Chapter Twenty-Two

Ithought I’d felt lust for Camden before—thought I already knew what it was like to be eaten up by desire for him, but now, as his lips crash down on mine, I understand that I knew nothing of how intense the pleasure could be.

Maybe it’s because the bond is progressing. Or it could be the fact that I’m exhausted, homesick, and utterly terrified that I won’t be able to protect Leisel in this strange land surrounded by people I don’t know or trust. Whatever the reason, his consuming kiss doesn’t just send lust scorching through me, it somehow manages to comfort me.

I’ve felt so incredibly alone even in the short time I’ve been conscious in Kinrith. Although I’ve always enjoyed my privacy, I was still social regularly in Aesara, and I never realized just how much I took for granted the lighthearted interactions I had with fellow villagers until I lost the opportunity. I never felt as utterly alone as I did tonight while tucking Leisel into bed and scrambling together ideas to keep both of us safe.

Camden’s possessive, consuming kiss wipes the loneliness away. It wipes the fear away. It disperses my rage and anger at him, along with all the turmoil floating around within me, and replaces it with an arousal so captivating it leaves my head spinning.

His lips devour mine with an intensity that would scare me if I didn’t crave it so much. His tongue clashes with mine, his teeth nip at my lip, and his hands hold me so tightly against him I can’t move an inch—all I can do is feel. Feel the comfort. Feel the burning desire he’s instigating within me, which I know deep down he’ll satisfy by the end of tonight.

My body goes entirely pliant against him; my hands clutch his shoulders for purchase as I hold on for the ride, unable to do anything but accept the forceful, dominating kiss that has no business riling me the way it does.

Camden abruptly swings me up into his arms, keeping his lips pressed firmly against mine. His hands grip my ass, and my legs instinctually wrap around his waist. I clutch onto him for dear life and accept his toe-curling kiss. My nipples harden into tight points, sensitive even against the soft material of my bra. Heat pools in my core, and I feel my panties growing damp. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss him back just as aggressively as he’s kissing me.

He starts walking us somewhere and I feel soft cushions against my back as he lowers me onto the couch, before climbing atop me. In the brief moment that his lips are separated from mine, rational thought returns.

No, this is wrong. This is all sorts of wrong. I shouldn’t be accepting this from the person who has put me in such extreme distress that I spent days unconscious in the first place. I should be hitting Camden and fighting him, not welcoming his touch docilely.

I press my palms against his chest, stopping him and attempting to scramble back. His hands clamp on my hips, his facial features twist into a snarl, and his eyes turn a startlingly bright icy blue.

I know that the human half of shifters can be as primal and instinct-driven as their inner animals, especially when it comes to something like sex. What I realize too late is that wolves love the challenge, love the hunt and chase. My simple act of trying to hold Camden at a distance just kicked his dominating instincts into overdrive.

I can somehow feel—probably through our bond—that this Alpha wants me to fight him. He wants me to push him away and run, only so that he can have the elation of chasing me down and claiming me as his prize.

Logically, I know I should stop squirming. Challenging Camden in any way right now won’t bode well for me. However, the logical part of my brain shuts down at the feral look in his eyes, and all I can think is that I need to get away from him before he loses all control.

When I try to scramble back again, one of his hands grasps the bare skin of my throat; I go limp as that simple touch seems to invade my very soul, forcing me to not only accept his touch but revel in it. His hold isn’t hard enough to cut off my air, but it isn’t soft either. He’s telling me without words that he has all the control in this situation, and there is nothing I can do about that fact.

Why is the thought of that causing wetness to gather between my thighs?

When he leans down to nuzzle the side of my neck before sucking on my pulse, I let out a whimper that embarrasses me. The feel of his hot tongue on my throat is so insanely good that my eyes briefly roll to the back of my head. Tingles travel throughout my body, focusing on my core and making my body hum without my permission.

“That’s it,” he whispers against my skin. “Relax for me.”

Hearing him say that pisses me off. I don’t want to relax for him. I don’t want to feel aroused for him. I don’t want to find strange comfort in his touch. I can’t seem to control my body when he touches me, which is infuriating. I shove at his chest with all the strength in my body, and actually somehow manage to force this man who is twice my size to slightly lose his balance, giving me the chance to leap off the couch.

Exhilaration surges through me, but it doesn’t last. Before I can take even one step toward the exit, Camden grabs me by the waist again and pulls me back down on the couch. This time, he straddles me so that his entire weight is resting on my hips, holding me in place, and his hands shift to pin mine over my head.

“Stop struggling,” he grits out, sounding like the words pain him. “It’ll only excite me more.”

