Page 17 of Love, Clumsily
He released us suddenly, sitting back on his heels. “Turn over,” he commanded, his voice hardly recognizable.
I complied eagerly, rolling onto my stomach and then pushing up onto my hands and knees. This position had quicklybecome one of our favorites—the height difference was less of an issue, and Mason loved the access it gave him.
I felt his weight shift on the bed, and then his hands were on my ass, spreading me open. I expected to feel his fingers, slick with lube, but instead felt something hot and wet against my entrance.
“Oh fuck,” I gasped as I realized what was happening. Mason’s tongue, hotter and more flexible than a human’s, especially this close to the full moon, lapped at my hole with hungry intent.
I collapsed onto my forearms, burying my face in the pillow to muffle my moans as he literally ate me out with inhuman enthusiasm. His tongue pushed inside me, stretching and preparing me in the most intimate way possible.
By the time he finally pulled back, I was a trembling, whimpering mess, my cock leaking onto the sheets below.
“Mason, please,” I begged, beyond any pretense of dignity. “Need you inside me.”
I heard the snap of the lube cap, and then his fingers, slick and careful despite their slight claw, were pressing into me. He prepared me thoroughly but quickly, his own control obviously fraying.
When he finally pressed the head of his cock against my entrance, I pushed back eagerly, wanting—needing—to feel him inside me.
He entered me in one smooth thrust, both of us groaning at the sensation. He felt bigger than usual—another effect of the moon, he’d explained once—stretching me to the point of delicious pain.
“Okay?” he asked, holding still with obvious effort.
“Move,” I commanded, pushing back against him. “Please, Mason, move.”
He needed no further encouragement. His hands gripped my hips with bruising force as he established a rhythm that was just shy of too much—deep, powerful thrusts that hit that perfect spot inside me with unerring accuracy.
The sound of skin on skin filled the room, accompanied by our mingled moans and gasps. Mason’s control was slipping; I could feel it in the increasingly erratic rhythm, hear it in the more frequent growls rumbling from his chest.
“Touch yourself,” he ordered, his voice hardly human. “Want to feel you come on my cock.”
I reached between my legs, wrapping my hand around my neglected erection. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, pushing me rapidly toward the edge.
“Mason,” I gasped, “I’m close—I’m going to—”
“Yes,” he growled, his pace increasing. “Come for me, Julian. Let me feel you.”
His words pushed me over the edge. My orgasm tore through me, making me cry out as I spilled over my hand and onto the sheets below. My body clenched around him, and with a sound that was more wolf than man, Mason followed, thrusting deep and holding there as I felt the now-familiar swelling of his knot.
We collapsed onto our sides, still connected, both of us breathing hard. Mason’s arm wrapped around my waist, holding me tightly against him as the aftershocks of pleasure rolled through us.
For several minutes, we lay in comfortable silence, our breathing gradually slowing. I was drifting in a pleasant post-orgasmic haze when Mason’s voice, closer to normal now, broke the quiet.
“We should clean up before moonrise. It’s soon.”
I made a noncommittal sound, too comfortable to move. “How long until your knot goes down?”
“Not long,” he said, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “The first one before a full moon is usually quick.”
“The first one?” I repeated, craning my neck to look back at him. “You’re planning more?”
He grinned, his still-elongated canines giving him a predatory look that sent a new thrill through me despite my recent orgasm. “Full moons increase stamina. A lot.”
“Of course they do,” I said faintly, already imagining the night ahead.
True to his word, his knot subsided quickly, allowing him to carefully pull out. He immediately scooped me up, ignoring my half-hearted protests, and carried me to the bathroom.
The ensuite was as impressive as the bedroom, with a shower large enough for multiple people (clearly designed with werewolf needs in mind) and a soaking tub that looked like it could fit a small pack.
Mason set me on my feet and started the shower, adjusting the temperature before pulling me in with him. Under the warm spray, he washed me with surprising tenderness, his hands gentle as they soaped my body.
