eased between her thighs. “So fucking ready.”
“All of me.” She eased her hand above her head again, afraid she’d push too far if she didn’t. “I’m always wet for you, as soon as you touch me.”
His hands wrapped around her thighs and jerked them wider. “All of you?” 58
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Wilder’s Mate
He’d taken her in so many ways, and never the most basic, fundamental one. Plenty of working women swore that a bloodhound couldn’t get a woman pregnant during the new moon.
It might even be true—it seemed improbable she’d never heard of it happening if it could—but Satira had always been too logical to let herself hide behind such an excuse. She didn’t believe herself safe. She simply thought it worth the risk.
He was worth the risk, and if the worst happened…
Satira pushed the thought away and gave herself over to the moment. To him. He held her spread wide, bare to his gaze, and the erotic power of it stole her breath. So did the words that tumbled forth, crude and illicit. “What do you want, Wilder? My cunt, tight around your cock?” His gaze burned as his hands tightened on her legs. “You want that?” So much. Her hand trembled as she edged it down—her own body, this time, instead of his. She bit back a whimper as two fingers slid through her slick folds, narrowly avoiding the temptation to let her fingers linger where she might give herself relief from twisting tension.
Instead she spread her fingers wide. “Can you see how much?” Several quick breaths soughed in and out of Wilder, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he slid down, putting his mouth close to her hand. Then he licked her fingers, licked her , probing with his tongue.
Even feral, half out of his mind, he was clever. Attentive. Satira squeezed her eyes shut and moaned with every rasping lick, every wicked thrust. Her heels scraped helplessly against the blankets as she curled her toes and trembled at the precipice of something vast and beautiful.
Two of his thick fingers thrust into her as his tongue played over her clitoris.
“Oh—” Both of her hands tangled in the blanket and she couldn’t recall how they’d gotten there, only knew that she would fly away if she let go. He stroked and worked into her, and heat became a fire, an inferno focused on each wicked lick. Every one drove her higher, until she was writhing, pushing up against his hand with sharp little jerks of her hips, each one accompanying a sobbing plea. “Please, please—”
Wilder lifted his head, though he continued to fuck her with his fingers, adding a third before curling them, rubbing inside her. “Like this. So much pleasure, darling. Constant, until you can’t take any more.” It was his voice that did it, the low endearment, hoarse and hungry. He wanted her— needed her—and the empty, lonely place inside her vanished. Tension snapped, and every muscle in her body tensed at the same time before pure, clean relief flooded her, riding a wave of tempestuous pleasure.
“ Yes. ” He kept murmuring as he moved above her. His hands closed around her wrists again, pushing them above her head. One thrust, and he slid home, all the way inside her.
Climax faded into a tense pressure, her body struggling to adjust to the size of him. Satira gasped in a breath, then another, still trembling as her oversensitive nerves registered even the faint stretching pain as something pleasurable.
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59
Moira Rogers
Or maybe he was pleasurable. So close, she could feel his heat, his breath stirring her hair.
“Wilder…I’ve wanted this so much.”
“I know.” The words were a low growl, and he took her mouth, kissing her deep and hard.
The unyielding thrust of his tongue made her hungry for another kind of claiming. Her hands were trapped, but she was free to ease her legs up, bending her knees until his cock edged deeper, driving a moan from her.
“Satira.” He urged her legs higher, tighter
“All of me.” She eased her hand above her head again, afraid she’d push too far if she didn’t. “I’m always wet for you, as soon as you touch me.”
His hands wrapped around her thighs and jerked them wider. “All of you?” 58
www.samhainpublishing.com
Wilder’s Mate
He’d taken her in so many ways, and never the most basic, fundamental one. Plenty of working women swore that a bloodhound couldn’t get a woman pregnant during the new moon.
It might even be true—it seemed improbable she’d never heard of it happening if it could—but Satira had always been too logical to let herself hide behind such an excuse. She didn’t believe herself safe. She simply thought it worth the risk.
He was worth the risk, and if the worst happened…
Satira pushed the thought away and gave herself over to the moment. To him. He held her spread wide, bare to his gaze, and the erotic power of it stole her breath. So did the words that tumbled forth, crude and illicit. “What do you want, Wilder? My cunt, tight around your cock?” His gaze burned as his hands tightened on her legs. “You want that?” So much. Her hand trembled as she edged it down—her own body, this time, instead of his. She bit back a whimper as two fingers slid through her slick folds, narrowly avoiding the temptation to let her fingers linger where she might give herself relief from twisting tension.
Instead she spread her fingers wide. “Can you see how much?” Several quick breaths soughed in and out of Wilder, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he slid down, putting his mouth close to her hand. Then he licked her fingers, licked her , probing with his tongue.
Even feral, half out of his mind, he was clever. Attentive. Satira squeezed her eyes shut and moaned with every rasping lick, every wicked thrust. Her heels scraped helplessly against the blankets as she curled her toes and trembled at the precipice of something vast and beautiful.
Two of his thick fingers thrust into her as his tongue played over her clitoris.
“Oh—” Both of her hands tangled in the blanket and she couldn’t recall how they’d gotten there, only knew that she would fly away if she let go. He stroked and worked into her, and heat became a fire, an inferno focused on each wicked lick. Every one drove her higher, until she was writhing, pushing up against his hand with sharp little jerks of her hips, each one accompanying a sobbing plea. “Please, please—”
Wilder lifted his head, though he continued to fuck her with his fingers, adding a third before curling them, rubbing inside her. “Like this. So much pleasure, darling. Constant, until you can’t take any more.” It was his voice that did it, the low endearment, hoarse and hungry. He wanted her— needed her—and the empty, lonely place inside her vanished. Tension snapped, and every muscle in her body tensed at the same time before pure, clean relief flooded her, riding a wave of tempestuous pleasure.
“ Yes. ” He kept murmuring as he moved above her. His hands closed around her wrists again, pushing them above her head. One thrust, and he slid home, all the way inside her.
Climax faded into a tense pressure, her body struggling to adjust to the size of him. Satira gasped in a breath, then another, still trembling as her oversensitive nerves registered even the faint stretching pain as something pleasurable.
www.samhainpublishing.com
59
Moira Rogers
Or maybe he was pleasurable. So close, she could feel his heat, his breath stirring her hair.
“Wilder…I’ve wanted this so much.”
“I know.” The words were a low growl, and he took her mouth, kissing her deep and hard.
The unyielding thrust of his tongue made her hungry for another kind of claiming. Her hands were trapped, but she was free to ease her legs up, bending her knees until his cock edged deeper, driving a moan from her.
“Satira.” He urged her legs higher, tighter
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