Page 104 of Alpha's Rejected Warrior
Not yet, I say through our mind-link as I pull back.
The broken noise he makes is the most gratifying sound I have ever drawn from another living creature.
“You don’t get to finish yet.” I circle the head of his cock with my tongue and press my lips to it. It jumps beneath my touch. “Not until I say.”
His head drops back against the pillow. He lets out a strangled laugh. “You’re going to kill me.”
I flatten my tongue against the underside of his shaft and glide it upward in one long, tortuous lick from base to tip. He clutches the sheets in his fists. I do it again, slower, tasting the bead of moisture gathered at the crown, letting our bond send every ounce of his torment into my own body, where it settles between my legs like a lit match.
The world tilts.
One second, I’m in control, my tongue against his cock, his pleasure reverberating through the bond like a plucked string. The next, his hands clamp around my waist and he tosses me sideways onto the mattress with a strength that I didn’t think could come from a human body.
My back hits the sheets and he’s holding himself over me before I’ve processed the reversal, his weight pressing me down, his knee between my thighs.
My wolf doesn’t snarl. Shepurrs.
“Your turn.” Two words: low and rough and laced with a tone of command that I have never once heard in Ethan Langley’s voice before. It’s neither request nor question, but a promise that sounds like a threat.
Oh.
His hands are all over me. Greedy. Demanding. His palms drag down my ribs, his fingers digging into the curve of my waist with enough pressure to bruise. He grabs my hips and yanks me closer, positioning me exactly where he wants me, and the sheer audacity of it sends a spike of heat so sharp through my center that my back arches off the bed.
His mouth finds my neck. He drags his teeth along my tendon, then his tongue follows the same path, hot and wet, tasting the salt on my skin. He bites down on the junction wheremy neck meets my shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough that it draws a sharp breath out of me.
Both of his hands close over my breasts at once, kneading them with precise, possessive pressure. He squeezes the base of each one while his thumbs roll over my nipples, working them with concentration that borders on aggression, and every nerve beneath his palms feels like it’s on fire. I arch into his grip, but he pushes me back down.
He stares into my eyes, his breath ragged, his gaze stripped of every defense. “You are everything I could ever want, Rhiannon.”
He lowers himself, and his tongue traces a slow circle around my left nipple. Agonizingly slow. Mapping the areola with flat, deliberate strokes while his thumb rolls the other to a stiff peak. He switches, but moves at the same devastating pace. His tongue and fingers caress me with the same measured patience that makes me want to grab his hair and force him where I need him.
Then his lips close over my nipple and suck so hard and with such relentless pressure that makes my vision white out.
My hips buck against his. A cry tears out of my throat that doesn’t sound like it belongs to a warrior. It’s fractured andpleading. He releases my nipple with a wet pop, but closes his mouth over the other, sucking with the same steady intensity, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.
“Ethan—”
He traces a path down my stomach, his lips and teeth passing over the scar that curves along my ribs, a souvenir from a border skirmish three years ago. He kisses it like it’s sacred. Then his tongue drags across the sensitive skin below my navel and my hips roll on their own.
The scent of my own arousal reaches me, tangled with his cinnamon warmth, and the combination is intoxicating — a cocktail of desire that makes my head swim and my wolf keen.
His face settles between my thighs. His breath cools my slick skin and I grip the sheets.
“Tell me what you want, Commander,” he instructs.
Without waiting, his tongue parts me: light, precise, a delicateness that borders on cruel.
I gasp. “Don’t stop.”
“Like this?” His tongue flattens and drags up like a feather, slow and merciless.
“Harder.”
He obeys, observing me closely: every nerve, every response, adjusting pressure when my breath catches, pulling back when I get too close, building me in waves that crash and recede. His fingers slide inside me, curling against the spot that makes my back bow off the bed, while his mouth seals over my clit and sucks.
My claws extend. The linen shreds beneath my fingers with a sharp tearing sound. A growl tears from my chest, more wolf than woman.
His tongue works me faster and his fingers press deeper as he worships me with a reverence that I can’t survive.
