and weak.
Leaving him unfettered, at peace.
Leaving him scared as hell.
Sixteen
“I’M EITHER GOING to look like I had an allergic reaction to something or that I rolled around on a rug naked,” Nessa grumbled, holding open the sides of the plaid shirt Wolf had given her. “I don’t know which one I’d rather have people think—that a nurse can’t remember to monitor her own allergies. Or that I’m a pervert who enjoys one-on-one time with carpet.”
Wolf snorted from the stove, and she eyed his naked back. If he wasn’t so damn sexy in only jeans that valiantly clung to his lean hips, she might be offended at his lack of sympathy. Especially when he was the reason behind her beard rash.
Who was she kidding? She liked glancing down and seeing his marks on her body. Did that take away her feminist card? Maybe. Yeah, sitting here on his breakfast bar stool, body pleasantly loose and a little tender from earth-moving sex and watching him competently cooking breakfast in his kitchen, she didn’t care.
Part of her still had its mouth open in shock that she’d actually gotten up the nerve to come over to Wolf’s house, lay out her terms and climb him like a horny howler monkey. She’d never considered herself brave. The last time she’d taken a risk, she’d moved in with a man who’d ended up leaving her for a job. Not even another woman—a job. So no, she would never be one of those people who jumped out of planes. But coming to Wolf, being honest, baring her body and entrusting it to him, had been like leaping out of the sky with only a hinky parachute strapped to her back.
She’d been terrified, hoping and trusting he would be there to protect her. To keep her from crashing.
And he had.
He’d been...perfect.
And just thinking that word had her belly twisting with unease. Pull back, every self-protective instinct in her whispered. Pull back before you’re a casualty. Again.
She should heed that warning; she hadn’t with Jeremy.
Yet, she continued sitting on the stool, waiting on scrambled eggs and bacon.
In which camp did this put her? Team risk taker or team glutton for punishment?
Yeah, she wasn’t analyzing that right now. Especially not without bacon.
“I’m voting for the rug love.” Wolf smirked, turning toward the refrigerator. He pulled open the door and, good goddess of all arm porn, she clutched the edge of the bar to keep herself from falling off the seat. She would demand he put a shirt on, but she was no hypocrite. “The idea of you rolling around butt naked on my mother’s rug is a little creepy...but kinda hot, too. I feel so conflicted.”
She laughed, picking up her coffee and sipping. Minutes later, he slid a plate piled with fluffy eggs, crispy bacon and buttered toast in front of her. He sat across from her with his own breakfast, and they tucked into it with all the hungry enthusiasm of two people who hadn’t eaten in weeks. Or two people who’d just indulged in hot, dirty, calorie-burning sex on a floor.
To-may-to, to-mah-to.
As she ate, her gaze drifted to the tattoo on his left pectoral muscle. When he’d first torn his sweater over his head, revealing the ink, she’d been stunned...and turned on. Then, she’d gotten a good look at it. Had traced the pair of combat boots with dog tags and the name Raylon Brandt with a date of birth and death. Eight years ago.
Her heart had twisted in her chest, constricting so hard she’d found it hard to breathe and not because of the lust that’d been racing through her veins.
Wolf...beautiful, sensitive, funny Wolf...had lost someone in war. And it’d been someone he’d cared enough about to ink a memorial to him permanently on his body. Over his heart. Who was Raylon? Had he been another Dennison? A brother? A friend?
The questions sprinted through her mind. She should leave it alone. Wolf had stiffened up when she’d touched the tattoo; that revealed everything she needed to know about the soreness of the subject. Not to mention, she’d set the parameters of their relationship—fuck buddies. They had screwed. They didn’t deep dive into each other’s heads and souls for treasure better off left buried.
Yet...she wanted to know him. This man who could create beauty out of wood, dispense wisdom with quiet humor and make her come hard enough to confirm the truth of alien life-forms in other galaxies.
Pretty sure she’d glimpsed their home planet during that last orgasm.
“You finished?” Wolf stood, picking up his empty plate. “Need more coffee?”
“No, I’m good.” She forked the last of her eggs into her mouth and handed him her plate and silverware. “Thank you. That was great.”
“You’re welcome.” He crossed the small kitchen to the sink and rinsed off the dishes before setting them in the dishwasher. “What’re your plans for the day?”
“Well, Moe and Leo were telling us about a sled relay tonight. Not exactly sure what that is, but Ivy’s excited about going. I said I’d go.”
Wolf glanced at her over his shoulder, smiling. “Okay, I know for a fact Boston has holiday events. Maybe not sled relays but Santa runs and candlelight walks, and yet you claim to not know about any of them. Where exactly do you go during the Christmas season? A bunker?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “My mom was the big Christmas person, but she was an attorney, so she didn’t have much time off to celebrate it. We used to spend the day together for dinner, but once I became a nurse, I volunteered to work so people with children could have it off. Except for when I was younger, it’s been pretty much another day to me.” She traced the edge of the coffee cup, staring at a chip on the handle. “Isaac left mom and me the week before Christmas when I was twelve. For most people it’s a holiday for family, but for me it’s a constant reminder of when mine broke up.”