I open my mouth to yell at him; he takes the opportunity to claim my lips yet again, thrusting his tongue into my mouth. This time, the kiss is nothing short of violent. I bite his tongue to attempt to get him to back off, he responds by biting my lip so hard the metallic taste of blood flavors the kiss.

My anger heightens, putting a much-needed damper on my arousal. Camden growls, feeling the change. Shifting my wrists into one of his hands, he uses the other to slip under the neckline of my shirt and beneath my bra, cupping my breast. Though I’m still seething mad in my mind, my body isn’t on board with my emotions—my back arches up into his hand. He brushes his thumb over my nipple, back and forth, again and again. Each brush sends a violent jolt of pleasure through my system, and I can feel my panties growing soaked.

He pulls away from my mouth, releases my wrists, uses both hands to tear the soft shirt I changed into after the dinner disaster right off of me, and then slides his hands under my back to unclip and discard my bra with an expertise that hints to plenty of experience. Before I can make a protest of any kind, both of his hands cup my breasts.

“My gods, you’re perfection embodied,” he whispers, sounding awed. He stares at my bared breasts with hunger and reverence warring for supremacy in his gaze.

In spite of myself, his words warm some long-dead part of me. The young part of me that used to adore receiving praise—reveled in it. Of course, this is a very different kind of praise than what I was accustomed to in my youth, but it serves to send warmth through my chest.

He pinches both of my nipples softly, releasing a low noise of satisfaction when I arch into his hands with an unwilling moan. I open my mouth to tell him to stop, but I can’t physically get the words past my lips. It’s like the bond is prohibiting me from rejecting him again—it craves his touch so much that it’s barring me from refusing.

He leans down and licks along the swell of my breasts before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh right above one of my nipples. My yelp of pain turns into a moan when he swipes his tongue over the bite, soothing it.

“You have no idea how impossible it’s been to keep from marking up every inch of you,” he rumbles. “I’m driven to leave bruises and bites all over you; to warn everyone else away from what’s mine. Since you’re not ready to wear my mark on your neck yet, I’ll make do by marking you elsewhere.”

His words are a straight-up threat—he’s telling me that he’s driven to hurt me to stake his claim. I can’t manage to muster any fear over that though, because the bite he left on my breast turned me on even more than his scorching kiss did; the pain somehow heightened my pleasure.

I moan yet again when he pulls one of my nipples into his mouth and laves his tongue over it before sucking so hard his cheeks hollow. With a whimper, I bury my hands in his hair, unable to stop myself from clutching him closer to me, chasing the insane pleasure his touch offers. He pulls back only long enough to say, “So. Fucking. Perfect,” before switching to my other nipple.

Realizing that I’m helpless to stop this, and that deep down I don’t truly want to, I relax entirely. Camden, feeling the tension seep out of me, releases a pleased growl that makes my thighs clench. Of course, he notices. He releases my nipple and studies my facial expression closely, carefully. “You like it when I growl?”

It takes all my effort to hold back from nodding frantically. That would be entirely pathetic. When I stay still, Camden leans forward until his mouth is right by my ear and lets out another chest-deep growl that I can feel against my skin. Somehow, that alone makes me moan in pleasure.

Holy shit.How is that so hot? Why does that send my libido even further into overdrive?

Pulling back again, he says with amusement, “Look at you rubbing your thighs together, chasing your pleasure.”

Realizing that I am rubbing my thighs together, my core seeking friction, I freeze guiltily. What is wrong with me?

Camden tsks, shifting his body lower. “Don’t be ashamed, Sierra. Never with me.” He slowly spreads my legs and settles between them; I watch, wide-eyed and totally enthralled. Once again, his words seem to reach a deep part of me—the part that does feel shame in seeking pleasure from him because he’s the enemy. With a few simple words, he manages to subdue that part.

Just how strong is our bond for him to affect me so deeply?

He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my loose sleeping pants and panties simultaneously, then pulls both down my legs and throws them somewhere to the side.

Panic sparks within me. What is he going to do? Is he trying to lead up to sex? I’m not ready for that. Yet. I sit up, ready to push him away—he flattens his hand on my stomach and pushes me back down on the soft cushions.

As though reading my mind, Camden assures me, “I’m not going to fuck you, but I will taste you.” When I bite down on my lip, confused about my feelings and unsure what he’s planning on doing, he presses, “This is a lifelong fantasy of mine, Sierra. Don’t deny me your pussy now.”

I murmur, “What do you mean?”

