Page 39 of Lone Wolf in Lights
As her bra fell away, a shiver ran down her spine—not from the chill, but from the heat of Eli’s gaze examining her. His lips found the column of her throat, warm and insistent, mapping a path of desire that set every nerve alight. His tongue flicked out, a brief taste that promised more, and fire curled within her belly, sending ripples of pleasure coursing through her veins.
Then his mouth descended. Each brush of his lips against the swell of her breasts left her moaning in urgency.
She’d never wanted anyone or anything this much. She felt a flood of emotion wash over her. It had been so long since she had felt this safe, this cherished. Slowly, she let her guard down, the walls she’d erected for so long crumbling under his tender touch.
His hands traced the contours of her body, drawing lines of fire across her skin. Her world narrowed as he reached between them, removed her jeans and then her panties. She shivered against the weight of his gaze holding a promise she knew he’d deliver on. She ground against him, a silent plea formore.
The side of his mouth curved slightly, and his skilled mouth trailed a path of heat down her abdomen, worshiping every inch of her. When he met slicked, hot flesh, she gasped, arching up. Each kiss was a spark, each brush of his tongue a flame, and she tilted her head back. His mouth, sure and knowing, teased her, coaxing forgotten pleasure. The sensation of being devoured by such careful attention sent her soaring.
“Please,” she whispered, trembling. Her fingers weaved through his hair, anchoring him to her as she spun wildly out of control. His mouth was warm, insistent, worshipping with intensity.
Overwhelmed by pleasure, Willow felt her body respond with a primal urgency, her hips arching instinctively toward his mouth.
“Please,” she repeated. She was so...close.
The earnestness in her plea, raw and unguarded, seemed to ignite something within him. His movements became more purposeful.
And when his fingers slid inside her, pumping hard and fast, Willow spiraled upward. She clung to him as wave upon magnificent wave crashed over her, until at last she shattered, crying out her pleasure.
In the stillness that followed her release, Willow’s chest heaved against Eli’s as she fought to steady her breath. “You,” she gasped. “I want you.”
He kissed his way back up her body. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice hoarse, his eyes dark, filled with desire. “I don’t want to rush you.”
“I’m sure,” she said, her voice firm. “I’ve never been surer.”
He cupped her face in his strong hands and claimed her lips in a searing kiss that left no doubt of his desire or his feelings. His tongue danced with hers, tasting and exploring, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. Willow’s fingers tangled in the short hair at the nape of his neck, her other hand resting on his chest, feeling the muscles contract underneath her touch.
“Condom,” he managed to grunt out. He rose and stripped, and she happily took her fill. Eli was all man, thick and hard, in every place that counted. He grabbed his wallet from his jeans, took out a condom and sheathed himself.
Returning to her, he lifted her hips, positioning himself at her entrance. “Tell me you want this,” he said, his eyes boring into hers.
“I want this—”
With a growl, he slid into her in one deep, slow thrust, filling her completely. His eyes never left hers. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, her body arching to meet his. Heat coiled low in her belly, pleasure like she’d never known before coursing through her veins.
His response was not in words but in the shift of his body, the way he owned the pleasure. His hands, those strong, calloused hands, steadied her hips as he looked into her eyes. His gaze darkened, heavy with want and soaking in emotion.
He moved slowly at first, their gazes locked, matching each other’s rhythm as the pleasure built. “Fuck,” he groaned, his voice rough.
“Faster,” she begged, lifting her chin, his hips picking up speed.
With each measured thrust, she clung to him, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back. The strength in his arms, the tenderness in his touch, they were all answers to questions she hadn’t known how to ask.
“Willow,” Eli groaned, his voice strained with passion, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her up to meet him.
“More,” she begged. Her body arched instinctively, wanting him deeper, her movements becoming more urgent as something wild rose within.
His pace quickened and became frantic. Every slide, every retreat, every slam of his body against hers, brought her higher and higher.
Until she shattered, obliterating all thought, all restraint, and he followed her over the edge.
Twelve
Eli slowly woke the following morning to the soft light filtering through the curtains in his bedroom. He felt an unfamiliar warmth next to him, and glanced sideways finding Willow, nestled against him, tangled in the sheets of his bed.
Damn, he could get used to this.
She was there, in his space, and he didn’t want her to leave. It felt unfamiliar to have someone next to him. Although he had been with other women since returning from the rodeo, it had always been in their homes, never his. He half expected to feel uneasy about letting someone into his personal space, but the feeling never came.
