23

I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm just doing what feels right here, and it seems to be working, if his reactions are anything to go by.

“What do you want me to do, baby?” he asks, chest heaving.

I travel back down to his very hard, silky-smooth dick and wrap my hand around it for the first time. His head falls back, and he groans again.

“Can you show me what to do? I want to make you feel good.”

His eyes burn with desire—and maybe even something stronger—when he nods and his hand meets mine.

He slowly lifts my hand to the top of his length before slowly gliding it back down. “This is the basic motion. No matter what you do, it's going to be perfect,” he says as he rubs the side of my face.

He pulls his hand away, and I try it again by myself this time. Keeping my grip, I slide my hand up the seven or eight inches of length above his knot, brushing my thumb across the tip, earning myself another moan from my mate.

I continue moving like he showed me, but I move a little quicker, and when I get to the top, I rotate my hand around the head.

Every moan, grunt, and groan spurs me on further. I feel so empowered and in control. To have this man. This famous hockey player. A seven-hundred-and-thirteen-year-old werewolf, in pleasure and at my mercy, because of me…it’s a feeling that can't be explained.

How can something be as hard as steel beneath such soft skin?

His hips have started wiggling with my movements, like he's struggling to stay still. Instead of slowing down and taking it easy on him, I decide to test my limits. Thinking back to when I was lost in the heat, my most frantic moments were just before the fireworks erupted.

With his head tilted back, eyes clamped shut, mouth open, panting in the pleasure that I'm giving him, I lean forward, and when my hand moves down his shaft, I twirl my tongue around the slit of his dick.

His eyes immediately fly open, his head snapping back up, and he growls deep in his chest, watching me even more intently now.

High on the power of making him feel the way he made me feel, I continue stroking him while licking the top like a Tootsie Pop. After a few minutes of enjoying wringing pleasure from his body, he's barking my name, “Leera. Leera, baby, I'm going to…” But if he's going to come, I want all of him. I want to experience this.

I double my efforts and his hips stutter before he locks up and roars my name, just as salty spurts of him flood my mouth. I try to swallow, but shit, that's gross. I spit it out as gracefully as I can.

“Holy hell,” is all he says as he pulls me back up onto the bed, lying me beside him. I notice his cock is still pulsing, like I kept pulsing.

I wonder if he'll want to go again, like I did.

“Did I…did I do okay?” I ask, feeling my insecurities trying to rise again.

“Di-wh-are,” he tries to speak. He shakes his head and tries again. “Are you serious?” he asks, still trying to catch his breath.

I just nod, feeling the blush rise to my cheeks.

He pulls me back into the straddling position and kisses me, even with him still lingering in my mouth.

He pulls away to rest his forehead against mine, and I rest my hands on his still-heaving chest.

“Leera, that was incredible and more than I expected. I thought you said you'd never even seen one?” he laughs.

“I haven't; after you showed me, I just watched your reactions and trusted my instincts.”

“Your instincts are fucking phenomenal,” he pants out, causing me to release a breathy laugh.

“Sorry I spit it out, but the texture is…” and I trial off in another small gag. How do women do that?

He throws his head back and laughs. The sound of his laughter vibrating through my body as I rest against his chest has me really hoping he wants to go again.