Wolf's Capture (17 page)

“You like that?” A redundant question, but she wanted to hear his answer.

“What do you think?” was his sarcastic retort.

She smiled as she stroked her damp finger down the length of his cock, fascinated by the wide vein, which seemed to pulse the entire way. She gripped him, one hand fisted around his girth, and he let out a low rumble.

It fascinated her how something so rigid, so hard, could feel so soft at the same time, the skin silky. She leaned in for a lick, brushing her tongue against the tip, which had pearled again.

Salty, but not unpleasant. She ran her tongue around the head, lapping it. Again, a low sound came from him, and one of his hands came to rest atop her head, stroking her hair, encouraging her.

Emboldened, she took the tip of him into her mouth and sucked—her actions inspired by the stories she’d read. And now could experience.

His cock twitched in her grip and seemed to grow even plumper. She sucked some more, taking him deeper into her mouth, his thickness just managing to graze past her teeth. He hissed, and when she peeked up at him, wondering if she’d inadvertently caused him injury, she saw him with his head thrown back, eyes shut, and the muscles of his neck strung taut.

A man in the throes of enjoyment, not pain.

It served only to increase her own burgeoning passion and added a bit of fervor to her actions. Her sucking took on a cadence as she bobbed back and forth, her hand maintaining a tight, anchoring grip. His breathing quickened, and while she couldn’t hear his heart race, she could feel it in the way the vein in his shaft pulsed, faster and faster. He also began to thrust his hips, timing it with her head bobs, driving himself a little deeper, but not too far. Her hand on his cock made sure of that.

She wondered if she could bring him to release, like he had with her. But Brody had different plans. With a groan, he pulled away from her, leaving her wet mouth with an audible pop, and she made a protesting noise.

“Bring it back,” she demanded. “I wasn’t done.”

“Yeah, but I almost was,” he growled. “And that would be too soon for what I want to do.”

“Give it to me.”

“Oh, I intend to give it to you. Just not quite yet.”

He drew her up, high enough to plaster his lips against hers, the fieriness of his kiss dispelling her protest. But a kiss wasn’t his only aim. His hands divested her of her clothing. She had no issue with that, not when it meant she got to press her naked skin against his, something she never seemed to tire of. She loved the heat he emitted. Loved the flesh-on-flesh contact. Loved it even when he toppled them on the mattress, the springs making them bounce as they squeaked in alarm.

She couldn’t help but giggle. “Think it will hold us?”

“Probably not, but it sure as hell beats getting grass marks on my knees and ass,” he jested.

At that, she laughed, a pure sound of mirth that should have seemed out of place given their sexual position and intent yet felt so right. He leaned up on his forearms, and she was able to admire the view, a view she never tired of with his perfect chest, rippled with mouth-watering muscles, defined, wide shoulders, and flat nipples. She reached a hand to touch his smooth skin and dragged her nails lightly from his pecs to the indent of his waist. He sucked in a breath, and his eyes went from smoldering with fire to a glowing golden.

She knew that look. It meant fun times ahead.

When she would have dragged her hand lower, he trapped it between their bodies. “My turn to play,” he said in a husky tone. The promise in his words sent a shudder through her.

But he didn’t immediately act. He stared instead, his intent gaze taking in what he could see. Her nipples puckered under his scrutiny, anticipating his attention.

Slowly, too slowly in her impatient mind, he lowered his face until he could brush his lips across her erect nubs. A sigh left Layla as she arched, silently willing him to suck them. He ignored the unspoken plea, but he did other things. Pleasurable things.

The hot flick of his tongue made her cry out. He did it again before circling the very tip of it around her nipple. She moaned at his slow torture, but it didn’t stop his slow tease.

She weaved her fingers through his hair and pulled him to her, or tried to. She wanted him to take her engorged nipple into his mouth. It didn’t work. He chuckled, his warm breath fluttering over the tips, making them ache even more.

“You’re killing me,” she groaned, unable to remain silent.

“No worse than what you just did to me, sweetheart.”

