Page 16 of Taken By the Pack

I swallow hard.

His jaw clenches, and his steel-gray eyes are on me, darker than before.

“Rowan,” I whisper, my voice shaky, needy.

He closes the distance between, moving carefully. His Adam’s apple bobs, and I follow the movement like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

“Grace,” he grunts.

“Help me,” I say, barely recognizing myself.

His jaw works like he’s trying to keep control. “You sure about that?”

I nod, frantic, desperate. “Please.”

He doesn’t say another word. He just moves.

Before I can blink, he’s at the edge of the bed. His hands are on my legs, tugging me toward him, my body sliding across the mattress like I weigh nothing.

I’m burning up, my skin hypersensitive under his touch.

He grips the waistband of the sweatpants he gave me and looks up, his eyes locking with mine. “Last chance to tell me no.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t need to. I just whimper.

He pulls them down, slow enough to make my pulse race but firmly enough that there’s no mistaking his intent. The cool air hits me, and I hear his sharp intake of breath.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his gaze fixed on me like I’m something he’s been starving for.

I squirm under his scrutiny. “Rowan...”

His hand brushes up the inside of my thigh, rough knuckles grazing sensitive skin. My hips jerk on instinct, chasing the contact.

“You’re soaked,” he says, almost a growl.

I bite my lip, too embarrassed to respond.

He doesn’t waste time. He spins me onto my stomach, his hands firm but careful as he positions me. My face presses into the pillow, my body bent over the edge of the bed.

“What are you?—”

“Relax,” he cuts me off, his voice right by my ear.

I try, but it’s impossible. My body’s too wound up, too desperate.

He shifts behind me, and then his hands are back, parting my legs. I gasp when I feel his breath against me, hot and teasing. I want him to lean in and lick me.

I need him so badly.

“Rowan,” I choke out, half a plea, half a warning.

“Patience,” he says, slowly dragging his knuckles up my center.

I whimper, gripping the sheets. The teasing is unbearable, and I’m seconds from begging him to stop playing when his fingers slide inside me, rough and relentless.

“Oh, God,” I cry out, my body arching.

He doesn’t ease up, doesn’t slow down. His fingers curl, hitting a spot that makes my vision blur.

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