Page 63 of Hungry Like the Wolf

She nodded her head, and he began to trace the delicate topography of her sex with a single finger.

At Nadja’s sigh, he slipped the tip of his pinkie into her core. She gripped the back of his head.

He withdrew his finger and went back to his lazy tracing, circling around but never quite touching her clit.

“You’re a tease, Robbie,” she said, reaching back between them and taking a firm hold of the erection that tented his boxer briefs.

He gasped at the sensation. Her fingers were warm and strong, and he thrust his hips into her hold, groaning as she squeezed him gently.

“I don’t want to rush this,” he said, kissing her neck and nipping her earlobe. “The next time we do this…”

He trailed off and told himself that she hadn’t just tensed in his arms. She was just shifting, getting more comfortable. She flipped quickly, pushing him onto his back and rising over him, straddling his hips, her knees on either side of his ribs as she rested her palms against his bare chest.

“The next time we do this, you’ll be a genuine wolf.”

She was so much stronger than she’d been. She practically glowed in the early morning light as she ground her hips down against his, her eyelids fluttering closed as she did. He wanted to count every single freckle on her arms, to take a ballpoint pen and connect them, to make art out of them. He wanted to kiss her until her lips were berry red and swollen, to suck on her nipples until they matched, until they were too sensitive to touch. He wanted to drive her into the mattress so hard and so many times that he left an imprint of her body, an imprint that he’d sleep in until the day he died.

There were too many clothes between them. She was sleeping in panties and one of his T-shirts, having kicked her socks off in the middle of the night. He was in boxer briefs, but the two layers of cotton, though thin, were still too much. Her panties were old, having been washed so many times as to be threadbare in some placed. He reached for them, pressing his thumbs into one especially thin-looking spot and hooking them, tearing the worn cotton in half. Nadja gasped and stopped her lazy grinding. Her eyelids flew open.

“I’m sorry, Doc. I?—”

But he never got to finish the thought because she pounced, her mouth descending on his hungrily. She kissed him with an intensity that he’d never experienced before, like she was fueling up to fly to the moon. He poured his lust, his like, his everything into the kiss, his hips greedily rising up toward hers, grinding against her now-bare cunt.

She reached down, and together they clumsily pulled his boxer briefs down enough that his erection sprung free. Without preamble, she sat up and took him in her hand, holding him steady as she slid down onto him, taking him to the root in one stroke. He arched off the bed, the feeling of her tight clasp too much, his body rebelling against the sudden need to come.

He gripped her hips in his hands, his fingers pressing into her skin and he had the sudden urge to tattoo the outline of her hands on his chest, just like this, and to do the same to the outline of his fingers clinging to her body as if she’d fly away if he loosened his hold even a little.

“You’re incredible,” she gasped and she tried to ride him, to buck against his tight hold restraining her pelvis so that it stayed flush with his.

“You’re gonna kill me, Doc,” he said through gritted teeth.

She stopped writhing then, resting her full weight on the cradle of his hips, her palms warm against his chest. Nadja leaned down and kissed him gently.

“I’m sorry,” she said against his lips.

His tongue danced with hers.

“If I die inside of you like this, I’ll be the luckiest son of a gun in the world.”

She snorted, that sound that never failed to make him smile.

“You’re a gift, Nadja,” he said, letting go of one hip to thread his fingers through her chin-length hair, cradling the back of her head as he kissed her, feeling like his heart was superheated in his chest.

She shook her head, pulling away, but he tightened his hold on her hair and hip, holding her close, his lips brushing against hers with every word as he said, “You are a gift, Nadja. To the world. To this pack. To me.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and he felt one fall, landing in the space where his cheek met his nose. It ran down the divot of his nostril, over his top lip, and down to where their lips were joined again. He didn’t think he was imagining the salty taste of that tear, but he took it, took part of her into himself in the most literal sense, the way she was taking part of him inside of her.

“You’re the gift, Robbie,” she whispered. “And whatever happens, I hope that you never ever forget it.”

There was no more talking after that. She rode him slowly, their kissing constant, the orgasm building with the easy intensity of a wave until it broke over him, but not before he reached between them with his hand and thumbed her clit until she gasped into his mouth, shaking and keening as she came. Then, and only then, did he let the wave of his own release wash over him, dragging him under as he lost himself in the feeling of having her over him, around him, of being surrounded by her, her tight cunt, her warm body.

Later, he went for a run with JJ. They sprinted around the lake together, stopping at the large boulder when they were done, resting against it while they caught their breath.

“Are you only doing this as a human because I can’t shift yet?” Robbie asked with a laugh, wiping sweat from his forehead.

“Keeps the reflexes sharp,” JJ said, reaching his big arms overhead. “Running as a wolf is easy. I could run all day as a wolf. But as a human, I have to work harder. It’s good for me.”

That made sense to Robbie. He remembered watching a National Geographic documentary about wolves, about their stamina to lope for hours. That would be different. He wondered what else would be different.