Wolf’s Wind Page 5

  Eyes open again but unseeing, he pulled out, drinking of her gifts as he did. Grabbing his hair, she tugged. “Not…not…”

  Ignoring what had no rational thought behind it, he again licked her from rear to front while she clawed and cried. Then he turned his head to the side and sucked a labium into his mouth.

  Bellowing, she bucked under him. Her thighs became vises against the sides of his head. Still he held on, rode with her through her moaning, crying, screaming climax. Her body moved in relentless waves. Yet despite the strength that threatened to crack his skull, he sensed her underlying weakness.

  She was his.

  He’d claimed her.

  For now.

  Chapter 6

  FEELING as if she’d been split apart, Carlan oozed into the sleeping bag. She had a measure of control over her upper body, but from the waist down, she likened herself to melted butter. Yet she became aware of a growing restlessness. Yes, she’d just climaxed, wonderfully so, but it had happened because Brett had manipulated her.

  Despite wondering if she were crazy for finding any fault with his approach, she rolled onto her side and propped herself up on her arm. Although she couldn’t see out, her memory of the wolves remained vivid.

  “What?” Brett asked from where he stood a few feet away. “The way you’re looking at me—”

  “Do you know why this is happening? Any of this.” She ran her hands from her throat to her crotch, lingering at her sensitive, hot, and wet flesh. Usually modest, she had no desire to reach for her clothes.

  “Do you want a flippant answer or the truth?”

  “I don’t know,” she told him, summoning the strength to sit up. Gray-black clouds had turned the trailer’s interior monochromatic, but that didn’t stop her from sensing his tension.

  “I’m not sure we’ll ever know,” he said, his hands bracketing his erection. “Some things are better left unexplored.”

  Like my emotions where my brother is concerned? “Maybe. Maybe not. But how will we know if we don’t at least address—”

  “You want to do that now?”

  Alerted by equal amounts of confusion and disbelief in his voice, she focused her full attention on him. Where he’d stripped her naked, she’d left him partly clothed. Worse, she’d done nothing to resolve his sexual frustration. Not sure she could trust her legs to support her, she slid off the bed and planted herself in front of him. After taking a calming breath, she dropped to her knees but made no attempt to take his cock into her mouth. Instead, she undid his laces and pulled off his boots, followed by his socks, while he waited with his hands fisted. Next came his jeans and briefs.

  She was about to stand when his right thigh caught her attention. A number of scars marred it. In addition, a still-healing long scar ran down the side of his calf. His knee sported obvious signs of reconstructive surgery. Her hand less than steady, she lightly stroked there. What had he said, something about a minor mishap?

  “You have a rod in your leg, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  His brief but honest answer made her stop touching his leg. Hot bile rose in her throat. “How did it happen? Where?”

  “I’m not going to answer that now,” he said. Taking hold of her arms, he drew her to her feet.

  Or ever, she finished for him, sensing he’d shut himself off to any more prodding or questions. She might have told him that eventually she’d insist on learning everything, if his cock weren’t now trapped between them and she hadn’t wrapped her arms around his shoulders, his mouth mere inches from hers. Again feeling as if she were melting, Carlan parted her lips and leaned forward. As she did, her breasts brushed his flannel shirt, sensitizing her nipples into hard points.

  Wondering how she’d let the matter of finishing her task of stripping him slip her mind, she reluctantly released him and took on what should have been an easy job. Between the damp fabric and her impatient fingers, getting rid of the shirt and undershirt took too damn long. By then the lethargy brought on by her climax had slipped off into a place she might never find again.

  Growing hungry, she pressed her breasts against his muscled chest. No matter what had happened to his leg, the rest of his body looked perfect. He’d been modeled and shaped by a physical life. She’d grown up around men who made their living from the forest. As such, she’d taken a rugged existence for granted, something she’d gladly left behind as soon as she could. Only now she was back in that rugged world, in the arms of a man who had never wanted anything else.

