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CHAPTER EIGHT: RUTTING MOON - PART TWO
Russ felt his tongue lengthen like some panting puppy’s, feeling too huge and heavy to fit in his mouth. Did he want to touch her, to look and taste his fill of her? Was she kidding? He didn’t understand how anyone, fucking lucky enough to be allowed this close to her, couldn’t.
But he could feel her body tense before him, could smell nerves begin to temper all that glorious heat coming off her in scintillating waves. So, with one more controlling grip of his demanding dick, he forced himself to slow down.
He leaned in, but not where he needed — not to the source of that delectable scent. No, instead, he pressed gentle kisses along the back of her thigh, grinning as the limb quivered. He rubbed his cheek against her haunch, feeling the sinfully silken fur against his face. Trailing kisses over the speckles of white dappling her tawny pelt like stars at sunset, he worshiped her body, paid attentive tribute to every inch, until he felt her run hot and wet over his hand still poised over her pussy.
And, when he was sure she writhed in more need than nerves, he bent low and let his longing tongue loll from his lips, wolfishly dragging it through the heat of her. Fuck! She was all hot, honeyed lust, a rich luxury along his tastebuds. Each lick made him hungrier. With a snuffling groan, he pushed aside her soft fur and softer flesh to nibble her inner labia. At this angle he couldn’t quite get his lips at her sweet clit, so he touched and teased that needy nub with his fingers, eager enough to lap at the arousal that flowed like nectar from her.
“Russ.” Her voice mewled, wrecked and ruined from her throat, as her body practically slithered against him in a sensuous slide. “Please.”
“Please what?” His words were a growl against her heated skin.
“I need you.” She bucked against him.
He pulled her closer, letting his tongue slip into her welcome opening. “I’m right here.”
“I need you to fuck me.”
What did she think he was trying to do? He pressed his tongue further, making her moan.
“I want to feel your cock inside me.”
Fuck. He groaned against her, his thick tongue still half-trapped inside her. He felt that sound echo along her senses as her pussy squeezed him tight. Damn. He felt his blood rush as his dick demanded to know what that would feel like along its length.
But that scent. Her taste. He wasn’t done with them yet. He wondered if he ever would be. He pulled back to lick her, loving how wet she was, messy with him and her clinging to all that silken skin. “You need my cock?” He ripped his pants open to shove his hand hard against his aching length. “You need this?” he asked on a stroke.
“Fuck, yes, please.” Her body wormed over his. “Please.”
But, even as he clutched his length in his hand, he knew he’d never last. Not after wanting her like this for this long. So, with a firm grip on her fetlocks, he lifted her legs to rest on his shoulders, giving her no choice but to fucking sit on his goddamned face.
Dreaming of just drowning in her, he pressed his face into her heat and growled, “Not till you come on my tongue.” He pushed his tongue’s full length inside her, hearing her cry out in pleasure, as he fingered her clit furiously.
Cries, loud and so fucking sweet, fell from her lips as, unsteady, she thrust against the countertop, her fists holding on as she rode him, rode the climax he drank from her like an oasis, for what felt like both forever and not nearly long enough.
Murmuring raspy praise and pressing gentle kisses to her shuddering body, he settled her back on the floor, stroking and holding her as her body shook. It was in that moment, he realized something. “Shit.” He glared at his dick.
“What?” she asked, whipping her head to look back at him.
He looked up at her helplessly. “I don’t have anything.” Why would he? He hadn’t had sex in half a fucking decade and, for a while there, wasn’t entirely sure he ever would again.
But he’d known — he’d fucking known — he’d fuck Dawn. He hadn’t been entirely sure when or where or how but, from the moment she made it clear that she wanted him back, it’d been an inevitability. Yet he was still as unprepared as a dumbass teen on prom night. Shit.
“Bag,” she panted, pointing at her ever-present satchel. “Condoms. Box of them in my bag.”
Thank fucking Christ for brilliant women!
