Page 102 of The Wolf King

My fists curl into his shirt, and I pull him back.

I catch the flicker of surprise in his eyes before his mouth clashes against mine.

One of his hands slides into my hair and he tilts my head back. He parts my lips with his tongue, and a low sound scrapes against his throat and vibrates through my core as he tastes me. His scent of woodsmoke and the mountains floods my nose, and I am burning and drowning in him at the same time.

A soft whimper escapes me.

“Fuck.” His voice is rough and raw against my lips.

He grabs my hips and pulls me closer, and I press myself into him—desperate to ease the ache that’s building.

His kiss deepens as he backs me into the wall and slides his thigh between my legs. I breathe in sharply at the spark of pleasure that ripples through me.

I grab him tighter, my knuckles pushing against the hard muscle beneath his shirt. His tongue moves in hot, deep strokes against mine and he tastes like pure heat. All I can think of is more.

My senses are heightened to everything—the grip of his fingers around my hips, the scrape of his stubble against my jaw, and the hardness of him. Wet heat pools at my core.

Is this what it is like to be a wolf? So attuned to every sensation.

It is overwhelming. Yet it is not enough.

I shift against his thigh and moan at the friction it causes. A low growl vibrates in his chest, and his grip tightens around my hips.

I still. I’ve gone too far. I’m out of control. I need to calm down. I need—

His kiss becomes more gentle. Urging. As if he’s coaxing me.

“Don’t stop.”

He presses a trail of kisses against my neck, leaving a line of fire that makes me whimper, then nips my earlobe with his teeth.

“I can handle it. Don’t stop.”

I see the wolf in his eyes.

His mouth is on mine again—his kiss deep and claiming. The ache between my legs builds and I cannot stop myself. I roll my hips, pressing against him, harder, faster. My breathing is shallow. I feel desperate. Wild. Feral.

I hook a hand around his neck, pulling his mouth even further into mine, meeting each deep stroke of his tongue with a thrust of my own. His fingers tighten and he growls.

The hard length of him is pressing against my hip.

I want to touch him, to coax more low, rough sounds from his lips. When I shift, and run my fingers down his chest, he presses himself closer to me—stopping me from slipping my hand between us.

“I can’t handle that,” he says, with a dark, breathy laugh.

He moves his hands down my back, pulling me to him. My nipples are sensitive against the thin material of my nightgown as they rub against his chest with each ragged breath. And I want more.

I rock against his thigh, the heat building, a flush spreading over my body.

Whatever was knocked loose in my chest when Callum hurled me over his shoulder back at the castle has escaped again. It rages inside me, primal and wild and free. I am no longer a princess, or a prisoner, or a statue. I am no longer trapped in a cage, or a castle. There are no chains nor wedding rings to bind me.

Callum groans against my lips as if he can sense the change in me.

There is something tightening inside me, burning, building.

And then it crashes over me. Callum thrusts his tongue roughly against mine, claiming my release as it surges through me. My knees buckle and he holds me, stopping me from falling, as my breath comes out hard and fast against his lips.

He growls, the sound as low and animal as I have ever heard it.

---