Page 112 of Howl for Me
I line myself up and press forward, slow and careful as I breach her tight, soaked pussy.. Her gasp spills into my mouth, her nails digging into my arms, but she doesn't stop me. She takes me. She wants this.
“Fuck… you’re perfect,” I groan against her lips.
Her body squeezes me tight, so fucking tight, and I give her time, my hips still trembling as I fight not to come just from the feel of her. Then she moves, and she arches her hips and somehow takes me deeper. I nearly lose it. She’s flushed, moaning, breathy and desperate. And I am completely fucking lost. I move, slowly at first, then deeper, harder, each thrust met by her own. She’s matching me, her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me in like she needs all of me or she might die. Even though she’s the one who has me on the verge of death as her soaked cunt seems to suck my cock in deep enough to have me fighting for control.
Then her body tenses, her back bows, and I feel it. Her pussy clamps down and then she squirts, her wetness splashing against my cock, her thighs, not like Frankie’s choreographed fountains. This is real. So wild and raw. Her eyes widen in horror, like she’s broken some rule, like she did something wrong.
I grab her face and whisper, “Shh… it’s okay. Your scent, fuck, baby, your scent’s the only one I want.”
I pull out, still rock-hard and dripping, but I’m not done worshiping her. I slide down her trembling body and bury my face between her thighs, licking up everything she gave me like it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. She moans loudly, writhes, gasps. I have to hold her thighs down because she’s so far gone she’s trying to climb the fucking sky.
I glance up, mouth wet, eyes burning. “Give me more,” I growl. “Now. Let go, come on.”
My fingers plunge into her, curling just right, and I suck on her clit like a man dying of thirst. She comes again, shaking, body spasming as I hold her down and drink her in. Every moan is another crack in my self-control and when I finally crawl back up her body, her chest is heaving, her skin dewy and glowing, and her lips part on a whisper.
“You… have to shift.”
I freeze.
“I can’t, Cas. I…I can’t do that.”
Her fingers trail over my cheek, and she looks at me like I’m not a monster at all.
“Please…” she says, “Give me all of you.”
And it’s that look that is so soft, full of fire and devotion and zero fear, that finally breaks me.
I nod once. And I let go. Bones snap. Skin stretches. A low, guttural sound tears from my throat as I shift, my body contorting into the beast that lives just beneath the surface.
And still she looks at me like I’m hers.
Because I am.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cassidy
He’s changed. He’s no longer the man but the beast he keeps hidden. It’s fascinating how he can keep such a powerful thing tucked inside. It’s also a little upsetting that he feels like he has to.
Power thrums beneath every inch of him, his body massive and trembling with restraint. Fur covers muscle so thick it dwarfs me, his claws digging into the mattress on either side of my hips. His breath comes hot and heavy, fanning over my throat, humid and wild like he’s holding back a storm. But his eyes… his eyes stay soft. They stay Johnny.
He nudges into the crook of my neck, nuzzling there and lets out a sound; low, strained, almost like a sob. It shakes through him, through me, and I know in that moment this isn’t just desire. This is need. Bone-deep and soul-wired. The way hisbody trembles above me with restraint has me clenching and feeling empty without him deep inside me.
The fur along his back bristles, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. He noses along my jaw, breath hot, voice caught somewhere between a growl and a plea.
And when he breathes in, I feel it. A whimper, raw shaky and unmistakable. It breaks me open. I sink my hands into his fur, fingers curling tight against the heat of him. He’s soft in some places, rough in others; but warm all over. He shudders at my touch, groans low like he’s coming undone.
He’s pressing against my entrance again, but this time it’s bigger, thicker.
He moves slowly, like he’s terrified of hurting me. Each inch drags against my walls, stretching me open, filling me with careful, reverent pressure. My mouth drops open, breath caught between disbelief and aching, rising heat. My hips lift on instinct, welcoming the weight of him, chasing more.
He lets out another whimper. More desperate this time. I swear his body shakes with the effort of holding back, his claws carving deeper into the bed with each careful stroke. But I don’t want careful. I want him. All of him. So I dig into the fur at his waist and pull. Hard. A sound tears out of him, half-snarl, half-moan, and then he snaps. He slams into me with a force that knocks the breath from my lungs. And he doesn’t stop.
His thrusts are brutal, relentless, the sound of it obscene and perfect. I cry out, my body writhing beneath his, every inch of me singing with sensation. He buries his face in my throat, panting and snarling and whimpering between every thrust, like he’s been starved for this. For me.
His voice is broken now, breathless and shaking. “Fuck, you’re so tight, so perfect. I’m not going to last much longer baby.”
My head falls back against the pillow, mouth open in a silent gasp. He’s too big, too deep, but I want every inch.
