Page 431 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

And I'm suddenly very aware of exactly where I am. Sitting in his lap, my thighs spread over his, his hands spanning my hips, the whole sky burning blue and green above us.

"I want you to mark me right here," I whisper. "On the ice."

His hand comes up and brushes the hair off my face, scarred knuckles grazing my cheek. He radiates heat even without a coat, or maybe especially because of it. My own personal furnace. I lean into his palm and watch the wariness in his eyes flicker against want.

He touches his forehead to mine.

Are you afraid?

"Of you?" I laugh softly. "Never."

His hands move, slowly, making sure I don't miss a single word.

If it's too much, squeeze twice. He takes my hand and wraps my fingers around his forearm. Or tell me. I'll stop. No matter what. Even in the middle. Even if⁠—

"Hey." I press my palm to his jaw, and the muscle shifts under my hand. "I promise. And I trust you. Completely."

He exhales, long and shuddering, and sits back on the ice, dragging me with him. I yelp and grab his shoulders. "Wait, should we get a blanket?"

He shakes his head, stripping off his shirt, leaving his entire torso bare. He lays it down on the ice for us and moves back on it, adjusting us, his muscles flexing beneath my palms.

"You're going to freeze," I protest.

Don't care.

He works at the button of my jeans and I lift up enough for him to drag them down with my panties, everything bunching at my knees above the skates. I start giggling and can't stop.

"We can't do this with skates on. Not alive."

He blinks down at my skates, then repositions me easily and unlaces them in quick movements, already setting them aside. My socks stick to the ice and I start giggling again, burying my face in his neck and trying to keep my body off the frozen lake.

It's easy, considering the sheer size of this alpha.

He gets his own pants open and then his hands are back on me, sliding under the coat, up the backs of my thighs, and the giggles die in my throat. His fingers find me already wet, and he rumbles low in his chest, pleased, teasing me.

He curls them inside me and my whole body jerks, my thighs clamping around his wrist. He does it again, slower, dragging against that spot that makes my vision blur, and a broken sound falls out of me that I couldn't hold back if I tried.

"More," I gasp. "Please⁠—"

He adds a third finger and I choke on air. The stretch burns and I grab his wrist with both hands, then my hands fly back to his shoulders, and he pauses instantly, checking my face.

I nod, breathless, and he keeps going.

His fingers work me slowly, deliberately, and I forget about everything except him. The stretch of his hand, the purring rumble I've missed so much building in his chest, his breath fogging against my throat every time I whimper.

His tongue drags along my collarbone and my whole body arches off his lap as he works me with his fingers, preparing me for him.

"F-fuck—" I choke out.

He licks a path down my chest, stopping only at the collar of my sweater. And then his hands are pushing it up, and his mouth finds my breast through the cold air, his sharp teeth gently poking against my flesh.

I'm sure every living thing in these mountains can hear the cry that tears out of me as that long tongue curls and flicks against my nipple.

"Wraith," I breathe, and his eyes slide up, half-lidded and glowing faint blue in the dark, even bluer in the aurora overhead. "Misha. Now. Please…"

He rumbles with a soft affirmative growl, lifting me with his hands on my hips. I wrap my legs around his waist for support as he guides me down onto him slowly, stretching me open one careful inch at a time.

My head falls back. All I see is the shimmering aurora over us, the cold air nipping at my flushed skin everywhere my clothes have fallen open.