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She wanted him though, she wanted that. She wanted it until it had tempted every fantasy she’d had for four weeks. Every one. To the point that she had awakened to his heartfelt groans as he rolled from the bed at the scent of her arousal. Refusing to take her, refusing, until the doctor signed off on it.
Well, the doctor had signed off on it.
“Kiss me, wild man,” she groaned. “Hard and deep. Convince me.”
He chuckled, a rough, sexy sound. “You need convincing?” “You never know,” she moaned, reaching for him, dragging his lips to hers. “Please me, Mate, like you’ve never pleased another.”
His lips stole hers, like the first time. A deep, slanted, tongue-thrusting kiss that had her moaning, arching against him, her juices easing from her sex, preparing her for later. Definitely later.
“Let me taste you,” he growled, moving from her lips to her nipples.
They were sensitive, so sensitive that she nearly orgasmed as his tongue lashed them, his lips suckling them gently.
His kisses wandered down her stomach then. He kissed her scar, kissed her belly, then laid his cheek against it for long, breathless moments before he spread her thighs wider and took her with his tongue.
“Del-Rey!” She screamed his name as she arched to him, feeling his tongue thrusting hard and deep inside her.
Wicked, slashing forks of pleasure raced through her sex, to her clit. She writhed beneath him, feeling him taste her, lick her. His tongue was ravenous, his moans fueling her desire as she felt his fingers moving lower.
He parted the cheeks of her bottom, tempted her there. He caressed and massaged the puckered little opening of her rear.
Oh, she liked that. She arched at the spike of pleasure, the tingle of incredible heat as he smoothed her juices back and the tip of his finger pierced her slowly.
She lifted, moaned for more.
“Ah hell, you’re going to give me a stroke,” he groaned against the wet folds he was devouring.
“Breeds don’t have strokes,” she panted. “Good hearts. Remember?”
“I’ll be the first,” he breathed out roughly. “Ah fuck.”
She cried out as his finger slid inside her.
“Ah hell. Baby. Anya. This is for the heat cycle.”
“No. For now.” She twisted against him as his tongue circled her clit. “Oh yeah, that’s so good.”
A second finger pierced her and she wondered if she could pass out from the pleasure. She felt herself stretching, relaxing. Eager. Oh, she was so eager for this.
“I should spank you for this,” he growled.
“Yeah, spank me.” Her hands gripped his hair as she rode his lips. “Do it. I dare you.”
Don’t dare a Coyote. It should be on a plaque on every wall in Base. “Never Dare A Coyote.”
His free hand landed on her raised rear.
Anya froze, felt the tingling burn and gave a low, drawn-out moan.
“Dare ya to do it again,” she panted.
Before he could do more than gasp, she found herself rolled to her stomach. Hips lifted. His hand landed on her rear and she felt something better than mating heat.
Oh damn, this was wicked, and she loved it.
One hand moved between her thigh, palmed the wet flesh, his fingers stroking her clit as he held her in place and delivered another little slap to her rear. It wasn’t painful; it was hot. It was sexy and wicked, and she wanted more.
She rolled her hips, cried out his name and lost count of the heavy caresses. She didn’t lose count of the burn though. It was racing through her bloodstream, sensitizing every nerve ending
