Page 27

He paid attention. To the way she reacted. The bowing of her body, her gasps, the quivering of her skin. He seemed to delight in finding new places to elicit a response—the underside of her breasts, her hip, the backs of her knees, her inner thigh, close to nirvana but never quite there. And when he did, he latched on to it like a man starving, desperate. Licking and biting her tender skin.

His fingers grazed her mound.

“Alain!” A plea, wrung from her, desperate for his hand to move lower. Instead, he brushed across her mound again, a light touch, then firmer, closer.

She bucked beneath his hand. “Please.”

He chuckled. “Patience.”

Patience? He was driving her out of her mind. Then his fingers were slipping through her folds, his thumb circling higher…and…and… He rubbed her clit, once, twice, sending spikes of pleasure deep into her pelvis. She trembled. She was close. He pinched it hard, then rubbed it better with his thumb, sending her higher and closer. Slow circles, a pinch, a tightening of the muscles in her core, almost there, the spark igniting. Then he shifted away, and it spluttered and died.

“No, no, no.”

Then he was back rubbing her clit with more slow circles, more pinching, sending her soaring again, then backing off again before she could peak. Each time sending her closer and closer to the sun until she was burning and feverish and incoherently babbling entreaties. Begging, calling his name. Promising him anything, everything.

Until she forgot his demand and reached for him.

Alain grabbed her wrists, holding her off. “Don’t touch me.” His voice was rough, strained. “Putain, Grace.” He rested his forehead against hers, his breathing harsh. “I want you so much, if you touch me…I…I…” He groaned. “I’m so close to crossing a line here, I… My needs are…”

The playroom. The restraints and the whips, and drawers full of toys. His needs were darker. Not the kind of thing a farm girl from Pickens County, Alabama, who didn’t drink or cuss should want. But Grace did want it. Here. Now. With Alain. With a burning desperation that shook her.

She jerked her wrists from his grip and he let her go, sitting back on his haunches with a sigh pulled from the depths of his soul. And she would have it. Her stomach quivering and her core clenching, Grace raised her hands above her head and set them back against the rug where he had placed them, as though restrained.

“Grace?”

She closed her eyes, barely daring to breathe. Please, Alain. I want this. I want you.

“Are you…sure?”

The hope in his voice made her heart flutter. She swallowed, then nodded. She was sure.

He threw back his head and howled. It was a sound so raw and unbridled and full of triumph. It ripped through her body like a lightning bolt. She had a fleeting moment to question her choice, then he was on her, crushing his lips to hers, brutal in his domination. A hint of what was to come.

He pulled away. “Turn over. On your hands and knees.”

A little thrill skipped through her at the command in his voice, and she did as she was told. If she’d thought lying on her back with her arms above her head had made her vulnerable, with her bottom in the air, she was exposed. Until now, he’d been nothing more than a dark shape, with expert hands and a wicked tongue. Behind her, he was a looming presence, promising her things she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

The smooth texture of his pants brushed against the back of her thighs. The zipper of his jacket was cool against the heated skin of her hip. Goosebumps danced across her bare body. She was in unfamiliar territory, and she was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. But she was ready for him. Oh so ready.

“Put your hands on the couch for balance.” He guided her hands where he wanted them. “Hips up.”

He ran a hand over her lower back and she arched in response.

“Perfect. Now hold on, bébé.” There was a gravelly quality to his voice, as though both he and his wolf were talking. “I promise you, you won’t regret this.”

Now wasn’t the time for backing out. Not when he was running his hands up the backs of her thighs. She was trembling all over at the mere hint of his touch, and her core was clenching, needy and wanting. Wanting him to take her. In whatever way he wanted.

“I need a safe word, Grace,” he said. “A word that’ll make me stop if I’m pushing you too far.”

The stubble on his chin against her shoulder, his warm breath ghosting across her skin, sent tingles down her spine. She arched more.

He groaned. “Safe word, Grace. Not going any further until I have it.”

A word? Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. Her brain was focused on him, his musky scent thicker now, clogging her nose, her mouth, and seeping into her pores. If she could form a sentence, she would beg him.

“How about ‘stop’?” he whispered in her ear.

His tongue curled around her earlobe. Stop? No. She shook her head. She didn’t want him to stop.