  Today she fed off not just his physicality, but everything it represented.

  His mouth was soft, his lips barely parted. They kissed without her knowing how they’d gotten to that point, touching from breasts to thighs, and everything alive in between. She needed to start slow; otherwise, she might not have any more control over this than she’d had over her climax. Her nerves and muscles cried out, and she sensed the same in him.

  Kiss, just kiss. Slide my tongue out and run it over his mouth. Taste a bit, maybe explore a little.

  She’d been wrong. There was no just between them, no a bit, nothing resembling a little. Floating in something she didn’t try to define, she examined the difference in texture between teeth and inner lip and met the wondrous challenge inherent in touching his tongue. She wanted so much. Hunger made her bold. And when she paused, thinking to regroup, he came after her. He didn’t so much part her lips as plunder them, his invasion sure.

  After feeling more dead than alive since the day Skye had died, this renewal shook her in ways Carlan hadn’t known were possible. His larger and stronger body didn’t just tower over hers; it demanded. If it had been anyone else, she might have been afraid, but this was Brett, part of her childhood and an essential part of the journey she’d taken since then.

  His lips flattening hers, he snaked an arm around her waist and forced her against him. Off balance, she clung to his shoulders. Outside, the storm continued. She was becoming like the trailer—a slight weight helpless against Brett’s greater size and strength. Maybe she should learn from the terrible lesson her brother had failed and break free, before it was too late.

  No! Don’t be afraid.

  “Skye? What are you doing—”

  Guiding you. Trying to, anyway.

  Desperate to free herself from the hammering in her head, Carlan dug her nails into Brett, her stance widening in invitation. He stepped into the space she’d created. She loved the press of his thighs against her, the strain in her back, his cock prodding her belly. Their mouths still together and their breathing quick and hard, she again floated. No longer did her legs anchor her to the ground. Instead, she levitated. At the same time, her pussy tightened repeatedly. Her creamed labia were hot and alive, demanding. A moan rolled up from somewhere deep, the sound naked and vulnerable. It died, only to be repeated by another primitive cry. She pushed her pelvis toward the man responsible. Even as her spine threatened to cramp, the press of his cock pulled her deeper into herself.

  She might not survive this! Might drown.

  Don’t think that! Whatever you do, don’t go there.

  “Skye, stop it.”

  I can’t.

  “What is it?” Brett asked.

  “Nothing.” She shook her head, unable to acknowledge Skye’s presence. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t tell me that. Something—”

  “It’s overwhelming,” she said, hoping to divert him. “Maybe you don’t know what I’m talking about, but—”

  “Oh, I think I do.”

  It was the wolves’ doing. If it weren’t for the beasts, the two of them could fuck without their minds getting in the way.

  What about her dead brother’s voice inside her mind?

  Before she could decide what, if anything, to tell Brett, he spun her around so her back was to him. One arm flattened her breasts and anchored her against him. Splaying his free hand over her belly, he pressed down un
til she half believed they’d reached her womb. Surrendering to the fantasy, she closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder. He was so warm, warm and strong, strong and knowing.

  He massaged her belly with small, soft movements that weakened her and brought yet another moan to the surface. Sagging in his embrace, she kept her eyes shut. Unlike many of her city friends, she’d seldom indulged in a massage. Now she knew why. Whatever a masseuse did couldn’t hold a candle to what Brett accomplished. Not only did the press of fingertips over the swell of her stomach travel to her core, he’d brought his heat with him. That flame met with her own, and they fed off each other, flames bursting high.

  “Oh God, oh God.”

  She asked herself if she needed to claim responsibility for the cry, when his hand left her belly and slid lower. One maddening inch at a time, he worked his fingers through her pubic hair. His hand became a brush stroke. Obeying a primitive call, she widened her stance and thrust her pelvis forward.