He blew on her wet nipple, and she bucked, her desire screaming for more. Her grip on his hair tightened, but he wouldn’t be forced. And he was the stronger of them. With ease, he untangled her fingers from his hair, only to trap them in his iron grip. He pushed her hands above her head, and no amount of struggling or straining could free them. It was frightening, as it proved her vulnerability to him, but it was also exhilarating because she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. On the contrary, without her getting in his way, he continued his lazy exploration of her breasts.

Anticipation thrummed throughout her body so that when he finally took her more than ready nub into his mouth, she couldn’t help but yell a little. She might have even had a mini orgasm. Her channel certainly pulsed in pleasure.

Taking his time, his mouth sucked and tugged at her erect nipples. He split his attention between the pair, driving her mindless with sensation.

When he did finally stop his decadent tease, she whimpered then moaned as his mouth took a path south. It dragged over the swell of her stomach. Tickled around her belly button before choosing to trail down her left thigh, the closeness of his mouth to her sex making her almost sob.

She still couldn’t grasp him or touch or do anything, as he dragged her trapped hands down as he traveled, placing them on her belly.

He kissed his way to the skin of her inner thigh. Then switched sides.

She could have screamed.

He kissed his way around, soft nibbles, closer and closer and…

This time she did protest. “Stop teasing me!”

“But I’m having fun. And so are you,” was his devilish reply as he blew on her damp sex.

Oh how that made her quiver. Her entire channel clenched, and she could have sobbed when he still didn’t give her what she needed.

“Hands over your head,” he ordered, and if it meant relief, then she’d obey.

She raised them over her head.

“You might want to grip the headboard,” he advised with a wicked smile. He leaned back from her and grabbed his cock. As she watched, his thumb smoothed the clear liquid coming from the tip over the swollen head.

She swallowed but held on tight to the brass headboard.

Hand still holding his shaft, he used his other to run a finger down her moist slit. A shudder went through her, and her breathing came in short pants. Much as she loved his touch, she had to wonder if the anticipation was even more exciting.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured as he leaned forward, and his head ducked between her legs so he could blow hotly on her.

And finally the wait was over.

Wide hands cupped her ass and raised her just enough for him to
feast on her sex. She almost came with the
first wet stroke of his tongue. She definitely moaned. And groaned and made a whole bevy of sounds as he proceeded to sensually torture her pussy.

Flicks of his tongue against her clit made her cry out. His tongue running circles around the bundle of nerves had her panting. The jab of it between her wet folds made her whimper. So many different erotic sensations, all leading to one giant culmination. But as blissful as all his actions were, he never quite let her go off the edge and orgasm. He held off just enough. Teased her to within screaming distance.

He forced her to beg. “Please.”

His reply? “Not yet.”

She could have cried from need.

He did take some pity on her, though. He let go of her ass and let her sink back on to the mattress, but only because he required a hand. Fingers stroked across her slick slit, stroked, touched, and then thrust in. Oh my. His finger penetrated her sex, pumping in and out, but it wasn’t thick enough to satisfy, not when she knew what he felt like.

She closed her eyes as she gyrated her hips in time to his finger thrusts. Thus she didn’t notice his positioning of his body until the digit pulled free and the swollen head of his cock butted against her. He rubbed the tip against her moist core, teasing her with its size. Teasing her with the pleasure she knew would come.

Inch by inch, he inserted himself, slowly, oh so slowly, stretching her channel, filling her deliciously. Her sex spasmed around him, and he groaned.

“Hold on just a little bit longer,” he urged.

She’d try, but she sat on the edge of ecstasy. It wouldn’t take much to shove her off.

Especially if he thought to torture her some more. But it seemed his teasing was done. Once fully seated, he began to thrust. Pump. His pace starting out slow, but quickly transitioning until he pistoned into her, each stroke striking deep, heightening her pleasure until it almost hurt. She tightened, and she almost forgot to breathe.

Right there. Almost. Almost.

Even though she didn’t speak, he understood she was on the cusp. His penetrating jabs got more forceful. She was past moans, and he was no longer giving commands, probably because he panted harshly as he pistoned. Even without words, their pleasure play was anything but quiet. Flesh slapped on flesh.

