Werewolf in the North Woods (19 page)

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Authors: Vicki Lewis Thompson

BOOK: Werewolf in the North Woods
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Continuing to gently rotate her hips, she massaged his pecs, and the combination was more erotic than he ever would have believed. When she paused to pinch his nipples, he clenched his jaw against the sudden urge to come.
“My turn.” His voice sounded strained, not at all resembling the smooth talker that he liked to think he was, especially in situations like this.
“Be my guest.” Clutching his shoulders, she went back to the easy pumping action that made her breasts quiver.
He cradled one in each large hand and gripped firmly enough to hold them still while he brushed his thumbs over her tight nipples.
“Mmm.”
Easing down so that she took him in right up to the hilt, she closed her eyes and let her head roll back. Then she tightened her pelvic muscles again, squeezing his cock in a delicious, repetitive motion.
He groaned. “That’s going to make me come.”
“I know.” She lifted her head to gaze at him. Her lips were parted and her breathing was ragged. “Me, too. But before I do, I’m ready for some speed.”
His heartbeat thumped in his ears and his chest tightened in anticipation. “Go for it.”
Her eyes blazed hot as she began to move faster, and faster yet, until her thighs slapped against his and the hoarse sounds of their breathing filled the cave. He struggled to hold back his climax, but she was riding him with wicked intent, massaging his aching cock from one end to the other, until . . . oh, God . . . he was losing the fight.
Coming . . . he was coming, and miracle of miracles, so was she. With a shout of triumph, she dug her fingers into his shoulders and milked him with her contractions.
They held on to each other and gasped for breath. He was convinced that leaning against her was the only thing holding him up, and vice versa. His mind spun in crazy circles of delight and he wondered if his body was shooting off sparks. He wouldn’t be surprised.
He’d thought they’d be good together, but he’d underestimated. They were spectacular together. After all his pushing to get to this point, she’d taken the lead and given him the best climax of his life. Sexually, they were perfectly matched.
And he wanted more. He’d foolishly thought that once would be enough. It should have been enough, considering how tired they both were. Maybe it was enough for her.
If so, he should be a gentleman and let her go to sleep. He should be grateful for what he’d enjoyed and not expect more. He should—
She was nibbling his ear
.
That didn’t seem like the action of a woman who was ready to pack it in. Then again, he didn’t know how she reacted after mutual sexual satisfaction. Maybe ear-nibbling was her way of winding down.
“Roarke?” Her breath warmed the damp spot on his ear.
“Yes, Abby?”
“Could I talk you into doing this again?”
He smiled, and right on cue, his cock began to thicken. “You know, I think you might be able to.”
Chapter 13
 
Abby credited adrenaline for her new burst of energy, but she also credited amazing sex with a man-slash-werewolf who was built like a brick house. She usually subscribed to the theory that it wasn’t what a guy had but what he did with it that counted. Well, no, sometimes it was what a guy had. And Roarke, bless his heart, had it.
And bonus—apparently he didn’t have to cover what he had with latex. For years Abby had tried to tell herself that condoms could be sexy. They weren’t. They were necessary evils, but there wasn’t a single sexy thing about them.
Discovering the delights of a bare penis, Abby felt as if she’d found a new toy and she couldn’t wait to play with it again. And she would, right after she went along with Roarke’s idea that they rinse off in the rain. She had to admit they were both a little sticky.
Anyway, sex with a werewolf seemed to have brought out the nature girl in her. Stepping out of the cave and into the rain where Roarke stood naked in the downpour had a primitive feel to it that matched her erotic mood. She would have appreciated a full moon with which to admire her muscular lover, but as her eyes adjusted, she managed a fairly detailed inventory of the wonders of Roarke, including his semi-erect cock nestled in hair beaded with rainwater.
When he held out his hand, she walked across the damp leaves and pine needles to join him. His palm was warm and slick with rain. His body would be, too.
He lifted his face to the pelting drops. “Isn’t this great?”
“S-sure.” She hadn’t meant to let her teeth chatter. She’d been going for the image of a wild woman at home in the elements.
“Come here. I’ll warm you up.” He pulled her into his arms and their wet bodies slipped against each other as if they’d been oiled. He made a soft sound of approval and shimmied against her. “Nice.”
“Sexy.”
He slid both hands down her back and over her bottom in a liquid caress. “Ever been naked in the rain before ?”
“No, but you have.”
“Granted, but I’ve never been naked in the rain with a naked woman in my arms.” He spread his fingers over her hip bone and then moved his hand up to the curve of her breast.
As he caressed that slippery slope and teased her nipple, she felt moisture gathering that had nothing to do with the rain. Judging from the hard ridge of his penis pressed against her belly, this rinsing-off exercise was having an effect on him, as well.
Two could play the game. Reaching down, she circled his impressive piece of equipment with her wet fingers and began to explore.
His breathing changed. “Have something in mind for that?”
“I might.” She ran her thumb up and down the ridge along the sensitive underside of his cock. When she reached the tip, he sucked in a breath.
She smiled, anticipating what would come next. She was about to play with her new toy. “Any requests?”
“Just . . .” He gasped again when she rubbed her thumb across the rounded top. “Use your . . .” He swallowed. “Your imagination.”
“All right. I’ll see if I can lick you dry.” Sinking to her knees on the wet, leaf-strewn ground, she began using her tongue like a cat would, swiping at the rain on his rock-hard penis. She worked bottom to top, all the while marveling at the length and breadth of him.
A woman lucky enough to enjoy Roarke’s attentions would discover her G-spot with no problem. She might find a whole alphabet of spots, in fact. As she licked, she cupped his weighty balls and felt her womb contract with that elemental need of a woman in the presence of extreme virility.
She reminded herself that he was on temporary loan, hers to ravish for now, not to keep forever. She could make him tremble with desire, but she couldn’t have more than this forest interlude. So she would make the most of it.
Taking him into her mouth at last, she ramped up her assault and wondered if she could make him lose control. His big hands cradled the back of her head, gently at first. As she sucked harder, his fingers tightened on her scalp. She tasted salt, knew he was close.
With a muttered oath he pulled away, his chest heaving as he sank to his knees in front of her. Then his mouth found hers, and before she quite knew how she got there, she was on her back in the wet leaves.
She’d thought she was ravishing him, but he’d neatly turned the tables. His cock thrust deep with unerring accuracy, pinning her to the forest floor with a soft squishing sound. When he drew back and drove forward again, her wet body slid on the slick leaves and patches of mud beneath.
With a soft growl, he braced one hand on the ground and gripped her shoulder with the other, anchoring her in place as he pumped into her, his breath coming in quick gasps, his large body looming over her and partly blocking the rain.
But he didn’t block all the rain, and she tasted it on her mouth and felt the cold drops pattering against her arms and legs as the center of her body became an inferno. She lifted her hips to join in the rhythmic dance as he pumped relentlessly, creating a friction that threatened to make her mindless with pleasure.
Her cries grew in volume as her climax bore down on her. The rain was no longer cold. The leaves and mud beneath her writhing body grew warm and welcoming. She melded into the forest floor below and Roarke’s body above. When she came, her wild cry was filled with triumphant joy.
Roarke’s bellow of male satisfaction was followed with one last powerful thrust before his big body shuddered and was still. Mud oozed up through the leaves and caressed Abby’s hot skin. She urged Roarke down, wanting his weight pressing her deeper, connecting her to the earth in a way she’d never felt before.
It was magic, and she knew that. She also knew that without Roarke, she might never find it again.
 