  Awash in impatience and pleasure, she followed his every move. She loved the way he created no less than five paths in the softly curling thicket, the easy parting of sensitive hairs. Her arms ached, prompting her to reach behind her. Finding his hip bones, she closed down on them but held no illusion that she had any control over him. Not that she wanted any.

  Twitching sometimes, frequently sighing, she silently begged him to hurry. Finally, thank goodness, he cupped her mons.

  “You want this, don’t you?” he said into her ear. “Need me laying claim again.”

  “Just…do it!” By turn, she pressed her backside against his cock, only to bow her spine and offer her sex to him.

  “I intend to,” Brett growled. “Hell, I have to.”

  She might have asked what he meant if his hold on her hadn’t tightened. Captured, fully captured, she froze. Her mons became a burning coal, a heated mass. Belatedly, she acknowledged her knotted nipples, but although she longed to rub them against his arm, she couldn’t think how to move. Only a few hours ago, surely no earlier than yesterday, she’d been in control of her life and world. So, what had happened? Where had Brett come from, and how had she become his possession?

  As he continued to cradle her, simply cradle, she admitted what she didn’t want to. Telling herself she’d been in charge had been a lie. If it had been the truth, she wouldn’t have come to The Gorge.

  “I want to have sex with you,” she muttered.

  “I know.”

  “Then…”

  “Then why aren’t we? Maybe because I’m as overwhelmed as you are.”

  A man with a physically carved and conditioned body should be secure and confident, shouldn’t he? Despite her need to see him as perfect, she couldn’t shake her memory of that badly and recently scarred leg.

  “We aren’t kids anymore,” she came up with.

  “No, we aren’t. And we can’t explain what’s going on outside.”

  As if in response to his comment, a howl slipped through the metal walls. Although it faded away, remnants of the sound remained. That, coupled with Brett’s hand near her cunt, became her new reality. No matter what responsibilities awaited her back at her parents’ place, this was her present.

  Before she could agree with him, his fingers went on the move again. Swamped by anticipation, she rotated her knees outward. The mental image of how she’d splayed herself for this man from her past made her shudder, but it was too late to take back her dignity and personal space, too late to remember who she’d been before he’d walked back into her world.

  Sex juices leaking from her, Carlan stepped away from the wanton woman she’d become and mentally studied herself. Her mouth was open, her eyes glassy and nostrils flared. Red blotches highlighted her cheeks and throat, and her breasts had never been this swollen or her nipples so dark and hard.

  Then Brett slid a finger into her, and nothing else mattered. The invasion lasted only a few seconds, but she knew he’d repeat, and the waiting became her world. All too soon and not soon enough, he entered her again, his forefinger sliding over slick surfaces. She needed this easy controlling of her body, the confident invasion. Brett knew her in ways she didn’t know herself. Either that, or he’d taken her to where self-determination no longer mattered.

  Her cunt belonged to him. Whether he demanded surrender or slipped in didn’t matter, because she kept herself open to and for him, shaking and floating at the same time. She occasionally dug her nails into his hips, but even when her fingers threatened to cramp, and his breath rasped, she couldn’t pull herself together. Brett had housed part of himself deep inside her and with that had become her everything. She swayed, moaned, and swayed again, while the storm attacked their shelter. She had no doubt the wolves kept their vigil.

  Chapter 7

  HUNGRY, she turned in Brett’s arms, even though doing so robbed her pussy of his presence. Standing on her toes, she struggled to align herself with his cock, but the difference between their heights was too great. Just the same, she offered herself up to him.

  “I don’t want you here,” she told Skye. “This has nothing to do with you.”

  Doesn’t it?

  “You’re sure?” Brett asked. “You’re ready for this?”

  “There’s nothing I’m sure of, but I’m as ready as I’ve ever been.”

  He went still, prompting her to slide a hand between their sweaty bodies and run her fingers over the base of his shaft. He jerked, and his breath rasped. “I’m not going to be able to hold back,” he muttered.

