Avery
I realized it was the wrong lie to tell when any shred of hazel that had been left in his irises succumbed to his wolf’s bright golden hue. I’d been too flustered by his assertion that he could scent me to handle the mate bomb he’d laid on me next.
“I mean I was mated,” I clarified quickly, when in one swift lunge, he’d hauled me up by my ass against the door and was fitting his hips between my spread thighs—positioning the head of his cock to enter me. “Was—” I gasped as he thrust forward, penetrating me halfway.
An inhuman sound escaped me as my inner bitch howled in ecstasy. Oh, God, he was a tight fit.
I was dripping wet, but it’d been so damn long.
Far, far too long.
I dug my stiletto-heeled ankle boots into his muscled ass, demanding more. With a grunt, he delivered, pushing into me until the base of his cock pressed against my clit.
For a moment, I saw stars. The good kind.
I felt him everywhere.
His forehead touched mine and our panted breaths mingled as I reveled in the sensation of his thick mushroom head seated so deep inside, pulsing against my cervix; his hard, long shaft swelling and straining against my fluttering walls.
He squeezed my ass and ground his pelvis into me, and my body was primed for orgasm already.
“Oh, yes, please,” I heard myself pant.
“Mine,” he growled back.
My eyelids opened half-mast to see his inner wolf staring back at me. Something passed—clicked—into place between his inner animal and my own then: A silent communion that supplanted human thought and emotion. It was deeper than the recognition of ownership he’d claimed using human words. It was something far more tender. Sweet. My she-wolf was already convinced she knew his wolf, that he was trustworthy. She would’ve followed him anywhere.
I steadied my gun against his temple.
I knew enough about the werewolf concept of true mates to believe I’d never have one. Certainly, I had never wanted one. Werewolf mates were a two-for-one kill in my book. Being bonded with a stranger whose death would theoretically get me killed as well didn’t top my bucket list.
No matter how right he felt inside me.
And boy, did he feel right. Dangerously, sinfully so. Like no man had ever felt before.
“Always mine,” he rumbled, his low, throaty voice taking me closer to the edge.
We held eye contact as he began to rock into me, pulling out just a fraction at first. He looked as if it pained him to do it—as if it required all his focus and willpower to take small, measured strokes rather than drive into me with abandon and fuck me to completion the way my gripping channel was begging him to do.
Slick fluid rushed from my center to lubricate the thick organ penetrating me as he circled his hips and ground the root of his cock hard into my clit.
“Oh, fuck,” I moaned. I dug my heels into his ass and tightened my thighs around his waist, arching my upper back against the door to gain the leverage I needed to take him deeper.
“That’s it.” His hard eyes were as hypnotic as his voice. “Open for me.”
He looked less like the sweet, gentlemanly wolf who’d professed a moment ago not to want to rush things or take advantage, and every bit like a caveman on a mission to prove his mate-worthiness.
He was the first werewolf I’d ever been with. I wondered now why I’d waited so long.
Mesmerized, I began to raise and lower myself on his steel shaft, meeting his shallow, rolling thrusts with increasingly jerky, frantic motions.
His jaw tightened and his expression darkened the faster and more feverish my movements became as I worked myself on his length, grunting and panting unabashedly in my efforts.
Big hands groped and spread my ass cheeks. Exploring fingers gathered and distributed my wetness to places it didn’t belong.
I could feel how tightly his balls were drawn up each time they rubbed against my slippery folds.
His words of encouragement became garbled, crass demands as he helped raise and lower me by my ass, telling me to fill my cunt and cream on his cock.
And I did.
I so did.
Swept up amid the insanity of an assassination tryst gone far awry, and in our connection that never should have been, I came like a wild thing—clawing at his shoulder as I jerked and writhed and mewled against him.
Fuck, it’d been too long. And my time as an outcast within werewolf society these past ten years had been too intense, apparently, because amid my orgasm an emotional response rushed forth from my wolf that I hadn’t counted on.
An overwhelming sense of belonging—of finally finding safety and acceptance with my own kind—ripped a strangled cry from my throat before I could suppress it.
“It’s okay. Everything’s okay.” He was kissing my face. His lips brushed the dampness from my eyes. “I’ve got you. You’re okay now.”
Oh, crap. I was crying?
He was still hard. Still rocking into me. But his strokes were slower, gentler, as he cooed words of comfort.
“I’m sorry you’ve felt alone for so long.”
How the fuck—?
“You’ll never be alone again. I promise.”
Hellfire. I didn’t need some big, bad, sexy werelock shoulder to cry on. I was just reacting to a really great fuck after an extended dry spell. Plus, all the stress I’d been under—for a decade.
But my wolf was eating his promises up like candy, and my body was climbing toward another release, my inner muscles bearing down on him with every stroke. One more orgasm and then I’d bail, I promised myself, as his mouth reclaimed mine, his tongue stroking a compelling, hedonistic rhythm that once again scuttled my common sense.
His movements, though gentle still, were becoming faster, his hands groping and gripping the flesh of my ass a little more urgently as he pulled me tightly against him, away from the wall, lifting and lowering me on his erection.
I felt every stiff ridge of muscle covering his lower abdomen and groin against my sensitized clit, stimulating me to the brink of unbearable pleasure.
It was too much.
He was too much.
He was too big and too powerful to be fucking me so gently. So perfectly. He was too much my mortal enemy to be treating me so sweetly—after I’d tried to kill him. Something had to be wrong. The whole scenario was starting to feel like a bizarre dream that I was bound to wake up from, but didn’t want to.
“You feel so good,” he groaned against my mouth. “Can’t hold—fuck …”
He fucked hard into me, releasing his load impossibly deep as my muscles clenched and I reached the precipice of my own explosion.
I’d felt men come inside of me before, but never like this. The sensation of him losing control, of feeling him convulse in orgasm deep within me was so … authentic. It felt so raw and erotic and primal as his hot cum filled me.
And I lost it. Muttering senseless profanity, my eyes watered again with emotion from how good it felt to come with him coming inside of me. At the same time, my face momentarily heated with embarrassment and confusion at how profoundly I’d been moved by the whole experience—with a stranger who was my enemy.
Yet there was no room for those emotions as my ears rang, my canines extended, and I suddenly felt starved for something I couldn’t define as an aching need for this man—superbeast—arose from someplace beyond myself … beyond my wolf. I felt possessed by some innate madness to hold this connection I felt to him forever.
The taste of skin on my tongue was followed by the taste of blood filling my mouth as my canines pierced flesh. Vaguely, it registered that I was biting him, and that I ought to stop.
But I didn’t want to.
Beyond blood and flesh, a foreign taste pervaded my mouth. It felt like it came from my canines. The huge cock still jerking within me felt like it got harder the farther I sank my teeth, the muscled arms around me squeezed tighter, the big hands stroking me gripped and soothed everywhere they touched, and a deep voice egged me on and told me to bite deeper when I hesitated, telling me it was okay, this was the right thing to do.
But then another male voice interrupted my bliss, telling me to stop, shouting, “Alcaeus, what the fuck are you doing?”