Page 10 of Love, Clumsily
He complied, adding a second finger and scissoring them gently, stretching me. When he curled them just right, hitting my prostate, I let out a sound that was embarrassingly close to a whimper.
“Like that?” he murmured, repeating the motion.
“Yes—god—please, Mason, I’m ready,” I gasped.
“Not yet,” he said, adding a third finger. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
The care he was taking, even while obviously fighting his more primal instincts, made my chest tight with emotion. I turned my head to look back at him and was startled by his appearance.
His eyes were fully golden now, glowing in the dim light. His canines had elongated into distinct fangs, visible when he parted his lips. Most startling of all, his nails had transformed into short, blunt claws—not long enough to be dangerous but definitely not human.
He saw me looking and froze, his partially transformed hand still inside me. “I’m sorry,” he said, starting to pull away. “I told you I couldn’t control—”
“Don’t you dare stop,” I interrupted, reaching back to grab his wrist. “I want this. I want you—all of you.”
He stared at me for a long moment, searching my face for any sign of fear or revulsion. Finding none, he nodded once and resumed his movements, stretching me thoroughly while I writhed beneath him.
When he finally withdrew his fingers, I felt empty, aching for him. I heard the sound of the lube cap again, then the blunt head of his cock pressed against my entrance.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice barely recognizable.
“Yes,” I breathed, pushing back against him.
He entered me slowly, giving me time to adjust to his considerable size. The stretch was intense, bordering on painful, but in the best possible way. By the time he was fully seated, I was panting into the pillow, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so completely filled.
“Okay?” he asked, holding perfectly still despite the trembling I could feel in his thighs.
“Move,” I commanded. “Please, Mason, move.”
He started slowly, shallow thrusts that gradually deepened as I relaxed around him. Each stroke sent sparks of pleasure through me, and when he shifted the angle slightly, hitting my prostate directly, I cried out sharply.
“There,” I gasped. “Right there.”
He growled—a sound no human throat could produce—and increased his pace, hitting that perfect spot with each thrust. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, holding me in place as he pounded into me.
I was lost in sensation, reduced to incoherent moans and pleas. Every nerve ending was on fire, pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. I reached between my legs to stroke myself, matching his rhythm.
“Julian,” he groaned, his voice deepening further. “I’m close—I can’t—”
“Let go,” I urged, feeling my own orgasm approaching rapidly. “Completely, Mason. I want all of you.”
A sound that was more wolf than man tore from his throat. His thrusts became harder, faster, less controlled. I felt something change—his cock seemed to swell at the base, stretching me further in a way that should have been uncomfortable but instead pushed me right to the edge of orgasm.
“What—” I gasped, not sure what was happening.
“Knot,” he growled in my ear, his chest pressing against my back, completely covering me. “Wolf thing. Tell me to stop if—”
“Don’t you dare stop,” I interrupted, pushing back against him. The increased pressure against my prostate was mind-blowing. “I’m going to—Mason, I’m—”
My orgasm hit me like a freight train, tearing a shout from my throat as I came harder than I ever had in my life, spilling over my hand and onto the sheets below. My body clenchedaround him, and with a howl—an actual howl—Mason followed, his hips jerking erratically as he came deep inside me.
The knot swelled fully, locking us together, prolonging my orgasm until I was shaking with oversensitivity. Mason’s arms wrapped around me, carefully lowering us to our sides without disconnecting, his body curled protectively around mine.
For several minutes, we lay there in silence, our ragged breathing the only sound. I could feel his heart hammering against my back, gradually slowing to a more normal rhythm. His face was pressed into my neck, and occasional tremors ran through his powerful frame.
When I finally trusted my voice, I said, “So… that was a werewolf thing, huh?”
A startled laugh gusted against my neck. “Yeah,” he said, sounding more like himself again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—it just happens sometimes when I lose control.”