  “I don’t want you to.”

  On a groan, Brett took hold of her waist and pushed her off him. Then, lifting her up and back at the same time, he deposited her onto the bed again. Her legs dangled over the edge. Before she fully comprehended what had just happened, he pushed her knees apart and tugged her toward him so she was barely balanced. Gripping his shoulders, she steadied herself. Then she tilted her pelvis toward him.

  His eyes slid from dark to black, and he took hold of his cock and aimed it at her opening. Any other bed would have been too low to the floor, but this one had been placed on top some storage drawers. As a consequence, he slipped in as easily as if they’d done this a thousand times. He more than filled her; he completed her. Sucking at air, Carlan willed her pussy muscles to relax. Unbelievably sensitive nerves telegraphed his journey. Locked in a world that revolved around what happened to her cunt, she marveled at his size, texture, even his shape. Brett’s cock demanded and took, allowed no resistance. It had one goal and mission—to skewer her.

  “Hmm, hmm.” The sound was primitive and small, flowing from a woman in over her head who nevertheless couldn’t fathom wanting anything else. He was in all the way now with his balls pressing against her, his potent body arching toward her, and his hands hard on her thighs.

  Years of supporting herself had matured her. She took pride in managing her life and making her own decisions, or rather, she had until this afternoon. Now she could barely remember what all that pride and independence had been about.

  His cock became her world. Between the pressure against her inner walls and the way he loomed over her, she barely heard the rain. Still, something resonated in her, not a rhythm or beat, perhaps a pulse. She swayed in time with it. The pulse, if that’s what it was, seemed centered in her pussy. From there it radiated up and out and swam through her veins.

  Brett started moving. She couldn’t call what he was doing thrusting or even fucking. Instead, he seemed to be dancing to a tune only he could hear. Not long ago, he’d told her he didn’t trust his self-control, but there was nothing frantic about the slow, silken slide of cock against pussy. Each forward push was long and sweet, languid even. As such she easily kept pace, her response under control.

  They could make love like this for hours.

  Why? Wouldn’t it be more exciting to match the pace of this thing called fucking with the rain and wind?

  Torn between the options th
at, in truth, were out of her hands, she picked up his beat. She felt as if she were on horseback, moving over a level plain at a smooth and leisurely lope. Her mount flowed under and inside her. The horse was tireless and wise in the ways of this land they were on. It could go on forever, taking pleasure in the easy pace. Granted, there’d be no climax, but as long as small electrical charges fired her muscles and nerves, she was content.

  Then growing heat throughout her made a lie of what she’d just told herself. Acknowledging the fire, she opened her eyes and gazed up at Brett. His mouth was twisted to the side, the veins at the sides of his neck swollen. Even as he rocked and rolled in halftime, she pulled back from herself so she could concentrate on him. She’d been wrong to liken him to a lazy pony, when he closely resembled a stallion fighting the rage of hormones.

  She was being ridden by a stallion, a woman skewered by a beast interested in only one thing—fucking. The reason behind his pacing didn’t matter; it no longer contented her. Tightening her sex muscles, she leaned forward and increased her hold on his neck. That accomplished, she rubbed her breasts against his chest. His movement stopped.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Lost my concentration.”

  “So did I.”

  “What about logic or sanity?”

  Although she should admit she’d lost touch with both, she had no interest in speaking. Her nipples barely brushed him, the slight sensations running like an unending chill through her.

  Relinquishing his hold on her hips, he slid a hand over her thigh and squeezed her knee. After another squeeze, he began a slow journey along her inner thigh. Tearing her attention off his face, she studied what he was doing. Just the same, she didn’t see it coming when he worked a finger between their sealed bodies. For a while, he let it rest there, doing nothing, promising nothing. Then he started to withdraw it, only to change direction. His fingertip now pressed against her labia. “You’re wet,” he muttered. “Something you’re trying to tell me?”