Chapter Twenty-Six

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

She thought she'd feel calmer after getting everything sorted.

But if anything, she only felt more flustered and feverish and frantic. And she kind of suspected why, too. Because she hadn't been able to find any candles, or choose the right kind of music. So she'd settled on laying a scrap of blue material over the lamp, and leaving a movie with a sexy soundtrack on in the background.

And she only realized afterward that she had shot right past basic and boring, and directly into way too romantic. In fact, it was the exact situation they would have probably found themselves in as teenagers. The room now looked like the hollowed-out tree they used to hide in; the movie in question was one they'd watched a thousand times. She was even wearing the kind of nightdress she used to when they had sleepovers.

The only thing missing was Seth in a jersey and pajama bottoms.

Like the kind of thing he was wearing when he came into the bedroom.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted to see my bare chest or not," he said, which really should have made her say, no this is totally perfect . But her mouth had gone so dry at the sight of him like that—somehow boyish-looking, dorky-looking, yet unutterably sexy at the same time—that the words just wouldn't come out. All she could do was stare.

It was okay though. He seemed to be staring too. She watched him take in the soft, bluish light, and the flickering of the TV, and then her, seated on the side of the bed. And by the time he was done, his eyes were enormous. I should have gone with the longer nightdress , she thought, as his eyes trailed up, over her almost-bare legs. Then lingered where the material ended, too high up on her slightly parted thighs.

The ones she'd meant to close before he came in.

But somehow hadn't gotten around to it. And now it was too late. She'd broken him.

It seemed to take him forever to walk over to her. And when he finally did, he didn't touch her or kiss her or even lean over her. He sat next to her on the bed, in a way that should have felt as awkward as they were supposed to feel. But instead, it just seemed to deepen that strange sense of familiarity and realness.

He would have done just that back then , she thought. And was not prepared for how tense that made things. She could feel it crackling in the air between their almost-touching arms.

Twice she came close to telling him that this had been a bad idea, that they should go back to doing things in a mechanical way, or maybe just a frantic way, or anything, just anything, besides whatever this was. But she knew why she stopped short both times. The first, because she made the mistake of looking at him as the words rose in her throat. And the second, because of what he said before she could get them out.

"Is it okay if I kiss you now?" he asked.

Then suddenly she was nodding. As if this were a sexy question, when of course it wasn't. She didn't know why it made her heart race. Why it made her want to arch up to him. Especially when he leaned down so slowly and tentatively.

You're supposed to want him to just get it over with , she told herself. But it didn't seem to make any difference. Her body still reacted like he had licked between her legs, when his lips brushed hers. Softly, so softly, to the point where she could almost believe it wasn't contact at all.

But it must have been.

Because it made her ache even more deeply than she already was.

She felt that one point of contact like a brand, like something burning.

By the time he pulled back, she was shaking all over, and so desperate for more she almost grabbed him. But she was glad that she managed to resist, because resisting meant she got to see his face—all full of wonder and surprise—over that one little chaste kiss. Before it slowly slid into something else, something heated and eager and oh god when he licked his upper lip, when he made that soft curve glisten in a way she knew would feel slicker and hotter against her…

She almost moaned before he even made contact.

And then he did, and she simply couldn't hold it in. She let out a sound.

Though all that seemed to do was spur him on. He pushed his lips against hers more firmly, almost hungrily, one hand suddenly in her hair. And just as she was thinking it was a lot for her to take, she felt it. The hot, wet flicker of his tongue over hers. Teasing first, barely there, but when she couldn't contain another sound of pleasure and shock, he did it again. He stroked into her, in a way that didn't feel tentative.

It felt like being fucked, and so much so she moaned heatedly into his mouth. Which of course only made him bolder. Now he was pushing against her, his mouth rocking over hers, every move the hottest, slickest thing she could imagine. By the time they broke apart, they were breathless, trembling, beyond any kind of coherent speech.

But they didn't need it.

He put a hand on her waist, and she knew exactly what he intended.

Second base , she thought, and it was ridiculous, it was silly, it was so back-seat-of-his-dad's-ancient-Chevy-during-high-school. But the thing was, they'd never gotten that far back then. Neither of them had ever done anything like that, not with anyone. This was just an echo of all the nights they'd never had.