When the red haze began to clear from Roarke’s passion-soaked brain, he groaned. Lifting his weight from Abby, he gazed down at her. “I’m so sorry.”
She blinked. “Sorry?”
“That was inexcusable, throwing you to the ground and taking you like that. I—”
“But I loved it.”
He stared at her. “But you’re a mess! You have mud and leaves and pine needles everywhere, and if there were any rocks under the leaves, no telling how many bruises you might have.”
To his total amazement, she began to laugh, sounding giddy as a teenager. “I doubt there was a single rock, and even if I end up being black and blue, I owe you more than you’ll ever know for giving me an experience I might never have had otherwise.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“You’re probably right about that. I may not ever be serious again.” She reached up and grabbed his face in both hands. “Roarke, thank you for ravishing me like that. All I’ve ever known about sex pales in comparison with what just happened.”
He could feel the mud on her hands being transferred to his face, but he didn’t care. Her reaction was at once both wonderful and unsettling. “You’re not upset with me? You don’t think I’m some kind of brute?”
“Not in the least.” She caressed his cheeks, smearing the mud. “But I suppose we could both use a little cleanup. I just got mud all over your face.”
“I know. I could feel it.” He was having trouble categorizing this experience. It should have put her off, and instead she’d reacted in a way that was almost Were in nature. Humans weren’t supposed to like lying in the muck while having sex.
“You look like a Scotsman about to go off to battle,” she said.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re the one I’m concerned about.” If she’d express some dismay at his behavior, he could get his bearings. He stood and helped her up. Then he turned her so he could see her back. “Good Lord. Abby, I didn’t mean for—”
“You could help wash me off.”
“Absolutely.” He wasn’t sure where to start. She had mud and leaves in her braid, which was nearly undone, and plastered on her back, her bottom, and the backs of her thighs. She’d be within her rights to ream him a new one, and yet . . . she seemed to have enjoyed every bit of his rutting behavior.
As she stood there, the rain had some effect on her condition, but not enough. He needed containers of water he could pour over her hair and her back. If he brought out their two cooking pots, he could collect the water and do a better job. And he could use his camp towel, too.
“Wait right here. I’ll get some stuff.”
“Okay.”
He grabbed everything as quickly as possible, stopping long enough to grab a small plastic bottle of shampoo he saw sticking out of her backpack. Then he rushed back out. She would be fine out there on her own for a minute or two, but he was becoming more protective now that they’d made love.
No, they’d had sex
, he told himself sternly. It was great, but it was still just sex.
Or it had been until he’d lost his mind and taken her right there on the ground, in the pouring rain, sliding on wet leaves, squishing in the mud. It had been . . . monumentally good. He might as well admit that to himself, even if he curbed his reaction when discussing it with her.
He dashed back out of the cave and came to a screeching halt at the sight that greeted him. Abby stood in the rain, arms outstretched, hair loose, face lifted to the rain. Because she was still decorated with leaves and pine needles, she looked like a wood nymph giving thanks for the bounty spilling from the heavens.
She looked like . . . a woman he could love. Was this what his brother, Aidan, had encountered in Emma? A woman who was right in every way but one?
Damn it. Roarke didn’t need this problem, nor did his family and his unborn children. Abby didn’t deserve to deal with it, either. But he was making one big assumption—that she was developing feelings for him, too.
If she wasn’t, then he didn’t have anything to worry about. She hadn’t said anything along those lines. Obviously she had a thing for his johnson, but that wasn’t the same as wanting him, Roarke Wallace, PhD, second son of Howard Wallace, werewolf pack alpha.
He’d be wise to dial back the sexual involvement with her, because good sex could sometimes lead to emotional attachment. Maybe that’s all he was feeling. But he had a tough time convincing himself of that.

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