To say I’m not versed in sexual matters is an understatement. I’d never even kissed anyone before Camden. I understand the anatomy of sex—one of my textbooks explained it quite clearly—but that’s about it. Realizing my naivety makes me flush further in embarrassment.

Camden’s eyes soften, as though I’ve charmed him. “You don’t even know about oral pleasure, do you?”

Oral pleasure? As in—

“Oh dear gods,” I cry out when Camden’s tongue darts out to lick along my slit. It’s hot, wet, and feels like sheer heaven against my most sensitive flesh.

Amusement and desire saturating his voice, Camden says, “This is what I mean when I say oral pleasure.”

I arch and grip the silky tresses of his hair when his tongue circles my clit, letting out a loud moan of pure abandon. How can anything feel this good? This level of pleasure, the feeling of connection, shouldn’t be possible. It frightens me. A knot of tension forms low in my belly, winding tighter and tighter as he lavishes attention on my pussy.

That fear dissipates when Camden’s tongue plunges inside me, the rapture so intense that my vision blurs. His hand on my stomach flexes. He growls against my dripping flesh, “You taste like my new favorite dessert. I’m already addicted.”

Then his mouth is back on me as if starved. I don’t recognize the noises I make as my own—a symphony of moans, groans, and whimpers. I can feel Camden’s pleasure from the act of giving me pleasure, which excites me even further.

He pulls away from my pussy, and my whimper turns in a squeal when he bites down on the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh, sucking the skin hard to leave a mark. When he said he wanted to mark me, he wasn’t kidding; I can feel his drive to stake his claim in every way possible. Pulling his mouth away from my thigh, his eyes meet mine as he slides one thick finger inside me. There’s no resistance—I’m drenched from his ministrations. Embarrassment heats my cheeks and neck. How can I be so turned on by this? By him?

Camden curves his finger inside of me, causing my mouth to fall open on a gasp as he hits a spot that makes the coil in my stomach tighten even more. This shouldn’t be happening. I shouldn’t be accepting pleasure or comfort from the enemy—from the reason my parents are dead.

That thought puts a much-needed damper on my arousal. By being with Camden, I’m betraying my parents’ memory. They’d be rolling over in their graves if they could see me now.

I open my mouth to demand he stop, but again, can’t get the damn words past my lips. The bond is demanding that I accept this as my due—it won’t allow anything else.

Camden sinks his teeth into my other thigh. This time, the bite is harder—sharp and stinging, as if he’s punishing me. “Get out of your head,” he growls. “Stop thinking. Stop fighting. You can go back to hating me tomorrow. For now, let yourself enjoy this.”

He adds another finger inside me, and I can feel my inner walls spasming and quivering around the intrusion. It’s a stretch, but the pain doesn’t bother me like I thought it would. Then, Camden pulls my clit between his lips and sucks. That throws me right over the edge, plummeting to the most intense pleasure I’ve ever felt in my life. I don’t just orgasm, I detonate. My whole body feels like it goes up in flames as I arch my back, toes curling and hands moving to clutch Camden’s hair. I shamelessly grind against his mouth, too far gone to question my actions. As I ride out the wave of unbelievable pleasure, I feel a tug on my chest—my bond with Camden—somehow…grow in intensity. Does intimacy strengthen mate bonds?

I expect Camden to back off now that I’ve come, but he doesn’t. He licks up my orgasm and then sets in once again, not giving my body reprieve from his dangerous mouth.

“W-wait,” I murmur, still trembling with aftershocks. His tongue swirls around my clit before joining his fingers inside me, and then moving back up again. My skin feels hot and flushed, tingling everywhere. “Camden, I’m too sensitive.”

He pulls back only long enough to say, “I’m not done yet. You taste too good for me to stop, so there’s no point in trying to make me.”

His mouth goes back to me, tongue licking along my slit. His fingers move to pinch my clit as he thrusts his tongue inside of me, drawing another loud moan from me. When I try to close my legs, too over-sensitized, Camden grips my thighs and forces them to spread wider. The pleasure he’s giving me is too much, but it’s also so good that part of me doesn’t want him to stop. When I explode once more, Camden backs off—but not before cleaning every last drop of my orgasm with his tongue. He climbs back over me and seals his lips over mine, thrusting his tongue inside my mouth.

“Do you like the way you taste?” he asks, pulling back, his eyes blazing. “I’m already addicted. I’ll need my next fix soon.”

Panting, utterly exhausted from the events of the night and the two momentous orgasms Camden wrenched from me, I let my head fall back on the cushion as my eyes flutter closed. I can deal with the repercussions of what happened tomorrow—for now, a deep slumber pulls me into its dark embrace.