And the realization made her wilder than she had ordered herself to be. It made her scramble to untie the ribbon at the neckline of the nightdress, and once she'd halfway managed, she took his hand. She urged it underneath that almost-parted material.

Then thrilled right to the roots of her hair, when he did the rest.

He pushed in, eagerly. And oh god, his reaction when he felt what he found, when he cupped her bare breast, gently. His whole face seemed to go slack; his eyes stuttered closed like he couldn't stand to watch on top of touching. And he made such a sound—guttural, almost a growl. Then again, when she arched into that gloriously tender caress.

In fact he did more than that.

He tightened his grip. And oh it was good. Wow it was good. She wanted to do nothing but tell him how good it was. To gasp, oh yes please, more, yes, touch me just like that . But it was as if he heard her anyway, because she didn't have to say a thing.

He just caught the tight tip of her breast between his finger and thumb, then bent his head. And licked. He licked. Just once, just lightly, like he was testing it out. But it was enough to make her buck and say his name and oh god she thought maybe, oh no maybe oh god definitely—

She was going to come.

She was actually going to come—and over so little , again. And okay sure, this wasn't all her. It was something else, something that made her greedy and lust-choked and always half a breath away from losing it when he did almost anything at all.

But even so, that seemed way more into this than she was probably supposed to be. He'd taken longer to come while actually touching his cock, and he was a full-blown werewolf who hadn't been able to put so much as a finger on himself for the last decade. It was understandable for him. It would not be understandable for her, a near-enough human who had masturbated merrily at least a few times a week for that same length of time.

But it was happening all the same.

She could feel it unfurling low down in her belly, and swelling through her clit, intense enough that it took pretty much everything she had to stop herself from making a completely disgusting sound, or shoving herself against him. She sank her teeth into her tongue hard enough to hurt. Grabbed handfuls of the bedsheets to keep herself where she was.

And still it wasn't enough.

Because she could feel the other thing she'd done.

She'd made a slick mess. And it was definitely noticeable. She could hear it when she moved. Hell, she could see it, glistening between her bare thighs. And she knew the moment he saw it, too. He seemed to stiffen all over; a low sound of near confusion came out of him. But just as she was about to explain, he seemed to sink toward her.

Like the sight dragged him too deeply into this to ever get back out.

And once he was there, he couldn't stop himself leaning over to taste what she'd just done. First with a long, slow lick over one glistening inner thigh. Then another over the other, more frantic than the first. And finally he let out a low, desperate groan and just did exactly what he'd said he'd wanted to.

He buried his face between her legs.

Though the word "buried" really didn't do it justice. It didn't cover the way he wrapped his arms around her legs. How he cupped and spread her thighs so he could get as close as he clearly wanted to be. And not one word of what he had said told her how it would feel when he rubbed himself against her.

How the burr of his stubble almost stung, almost hurt. But also seemed to intensify every spark of pleasurable sensation. She got the rough drag of it, right over her clit, and felt that swollen little bud pulse. She felt it ache. She felt that bliss spiral through her, until she knew she was making a mess of him. She knew, but couldn't care.

Because it only made him work harder.

He rubbed his face into all that slickness, like an animal seeking heat. And he didn't just lick as he did. He licked into her. Over and over again, until it started to feel like something she didn't want to put a name to. Like it was too much to put a name to it.

But her mind supplied it anyway, in a hot, uncheckable rush.

It's like he's fucking you with his tongue, it said. And it was, it really was, and not just in a normal way, either. Because that firm, slick thing felt wolfish—too long, and thick, and rough. And yeah, that shouldn't have been good in the same way everything else was. It shouldn't have given her the same surge of pleasure as all the more normal things.

But it did anyway.

She came again just thinking about it. Harder than before, fiercer than before, god it was enough to make her scream into her gritted teeth. And loud enough that he must have heard it. He must have felt it. Because she knew, when it happened, that she tightened around that intrusion. And it was obvious that she made a slick mess as she did. She could make it out herself—that come spilling from her clenching cunt, and all over his face.

