God, he was killing her. He stared at her with such longing, with such hunger, that it broke her heart.
"I would give my life to touch you and not have you pull away from me now," he whispered, moving slowly toward her. "If I swear not to kiss you, would you let me touch you?" Wild, unquenched hunger rose inside her.
"Matthias, that's not fair to you." She shook her head desperately as she backed against the door of the refrigerator.
"Not fair to me?" His lips quirked mockingly. "It's far more than I deserve. I need it, Grace. Just this once, let me touch you."
CHAPTER SEVEN
She wasn't a virgin. Grace liked to consider herself a well-rounded, experienced woman, but even for her, the way Matthias touched her made her feel almost innocent. She felt unable to deny him, unable to reassert her common sense and run like hell.
It was one thing to know the ways of the world, and in some cases, the ways of men. But with Matthias she was finding out that everything she had learned over the years was just wrong. Matthias didn't act like other men. He didn't react as other men, and he sure as hell didn't go after what he wanted as other men did. If he had argued, gone dominant, arrogant, and stubborn, she could have walked away, she told herself.
But he stared at her with such hunger. A hunger he didn't attempt to hide or push away. She wasn't a threat to his independence. The way he watched her, she was imperative to his survival.
"You're so pretty," he whispered, as he stopped before her, causing her to ache as she stared up at the wonderment of his expression. "I look at you, and sometimes, I'm afraid of touching you. Of giving you the power to destroy me. Most people have a little healthy fear of Breeds, but you stand before me, knowing in your soul, I'd never harm you."
The backs of his fingers smoothed over her cheek, sending curious tingles racing through her body.
"I'd die before I ever harmed you, before I'd ever see you harmed. Do you know that, Grace?" She could feel it, see it in his expression and in his eyes. This wasn't stalker material, nor was it an edge of desperation. This was a man, a strong, powerful man, stating his intent, nothing more. It wasn't tinted with fanaticism or with a threat. It was clear statement.
"Matthias, you need someone"
"No." His fingers covered her lips, stopping the words. "I need whatever you'll give me, right here and right now. Nothing more. Just my hands on you, Grace. Let me touch you." His thumb smoothed over her lips as she leaned her head against the refrigerator and stared back at him, torn, uncertain.
"I touched silk three months after our rescue from the labs," he whispered, as his fingertips moved over her jaw. "I swore there was nothing softer in all the world, until I touched your hand." His hand smoothed down her arm, lifted her wrist and brought her palm to his stubbled jaw. "Your hands were warm and so soft. As soft as innocence itself."
His eyes closed, and he held her hand against him as he worked his cheek over it. She let her fingers touch his cheeks, smooth over them, and his expression shifted to one of bliss.
"I'm not innocent," she told him, but she meant the reminder for herself. Because he made her feel innocent. He made her feel nervous, excited, uncertain, but without the fears of virginity. He made her feel so much a woman that it was frightening.
"But you are innocent." He laid his cheek against hers, his lips at her ear, as he pushed her robe over her shoulders. "Innocent of deceit and corruption. When I smell your scent, I smell summer. I feel warmth. All the things I wondered if I would ever know."
Grace shivered with excitement at the guttural sound of his voice, the latent growl that bordered it. He was breathing hard and deep, his chest rasping over her gown-covered nipples and sending shafts of pleasure to tighten around them.
"Matthias, what are you doing to me?" Her head fell to the side, as his chin stroked over her neck.
"Just touching sunshine," he said softly. "Heat and magic. Warm me, Grace. Just for a minute." At this rate, she was going to forget all that pertinent information he had just given her on what sex with him would be. Hormonal aphrodisiacs, mating heat, and biological bindings be damned. Her clit was screaming a silent demand for touch, and her sex was clenching in need. And he hadn't even kissed her. His rough cheek and jaw were doing no more than smoothing over her
neck, her shoulders, as his hands slowly did away with her gown.
Her gown.
Grace gasped as the material pooled at her feet, leaving her naked but for the high-cut cotton and lace thong she wore.
"Shh. Easy, Grace," he whispered. "I'm just touching you. That's all. No kisses. No demands. Ah God, just a little touch."
His hands cupped her breasts.
"Matthias. It's more" she sucked in a hard breath as his thumbs raked over her nipples. "More than little touches."
"It warms me, Grace." He pressed his forehead into her shoulder, his black hair falling to the side, covering the swollen mounds of her breasts. It was cool and heavy, another sensual stroke against her flesh.
Suddenly, nothing mattered but warming Matthias. She knew the hell he had lived through, had triumphed against. She knew the pain and blood his life had been filled with. So he had killed the bastard who had caused it, her dazed mind pondered. Would she have done any less? Her life had been filled with laughter and love, with acceptance. Things Matthias still fought for. Things she had dreamed of giving him.
