Page 87 of Ice Wolf
“Absolutely.”
He pulled out, leaving just the tip inside as he brushed one hand down my side ever so slowly. As soon as he pulled me away from the wall, he crawled his long fingers to my pussy. The hard thrust brought a squeal from my throat.
His laugh was positively evil as he swirled the tip of his finger around my sensitive clit. The rhythm began again, every plunge rougher than the one before. My body was jarred, the crackle of electricity adding to the powerful aphrodisiac.
This was pure sin, but I certainly wasn’t ashamed. Every woman should find themselves in the company of such a masterful lover.
The lightheadedness remained as he tormented me for several minutes, also using his thumb to dip it past my swollen folds. I was fearful my legs would give out. Maybe he sensed my anxiousness, somehow wrapping his massive body around mine.
As if he was being protective.
Possessive.
I closed my eyes, allowing myself to enjoy the moment. Exhaustion and extreme heat had taken over. I was a wrung-outmess, but he kept fucking me, every so often murmuring words I could admit I wasn’t paying any attention to.
That’s how good it felt to have him buried deep inside.
I rocked with him, taking short breaths as the pleasure sent me into another spiral. He nipped my ear the moment he sensed a climax was sweeping through me. I was shocked how powerful it was, the deep-seated vibrations just as incredible as before.
He slowed his actions as I tipped my head back, resting it on his shoulder. His cock seemed thicker, pulsing the way my pussy was vibrating.
The pleasure was insane, so much so I could no longer feel my legs. He chuckled in my ear, still stroking my clit.
“Oh. My. God.” I couldn’t believe I’d even managed the words. Panting, I licked beads of perspiration from my upper lip, fearful I was going to pass out.
Yes, from the excessive heat, but there was more. Was it possible someone could die from pleasure?
My butt ached, but I’d never felt so filled.
As amazing as the pleasure was, now all I wanted was a bed, preferably my bed and to sleep for at least forty-eight hours. Somehow, I doubted that was possible and certainly not around this voracious man.
His body tensed, one hand squeezing my fingers while he continued flicking his index finger across my clit. I was on my toes because of the extreme sensitivity. The sounds I was making weren’t human. They were almost as if some wounded animal had crawled into the bathroom. Even the echo was painful to hear.
Saint was growling in a perfect tone, like some singer perfecting the deep baritone of some Russian love song. The thought had me lolling my head, studying the water beading around our feet.
He was as thorough as he was on the ice and when he finally released deep inside, his cock refused to cooperate or behave. The thick shaft continued to pulse. I could swear it was also swelling. How was that even possible?
His soulful sounds turned into the same kind of guttural ones I’d expressed seconds before. He pulled out, immediately leaving me feeling empty.
I dropped my head, still panting as I clawed the shower wall. What was I trying to do, get out? Or stay locked in. With him.
The beast of the Wild Dogs.
With my eyes closed again, I wondered if I’d been completely wrong about Saint. Maybe he was a nice guy even if he was clueless how to handle social media, women, authority figures, his teammates. And me.
“You are… pretty damn incredible. Too bad you aren’t wearing your braid. Then I could brag about fucking a fussy librarian.” His laugh was as husky as his sexy voice had been.
And just like that, the man’s true personality hit the deck. Or maybe I should say the ice. He’d proven once again that women were nothing but playthings to him, toys to be placed on a shelf. Maybe a cutesy doll to kiss his ass when he needed reassurance.
Somehow, and completely against every concept of sanity, I’d fallen for his bullshit.
Again.
I had a screw missing and Saint Masters acted as if he was holding it hostage.
I don’t know why I allowed him to get to me. He hadn’t promised me a rose garden or anything else for that matter, including a relationship. Maybe I’d just hoped he wouldn’t treat me like one of his conquests.
Being wrong wasn’t new, but this time, both comprehending and accepting that fact was more painful than any other.