Harder.

Faster.

Deeper.

Her body arched off the mattress, bowing as her orgasm finally struck. A deep shudder went through her, again and again as wave after wave of bliss rolled through her.

She didn’t come alone. Brody roared one word that sounded suspiciously like “Mine!” before spurting hotly inside her.

And then collapsing. But not because of exhaustion.

It seemed in their mindless need for one another, they’d both neglected one important thing. A fatal mistake. They’d thought themselves safe.

Wrong.

Escape fifty-seven had just come to an end.

Reality, a cold bitch with no care for lovers, intruded on the intimate moment, and Brody could have killed her.

Such a glorious joining of bodies—and souls—didn’t deserve such an ignoble end, but the darts in his ass said otherwise.

It was his own fault.

I should have known better.

He’d thought them safe at least for the night. He could have sworn no one trailed them and that his southern path would mislead their pursuers who would expect them to head due west to the safety of his clan. Or at least a town where he could hitch a ride.

While they did need wheels and most especially a phone so he could call in, of more import was making sure they weren’t recaptured, hence his arrival in the small hamlet. The spare room offered to them by the shopkeeper in town was a bonus.

But complacency was his enemy.

The dude who called himself the master had found them, or at least his minions had because Brody recognized the guy who stood inside the door with the tranq gun in hand. Although, he’d initially squashed Layla at the impact of the darts, his first impulse being to shield her body, now that he realized they weren’t firing bullets, Brody rolled off Layla, prepared to kill the fucker. At least that was his plan, were it not for the half-dozen darts shot into his upper torso.

Unlike the ones in his ass, Brody ripped them out and flung them to the side as he staggered to his feet, placing himself between the attackers and a groggy Layla, who’d gotten hit with a pair of tufted missiles.

Her “What’s going on?” emerged slurred.

“We’ve got company,” he growled, a head shake doing nothing about the effects of the tranquilizers, which were already slowing his movements and speech down.

“No,” she whispered, echoing his own thoughts. “But how? How did they find us?”

The how didn’t matter. It was how they would escape that did. Already swaying on his feet, Brody had only moments before he would succumb to the drugs working on his system. He couldn’t allow that to happen because, if he passed out, he’d leave Layla defenseless.

I won’t let her go back to that prick. I won’t.

He called to his beast side, but his wolf was too drowsy, the sedatives already at work.

The puffing sound of more darts firing made him brace for impact, but the target wasn’t Brody but his woman, whose hair had begun to rise in a static halo, a sign of her drawing on her power.

Yeah, sweetheart, call forth your furry minions.

Too late.

Her eyes fluttered.

Then shut.

Brody let out a bellow, rage-filled and anguished. This couldn’t be happening. Not this close to freedom and aid.
Not after I promised her she wouldn’t ever have to go back. Not after realizing how much she means to me.

Barreling forward, he reached out to grab the prick with the dart gun, but his limbs wouldn’t cooperate, and his muscles went limp. For a moment he could grasp why men relied on erectile remedies. Nothing worse than the body not responding when commanded.

Work, damn you. Obey me, body.

Nope.

He sank to his knees then pitched forward.

Blackness hovered, even though he snarled at it to get back. It proved relentless. His senses dulled. Through the invisible cotton clogging his ears, he thought he heard yells. The rumble of a bear. Then he blinked, the longest blink ever, and when he opened his eyes again, he let out an unmanly yelp.

No. Not this. Anything but this.
It seemed he’d gone from one frying pan of a situation to another.

Brown eyes peered at him. Familiar ones to go with the voice saying, “Hey, Brody, I like the artwork you got on your ass. I hope you don’t mind, but I took a picture and sent it to my tattoo artist.”

A pink bunny with pin-up-girl cleavage and a sassy wink, a reminder of his military days where he learned to never pass out with his buddies in a hole of a bar downtown.

“Don’t make me kill you, Travis,” Brody mumbled as he moved to a sitting position, still naked but no longer in the small bedroom he’d shared with Layla.