Cry of the Wolf (4 page)

Chapter Eight

He looked down at her, small and vulnerable in his arms. He felt his body, his heart, his very soul ache for her. But she was too civilized, too delicate, too—no, he’d heard what she said, that she wanted him no matter what he was, and when she looked up at him he could see it in her eyes. He could see that her heart and her soul were as wild and as untamed as his own. He could see that she was as hungry for him as he was for her. Fierce desire ripped through his body and in her eyes he saw her passion rising to meet his own. When she reached up and gently touched his cheek, he was filled with happiness. She pulled his head down to hers and their lips met. Barely touching was enough at first but then their kiss became harder and more intimate as his tongue sought hers while he felt himself drown in the deep blue of her eyes.

She stroked his hair. He ran his hand down her back, feeling the sweet inward curve of her lower back, and then the beginning of the swell of her rear right through her baggy coat. No matter how urgently his body cried for release, he was going to take his time; he wanted to learn her body, her needs, her responses. She unzipped her coat and his hands crept inside it and up her back and down her sides, then back up again. He slipped his hands inside the coat, loving the slenderness of her waist, the warmth and shape of her. She moved her hands over his naked back—first softly, gently, as though she were accustoming herself to the feel of him, then harder, more sure, more urgent.

She took her lips from his and murmured, “You must be cold.”

He shook his head. He was on fire with desire for her. The fierce heat coming from his groin warmed his belly, his chest, his whole being. Her delicious mouth on his again, she struggled out of her coat and let it drop to the snow. Realizing that she was as hot and voracious for him as he was for her, he was sure his heart might explode. He wanted Laura as he had never wanted anyone, human or animal, in his whole life.

Lips still joined, he lifted her and gently placed her on the coat. They lay there, face to face, entwined in each other’s arms, tongues and lips exploring, learning, loving, while hands discovered curves and muscle and skin.

Gently he pushed his hands under her shirt, feeling the sweet softness of her skin. He almost cried out in delight to find her breasts naked in his hands. Gently, he felt the full voluptuousness of them. As he caressed them, he heard her sigh with pleasure. Finally, he touched her nipples, squeezing them until he felt them grow hard. She unbuttoned her shirt and opened it to him. He groaned at the sight of her breasts, alluring and luminous in the moonlight. Just as beautiful as they had appeared when she’d stripped above him while he lay injured the snow.

He kissed the erect nipples and flicked his tongue back and forth across first one and then the other. When he took one between his lips and sucked as she brought her hips tight against his, her moans of pleasure nearly made him lose control.

He brought his mouth to hers again and reached down to her rear, feeling the delectable roundness through her jeans, and then stroked her between her legs. He came to his knees and undid the button, pulled down the zipper, and pushed them down. He groaned with excitement when he saw she wasn’t wearing panties and was immediately greeted with pale skin and black curly hair. He managed to pull the jeans off her, reveling in the sight of her white thighs. He bent and kissed them, trailing his fingers along the white skin. His lips followed his fingers, kissing and licking, his cheek brushing against the curls. She stroked his shoulders as she ran her fingers through his hair.

He heard her breath come faster and he thought she trembled a little. He realized that his own breath was ragged. He stroked her mound and the cleft in the middle of it and discovered that she was wet, inflamed with desire. He brought his mouth to her soft folds, and she cried out.

He kissed and licked her and flicked his tongue across her clitoris, her groans of pleasure driving him to near madness. When her body convulsed and she cried out, he plunged his tongue deep inside her and she came again. He could wait no longer. He was consumed with lust for her, desperate to be inside her.

He knelt and placed her legs against his chest. He threw his head back and howled, a full-throated wolf call, letting the world know of his joy, and she looked up at him and smiled. He entered her slowly, relishing in the feel of her intoxicating heat. Her blue eyes seemed black as they widened. Had sex ever felt this good, this sweet?

“You feel so good,” she said, her voice husky. “This is so wonderful.”

Unable to hold back any longer, he crashed into her. Her hips came up to meet him, stroke for stroke, as he plunged deep within her. She clawed at his arms and screamed as she climaxed, growing tight around his engorged cock. Her gaze still holding his, she called his name, and he tumbled over the edge. She cried out in pleasure, climaxing once again. His cries joined hers as he found his release.

Spent, he lay on her body and kissed her face tenderly. After a few minutes, he rolled beside her and took her in his arms. She kissed his chest, his face, his eyes. Then, sighing, she snuggled up against him.

As the cold crept into them, they snuggled even closer. Finally, Laura began to shiver. Regretfully, he let go of her, and they got to their feet. She put on her clothes and he transitioned back into a wolf, grateful for his warm fur. With her hand on his back, he led her through the dark woods, back to her farm and the warmth waiting for them inside.

Biography

As an ex-fashion photographer, Juliet Chastain says that, in a way, writing fiction is a lot like photography. She takes a few elements—models and clothes in photography, characters and setting in her writing—and makes them come alive in a compelling story.

Ever since she wrote a tragic tale of two kittens back in sixth grade, Juliet has had a yen to write. Now that she’s put down her camera, she indulges herself by writing short steamy romances with models, er, heroes, like a passionate sea captain, a sweet-natured hunk of a werewolf, and the devil’s own sexy-as-hell grandson—every one of them ready to fulfill his lady’s deepest desires.

You can learn more about Juliet and her collection of out-of-the-ordinary heroes at julietchastain.com, and contact her at .