Yet for some ungodly reason, he didn't stop.

In fact, he went further . He doubled down. He replaced his tongue with his fingers, and slid them in slowly, steadily, as he eased that incredible tongue right over her clit. Then he just worked her like that, until she knew she was going to do it again. Hell, she wasn't even sure if the last orgasm had fully died away. It felt like it was still ebbing and flowing through her, when the next one started to bloom.

And it was wonderful, it was incredible.

But way too much for her to take at the same time. If things kept going like this she was liable to say a thousand filthy and way too grateful things. So she grabbed a fistful of his jersey. She tugged at him desperately. She told him. "Just do it, okay? It's enough, just do me."

And thank god, thank god, he did as she asked.

He was too far gone to not. His face was slack with lust, by that point, tongue constantly curling up to lick at the slick mess she'd left around his mouth, body a shuddering mess. And so much so that he could barely be considerate about it. His hands immediately went to the waistband of his sweatpants, all overeager to shove them down.

Then he was there, and oh god .

She'd expected it to feel less than his mouth, his hands. But somehow it didn't. Somehow, when he rubbed the tip of his cock through her folds, when he teased her entrance in a way that said careful but sang barely restraining himself , she almost pushed him away, it was that intense. And she knew it wasn't just the physical sensation of that big, thick thing almost pushing inside her. She could feel it wasn't. There was something more there now. Something far beyond the usual.

Her witch senses told her so.

Her witch senses enlightened her: you're connected , they said.

That intense sensation? It was how her soft, wet heat felt to him.

Like being scalded with pleasure. Like being swamped by it, to the point where she could hardly believe he was taking the time. He held himself above her on one shaking arm, the other hand on his cock as he worked her open, every move so slow it almost didn't feel like consideration at all. It felt like he was trying to draw out the sensation. Like he wanted to tease himself.

But also maybe like he wanted to tease her.

And it worked. By minute three she barely cared that he was big enough to split her in two. All that mattered was turning that maddening almost into actually —and she was right to let herself feel it, too. Because she was so ready when he finally went farther that it took almost nothing at all. Her body just gave, so easily it was a pleasure all its own.

And holy fuck, the look on his face when he felt it too. She saw him mouth something that might have been God help me . His eyes practically rolled closed. And when they opened again, there was nothing but awe in them. Like he couldn't believe this was how sex with her felt.

But, of course, she knew it wasn't really about her.

It was the act itself. It was the sensation of something so good and new and satisfying to every urge running through him. To the wolf, who was definitely making himself known now. She could see his teeth. And when she put a hand on his back, there were ridges there, along the length of his spine.

But it was like with his tongue and his too-big cock.

Exciting somehow. Sweeter somehow. It shoved the pleasure up a notch.

Even though it was already at seven million. She was close to coming again, and he hadn't even moved yet. He was just holding there, trying to contain himself. Or work up to actually doing something without savaging her.

Go ahead , she almost said to him. And only didn't because he broke first.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I have to," he groaned. As if he had anything to be sorry for. As if him moving didn't push her even further into the sense-obliterating state she was already in. She had to press her face into the side of his neck, just to stop herself from screaming, or grunting, or saying his name. Or worse—god she wanted to do worse. She wanted to say to him that nothing on earth had ever felt like this to her. That he made her feel so good, that he was so good. Oh god, Seth, nobody has ever made me feel like you do , she thought, and only kept the words inside by the skin of her teeth.

But unfortunately, he didn't return the favor.

Of course he didn't—he'd already told her that he was a talker. Hell, she'd actually heard him being one. Yet still, somehow, it was a shock to the system when he gasped in her ear, "Oh fuck, your cunt feels amazing." And partly that shock was because of the way he said it. The way it just burst out of him, full of earnest and uncontrollable desperation.

But mostly it was just the fact that Seth had said that word.

Her big, dorky himbo Seth just coming out with cunt , right in the middle of a fuck she could already hardly cope with. And he didn't even stop there.

"You're so hot, so slick, you take me so good, baby," he groaned while she was still trying to recover from his first declaration. Then he went and added on the end: "Tell me how to make it good for you." As if it wasn't. As if she were not already trying to stop herself from singing his praises and grabbing his ass and rutting against him like a maniac.