Pressure built behind her ribs, and she focused on the mug as if it would spring fangs and go for her throat if she dared glance away.
“Damn.” She loosed a hard, self-deprecating chuckle. “I’ve never told anyone that. Especially not Mom. I think in my head I’ve called Isaac the grinch all these years ’cause he stole all my fucking Christmases.” She laughed again, and surprisingly, it carried a trace of humor. “I really need to let that go.”
“For yourself.”
Soft and firm lips brushed the shaved side of her head, sending sparks cascading down her spine even as warmth stole through her veins. Wolf pressed his wide chest to her back, his powerful arms enveloping her in a hug she hadn’t known she needed until that moment. His wintergreen scent, mixed with the musk of them, wrapped around her, as well, and she inhaled, turning around on the stool to return the embrace. She burrowed against him, seeking his heat, his strength.
It was okay to lean on him. Just for a minute.
“Just from his letter, I believe your father was a man who lived with a lot of regrets. His relationship with you being the biggest one. His relationship with you, Nessa. Not you. He made mistakes, and he knew that. Divorcing your mother most likely wasn’t one of them, because as sad as it is, people break up all the time. But letting that divorce come between the two of you? Yes, it was a mistake I think he went to his grave grieving. And that saddens me. Because instead of peace, he only wanted time. Time with Ivy. Time with you to repair the damage he’d caused.”
Wolf leaned back, linking his large hands behind her neck, his thumbs tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.
“Christmas isn’t just about family and love and celebrating both. It’s also about birth, new beginnings. Letting go of what was and welcoming the new. You might not be in the place to completely forgive Isaac yet, but I can’t think of a better gift to give yourself than letting go of what he cost you and looking at what—who—he gave you. Ivy. Maybe another chance with a father. Accept the gift of forgiveness not for him, but for yourself so you aren’t so imprisoned in the past that you can’t see the future, see what’s ahead of you if only you’re brave enough to grab it.” He stroked the line of her jaw. “I might be the worst hypocrite to talk to you about forgiveness, but I know it takes courage. That’s the thing, Nessie. Of the two of us, I’d place my bet on you any day as the bravest.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead, and she closed her eyes. His words echoed in her head, sinking into her heart, her soul. Part of her ached to scratch them out, to deny them. Evict them. But they resonated. And that little girl who rode through neighborhoods lit up with Christmas lights, singing carols—the little girl who’d loved her father with only the passion that a daughter could have for the man who was her first hero—clung to his words. Clung to the seeds of hope buried in them.
She inhaled, easing back and loosening her hold on him. As she opened her eyes, her gaze fell on the tattoo on his chest. Without conscious thought, she touched her fingertips to the inked dog tag. To the name Raylon Brandt.
“Who’s Raylon?” she whispered.
Like earlier, he went rigid. One moment, she caressed a flesh-and-blood man, and in the next a statue.
And in the next, thin air.
In several long strides, he crossed the living room and stood in front of a large window, his back to her. For the first time since he’d given her his shirt to put on after they’d peeled themselves off his floor, the cold swept over her bare legs, crept under the hem that hit her midthigh. She rubbed her arms to ward off the cool air, but she could do nothing to combat the chilliness of his rejection.
The age-old, primal sense of self-preservation needled at her to get dressed, walk out that door and leave before he could rebuff her again. She’d shared her thoughts about Isaac
with him, and the first personal question she asked, he shut her down? The sting of that hurt more than her pride. It wounded the most vulnerable side of her, which didn’t often allow people past the barrier she’d long ago erected.
Yet... She slid off the stool and instead of crossing to the couch where Wolf had tossed her sweater and jeans, she continued past them to the big, silent, leave-it-alone zone he’d formed around himself.
And she crossed that, too.
Heart pounding against her sternum, she swallowed the acid at the back of her throat. He’d called her brave. She didn’t feel it as she approached him, pressed her cheek to his back and encircled him with her arms.
He didn’t relax against her, and she didn’t relax either. The metallic taste of fear poured into her mouth as she waited for him to break her hold and walk away from her again. To reject her offer of comfort. To reject her.
But she held on.
And minutes—hours—passed. Her breathing evened, her heartbeat slowed, and when the rushing in her ears faded, she noticed Wolf had become flesh and bone again. One hand braced against the window, but the other...the other covered both of hers.
She sighed.
And continued to hold on.
“Raylon Brandt was my best friend. And he died because of me.”
His low, bald statement fell into the silence of the room like a crash of thunder. But if he expected her to let go, to be disgusted, he’d underestimated her. She knew the man Wolf was; there had to be more to the story. So she waited. And held on.
“After I graduated high school, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I worked at the inn for a year, but when I was nineteen, I decided to enlist in the army. Besides Cole, Raylon had been my best friend since second grade when he and his mother moved to Rose Bend. Cole had already left for college, and Raylon refused to let me go into the service by myself. That’s the kind of friend he was. He didn’t think about himself. His concern was all for me. And I didn’t try and dissuade him from joining me. I wanted my best friend with me. Because that was the kind of friend I was.”
