Enchanted By The Wolf. Michele HaufЧитать онлайн книгу.
wolf got on the bed and knelt between her legs, lowering his body over her. Avoiding eye contact. Oh, stones, did she appreciate not having to stare into his gorgeous brown sparklers at this particularly sensitive moment. Just get it done. You can do this.
She grasped his hot length and guided him inside her. He stretched her sweetly. She bit her lip, thinking she’d gotten the long stick for sure.
Heh. This nervous anxiety was making her silly. But better to go with humor than to turn into a crazy, jittery nerve-bucket.
Slowly, he slid in and out of her, the thickness of him tugging at her pinnacle and teasing her insides to a quivering anticipation. This was already better than ninety percent of her dates back in Faery. Because...well, just because. She didn’t want to go there.
Because surrendering to the moment worked right now. It made her forget. About everything. This was actually...pretty freakin’ awesome.
She moaned, and Kir stopped his thrusts. “Am I hurting you?”
“Oh, no, wolf. What you’re doing feels great. Faster.”
“If I go any faster, I’ll come, and that can’t happen until I shift if we’re going to do the bonding correctly.”
“Right, you werewolves bond in shifted shape. I sense this is going to get interesting.”
“Real fast. You ready for my werewolf, little faery?”
No. And maybe. And, stones, yes, she was ready.
This day had been insane, what with being forced to leave her home with nothing more than her bridal gown and the blade strapped to her thigh. No mementos, but she hadn’t needed any. She’d even stood in the forest and watched as sidhe magic built her wedding dais and this bonding cottage, all the while her heart thudding faster and faster, wondering if this world could be worse than her own.
And then to stand beside the wolf, her heart thundering, and promise to love and honor him without knowing what kind of man he was. Kind, domineering, cruel or, perhaps, weak?
But it was going to end on a high note if she had any say about it. And that note would come from her as she cried out in pleasure.
“Let’s do this,” she said, shuffling back on the bed. She wanted to come right now. She wanted...foreplay and emotion and his hands all over her, both inside and out.
But tonight wasn’t for any of that. “Let’s get ’er done.”
* * *
The faery’s bright pink eyes widened as Kir’s body began the shift. It took only a matter of seconds for his bones to change and his skin to stretch over lengthening muscles and shifting interior organs. Fur sprouted from his pores and his jaw grew longer and teeth made for tearing meat filled his maw.
When in his half man/half wolf werewolf form, he had thoughts as a man and as a wolf. He could understand some spoken language, but for the most part, he acted on instinct. And instinct told him a ripe female waited for him.
She scrambled off the bed, seemingly fearful of his towering form, but when she stopped at the headboard, she turned. A tiny smile curled her pink lips and she crooked a beckoning finger at him.
The werewolf recognized that as an invitation.
* * *
Gasping, Bea caught her hands on the headboard fashioned from woven branches while the werewolf howled behind her. He had reached orgasm, as had she. And, man, that had been a cosmic thing. She could now entirely get behind the meaning of bonding in werewolf terms. Big furry wolf man, meet the quivering, sexually satisfied faery chick? Fur and claws? She could deal. And she had. In werewolf form Kir was mostly man-shaped anyway, and his cock was all man.
Yet she was suddenly ravenous. And not for food. She’d been born with an inexplicable hunger, which had been sustained by drinking ichor from her fellow sidhe ever since puberty. Here, in the mortal realm, she had prepared herself for her first taste of mortal blood. Because, if not ichor, the only other option was blood. It sustained. And satisfied. It was tied in to sex and the orgasm and the desire to pleasure herself as deeply as possible.
And she would not ignore that hunger.
Much as Bea assumed the wolf was not going to like what she did next—she twisted about and hugged the big furry lug about his wide, panting chest. Sinking in her fangs at the werewolf’s throat caused him to whip back his head in protest. A talon cut down her thigh as he attempted to pull her off him.
Bea clung. The blood spilling into her mouth was hot and thick and tasted better than mead or even ichor.
Now, this was her kind of bonding.
Suddenly the fur Bea had clenched in her grasp receded and her fingers slipped over male skin slickened with his own blood. Kir’s exaggerated form, which had been mostly human in werewolf shape, save the wolfish head, returned to his regular structure. He pulled his neck away from her mouth. Her fangs dripped blood onto her thighs.
Her new husband pushed her into the pile of pillows jammed against the headboard. Kir slammed the mattress with a fist. “What the—” He slapped a palm over his neck, though she had landed the bite much closer to his shoulder than she’d intended. “You bit me!”
“Yeah? What did you expect? You shagged me in the literal sense, buddy. Shaggy fur and all.”
“We needed to bond. You knew that had to happen. You agreed to it!”
“That I did.”
“But what’s the bite about?” He gestured to her fangs. “You...you...”
His panicked expression was comical, but only until Bea realized he had been blindsided, and she should have waited to answer her hunger until after he was more familiar with her needs.
“I was in the moment.” She retracted her fangs and pushed a long tangle of hair over her shoulder. Dragging a finger through the blood droplet on her thigh, she then licked it clean. Mercy, that tasted incredible. “I needed to feed.”
“Feed?” Kir exhaled. “What the hell are you? Oh.” He fisted the air. “Hell no! You can’t be. No, no, no. Please tell me you are not half vampire.”
She sat up pertly and wiggled her hips, more from fresh nerves than defiance. And, really, sarcasm and snark were her best means of defense. “Did the fangs give me away? You are one perceptive werewolf.”
“Bea? Tell me what the hell I married.”
She definitely did not like his angry voice. But, seriously, what had he expected? It wasn’t as though Malrick was going to hand over a valued full-blooded sidhe daughter for marriage.
“I may be half vampire,” she conceded, unable to meet his accusatory glare. “But I don’t know. I’ve lived on ichor all my life. Ichor is equal to blood in the mortal realm. And my eyes are pink. I know, right? Most sidhe eyes are violet.”
Kir crushed his palms across his forehead and over his skull. “I can’t believe this! Malrick is your— What is your mother?”
Bea shrugged. “Never met her.”
“Didn’t your father tell you who or what your mother was?”
“Daddy dearest? Pfft. He likes to keep secrets. Only, he never lets me forget what a disappointment I am to him. Which is, I suspect, why you got stuck with me. Sent the rotten egg of the bunch off to the mortal realm. Like you said—” she pointed a thumb at herself “—short stick.”
Kir wiped at the bite marks on his neck. “I assumed Malrick would not send a favorite. But a vampire is...”
“Not your first pick for a wife, eh?”
“There’s nothing wrong with