Caleb by Sarah McCarty

thrashed from side to side. “I don’t know.”
    “Lets
find out then.” Caleb shifted to his knees. His cock left its warm nest with a
protest of its own, catching on the side of her hip and bouncing up before
bowing to gravity, the heavy head coming to rest on her pubic bone. He spread
his left hand under her right breast. Using the same motion as before, he
milked the flow of her desire. His reward was the immediate tightening of the
small nipple. “Very good.”
    He
didn’t decrease the pressure as he reached the peak. Instead, he caught the
puckered tip to leverage her breast up and out, stretching it away from her
body, watching her expression as she battled conflicting impulses to twist into
the stretch or to stay with the pinch. The scent of her arousal surrounded them
now. A heady enticement to create more. More pleasure. More scent. More. Always
more.
    “Caleb!”
    “Right
here.” Barely.
    He
lowered his left hand and shifted his grip until it matched his right. Caleb
wanted more time, but the change wasn’t willing to wait. It was growing
stronger, taking more of his effort to subdue the symptoms so she could enjoy
their play. If he dragged this out much longer, he would lose her and the
feelings to the hell that was coming. He’d taken everything from her and she’d
only asked for one thing in return. And she was right. Considering how knowing
him had completely messed up her life, the least he owed her was a mind-blowing
orgasm.
    Releasing
her nipples, he smoothed his fingers down the outsides of her delicate curves.
Her whimper of disappointment echoed his own. She had the sweetest breasts.
    “Soon,
baby.”
    He
followed the line of muscle down her stomach, fighting for control, shifting
backward, almost losing it when his cock slipped between her legs and her gasp
whispered past his ear as his groan tore past his control. Cupping her hips in
his hands, he pressed his mouth to her stomach, breathing in her scent. Damn,
he had to slow down. Get her ready. He’d shoot himself if he hurt her. He
needed to prepare her.
    He
sucked in a deep breath, feeling almost drugged by the richness of her scent,
the steady flow and rhythm of her desire. He worked his way down until he could
drape her legs over his shoulders. He knew the protest was coming from the
tensing of her thighs as he settled between them.
    “Caleb?
I don’t think—”
    “You’re
not supposed to be thinking.” Was that guttural rasp his voice?
    Her
hips jerked in his hands as she pulled on the restraints.
    “Why
are you fighting? I like you like this, Allie. Open and available for whatever
I want.”
    “Oh.”
    He
hitched her back some. “Grab hold of the bedpost.”
    He
liked that she immediately did so with white-knuckled intensity. It soothed
something in his wild, primitive vampire core. “You just grab on to the good
feelings I’m about to give you with the same gusto, and you’ll have that
screaming orgasm faster than you can say Jack Shit.”
    “Jack
Sh—”
    One
swipe of his tongue wiped out the second part, but not his amusement. She was a
sassy one. Very different from the women of his time. Different from the weres
he’d slept with since turning, and damn, he found those differences to be a big
part of her appeal. The rest of his thoughts died under the wave of lust that
surged over him as that first intimate sampling spread through his being like
wildfire fanned by a hard wind. His back arched and his fangs cut into his lip
as the primitive roar of satisfaction bellowed from his soul.
    At
last.
    The
thought spun through his mind, picking up strength with every revolution,
digging into his gut. At last, he had his mate. She was here, needing him.
Nothing else mattered as he feasted on the delicately perfumed flesh so open to
his hunger. Every whimper, every cry just encouraged him. There was only Allie
and the drive to mark her, satisfy her, brand her as his. Caleb fought the
primitive lust, fought for coherence,