Russ lunged for her bag, rummaging past clothes and lotions and whatnot until he found salvation. Grabbing a condom, he put it on, not even bothering to completely remove his pants, needing her too badly.
He glared at his hands, feeling his claws threaten, desperate need making them fumble. In his mouth, he could feel his teeth sharpen, his canines sinking into fangs. Shit.
Get ahold of yourself, he growled at himself. He was this close to perfection, he couldn’t let his beast fuck it all up at the finish line. Clawing at his shirt, that chaffed and choked, he tore the offending fabric off. He gritted his teeth and fisted his hands.
“Russ?”
Goddamnit! He couldn’t fuck her like this. Not when his animal side was so close to the surface, just under his skin. Not while he had claws and fangs that could scratch and tear all her softness. He couldn’t.
He wanted to take her to bed. Wanted to make love to her for hours, touching her gently, adoringly. Like the man he wanted to be.
“Russ, are you okay?”
You’ll need to be more careful around her but, as you’ve also seen, you can be.
Maybe it wasn’t wise — when had desire ever been wise — but he needed her. Here. Now. He clenched his fists in frustration. Careful. He just needed to be careful — mindful — because, even if he should, he didn’t think he could walk away from this. From her. He needed her, however he could have her. So he deliberately curled his fists, digging pointed claws into his palms. Kicking off his pants and briefs, he came back to her.
“Russ? Is everything all right?”
His mouth not feeling capable of speech, he slowly, gently kissed her flank, his lips pressed tight so his fangs pricked his gums and not her. Even as he did, he felt his need — the uncontrolled urgency of it — ebb, coursing through him rather than threatening to take him over. He kissed her one more time before he gripped her, placing his fisted hands against her haunches, positioning her just right even as he protected her from fingers he couldn’t trust.
God, he could feel her molten core beckon the tip of his dick as he settled against her sex. He teased them both by sliding his full, heavy sex along the length of hers, sliding wetly through her folds. He felt her jerk as his cock brushed her clit.
“Russ!”
He bent low to growl into the small of her back, feeling all that soft fur along her flank tickle his chest. He ran his knuckles against her, reveling in the living velvet of her. He bucked, pressing her harder against the counter. Her back arching as she moaned made him grin.
He wanted to hear her ask for his dick again. Wanted to hear filth drip from her tongue like her arousal did onto his cock, smooth and sinfully hot. He wanted her to tell him how she liked to be fucked, hard and fast or slow and lingering. He wanted to fill his ears with the sound of her pleasure, a mad mix of words and noise that would sound like a symphony to his senses.
“Please.” The word was quiet, barely a breath, but so full of need. That one word held multitudes, reaching deep within him, even as she pushed back, forcing his cock to slide into her. He moaned at the sleek dip, feeling her body give to him, letting him sink in. Jesus! It was too good. His balls ached as he bit back his orgasm. No, he wasn’t even fully in her yet. He wouldn’t give up even one second of her unbelievable bliss until he was at least hilt-deep in it.
So, holding her with his fiercely gripped fists, he pulled out a bit, only to thrust back in, inching closer to destiny. He did it again. And then again. He took her body by tiny, deliciously agonizing degrees, almost getting completely lost in the pleasure and process, until he finally felt the whole of her hold the whole of him.
“Russ!”
God, the heated stretch of her over him was more than he could take. He needed to move. To grind and thrust into her. He wanted to drive so deep within her that they couldn’t untangle what was him from what was her. Until they were just them, unbroken and beautiful. His fists clenched, feeling blood squelch wet between his sharp-tipped fingers. He clenched his jaw, feeling pointed teeth grind. And, God help him, he didn’t care. Not with the sound and scent and touch and feel of her all over him.
He felt her rippling climax, heat and friction too perfect to contain, grip him, fill him, holding him hostage until — in a perfect, mind-melting moment — everything inside him spilled out and into her.
“Russ.” His name sounded like prayer, grateful and gratified.
He kissed her back, tasting sweat, salty and slick against quivering skin. “Dawn.” Her name sounded like a miracle from his mouth.
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