"Just keep doing what you're doing. Just keep doing that," she managed to force out, around the seventy other filthy things she actually wanted to say. Only he didn't stop. He just kept on whispering in her ear, like some kind of unbearable sex demon she couldn't shake.

"But I can go slower, I can work you like this, get my hand on you here—" he started to say, and she had to cut him off. Because he was doing exactly as he'd described. He was grabbing her butt and calling it juicy, and angling her body just so, and oh oh, no no no.

No, she couldn't take that without losing her last shred of control.

"Oh god, don't, don't. Just do it like you were at first. Please just stay like that."

"But I can feel you shaking when I hit it there. I can hear your heart speeding up and ohhhh you're getting so slick and tight, oh that's really, that's way too good, fuck that's gonna make me come, hold on lemme just stop for a second."

"But I don't want you to stop. I want you to do it. I need you to."

"You need me to?" he asked, so desperately she almost didn't keep pushing him. And then he curled his tongue over one sharp incisor, and gave her a heated, feverish look like he wanted to eat her, and she simply couldn't let this go on any longer.

"Yeah," she moaned. "Fill my pussy."

And that was almost all it took. He made an ungodly sound the moment she said it, and just sort of seemed to move without even meaning to. His hips rolled unsteadily. Then before she could catch her breath, he sped up. He did it fast, he did it hard, over and over until it felt like more than sex. It felt like a beast rutting over her, urgently.

All of which really messed up her make him come before I do something ridiculous plans. Because it felt as if she were going to do the ridiculous thing anyway. He kept hitting some delicious place inside her, and every time he did it shoved a glut of sensation through her belly and her clit and her cunt.

And then he was doing it, he was coming, she knew he was coming. She could hear it in his hot, guttural groans, and the way he said her name. She could feel it in the shudder that went through him, and the pulse and swell of that thick cock, and the echo of his pleasure, ringing right through her.

And finally there was the worst part.

Or the very best part, depending on your point of view.

Because she could feel it. She could actually feel that slick liq uid filling her. It had a sensation all its own. A strange, intense sort of bliss, that shimmered through her every time it touched some part of her body. And it was this, she knew, that took things even higher. Because she didn't just come when it happened. She didn't just feel the pleasure of an ordinary orgasm.

She was unable to breathe because of it, unable to think or speak or do anything at all. She could only lie there beneath him, as he pushed her through wave after wave of body-obliterating sensation. And even after he was done, he didn't stop.

"Just tell me if you want me to," he said.

But she couldn't form words. All she could do was nod, and then he just kept going. Over and over, until she was pretty sure her body was constantly coming. Everything was one long, glorious, completely agonizing climax. And not just for her—she suspected it was that way for him, too. That he was trapped in this state of almost continuous orgasm.

Though she knew when more than that happened.

Because he choked out words. "Oh fuck, I think this is gonna be even more intense, oh man, I don't think I can take it," he said. Then just seemed to go over so hard that he drew lines through the mattress with his claws. She heard fabric rip, watched fluff spiral into the air on either side of her. Felt his groan like a living thing, running through him.

And there wasn't even a word for what that did to her. She clenched so hard around him that he made a shocked sound. Then he looked at her face, almost pained with pleasure. But she couldn't say sorry . She couldn't tell him, I don't mean to like it this much, I don't want to be this hot for it, this greedy .

Because as soon as he saw her intensely pleasured expression, he pulled away.

And then that thick, hot, sensation-stoking come was spilling over her. It was coating her flushed, slick folds, and the sensitive entrance to her cunt, and her swollen clit. She felt it sliding between the cheeks of her ass like molten lava, triggering a million new feelings as it went.

And oh, it was just too much, it was too much.

But god, it was not enough, at the same time.

When he was done, when he slumped against her, and held her, and said into her hair that she was the sweetest thing, she didn't think, thank god that's over , the way she wanted to. She wasn't glad to be back over the line she had promised she wouldn't cross.

She was simply sad to know that the sex cure had worked.

And that she would now never have anything this lovely, ever again.