MATTHIAS fought to control the shaking of his body, the need to lick and taste her flesh as he stroked her. He could smell the sweet heat of her pussy, drawing him, making his mouth water for the rich syrup he knew flowed from her.
His hands were filled with her swollen breasts, her pebble-hard nipples poking against his thumbs. But he had promised. He had promised not to let the aphrodisiac filling his mouth touch her. It was killing him. The glands were pumping the hormonal fluid into his mouth, filling his system, burning him alive with the need to fuck her. His cock was so hard, throbbing so viciously he had to fight to hold back his growls.
He let his cheek touch her, his forehead, praying the sweat gathering on his skin didn't have the aphrodisiac effect. He moved along her neck, her shoulders, bending to her to allow his cheek to caress her upper chest, then the hard mound of a breast.
His hand slid to her waist as he panted, his lips a breath from her hard nipple, her little whimpers of pleasures causing him to clench his teeth to hold back.
"Matthias, you're killing us both like this." She trembled in his arms. "Don't do this."
"Are you asking me to stop, Grace?" Please, God, no! He couldn't bear it. He had to touch her, if he didn't touch her, he was going to die.
"Matthias," the soft protest dragged an unwilling growl from his lips.
"I dream of holding you." He rushed his cheek over her nipple and moved lower. He went slowly to his knees, his hands and face alone touching her, stroking skin so soft he knew it couldn't be real. This had to be a dream. God had been merciful. Somehow he had died, and God had given him an angel to love. It had to be. Because she was so warm and soft, all the things he had dreamed of with none of the scent of death surrounding her.
When he reached the elastic and lace band of her panties, he felt a hard spurt of pre-cum erupt from his cock. He jerked at the pleasure of the small ejaculation, his fingers tightening on the band, as he forced himself to go slowly.
"I can smell you," he sighed against her hip. "Like hot cream and sweet syrup. Have I mentioned, I have a weakness for cream and syrup?"
Her hands were on his shoulders, her fingers kneading them beneath the shirt he wore, as wicked little cries left her throat.
He pulled at the band of her panties, sliding them slowly from her hips, then along her rounded thighs. The little swell of her belly drew him. He wanted to lick it, longed to taste it, but contented himself with pressing his cheek against it instead.
"Matthias, I don't think I can stand this," she gasped.
"Sweet Heaven, just a few more minutes, Grace." His eyes had opened, and he was treated to the prettiest sight of his life.
Sweet honey gold curls beaded with her female cream. Luscious little drops of it clung to the soft curls that shielded her pussy, glistening with arousal and heat.
"Oh God, Grace." His hand was shaking, as he touched a single droplet with one finger, easing it from the curl before rubbing it against his lips.
His eyes closed, his nostrils flared, and the growl that tore from his chest was animalistic, hungry, almost violent.
He licked the taste of her from his lip, drowning in the need for more and relishing even that smallest hint of passion.
"I've dreamed of going down on you." He clenched his teeth desperately, as he fought for control. Maintaining it was iffy. "Licking your flesh, seeing these pretty curls wet with your need for me. Breeds don't have body hair, you know?"
"I know." Her voice was thin, her breath panting as he parted her legs further.
"I've never taken a woman like this," he told her softly. "With just my hands, just this touch." His hand slid up her thighs, his fingers parting the curl-shrouded folds with a reverent touch. God help him. She was hot. So liquid hot his dick was burning for it. Another hard ejaculation of pre-cum jerked the engorged flesh, warning him, that for him, the mating heat was progressing too
quickly. That wasn't just pre-cum. It was a slick hormone-filled lubrication that eased the tender flesh of the vagina, preparing it for his penetration.
Wolf Breeds were thickly endowed. Most women, even female Wolf Breeds struggled to accept the girth. But during mating heat, a Wolf Breed's hormonal responses prepared the female. The pre-seminal fluid aided that, but only during the mating heat. It helped relax the tender muscles, built the arousal, ensured that the sexual act progressed without undue pain, and prepared the feminine sheath for what would come later.
Mother nature was a bitch. Breed mating was wickedly sexual and sometimes, for the females, it could be terrifying.
"Matthias, you're making me weak," Grace moaned, dragging him back from the sight of his index finger piercing the swollen lips and gathering her moisture to it.
He had to taste her again. He couldn't put his lips to her, but maybe, like this. He looked up at her, brought the sweet juice to his lower lip and smeared it there. When his finger had eased back, he licked.
He moaned at that rich taste. She cried out, her nails piercing his shoulder, as her hips jerked forward, almost slamming her pussy into his lips.
"Stop. Grace. Easy, sweetheart."
"Damn you!" She cried out. "This is killing me." It was the expression on his face that was killing her. Absorbed, intent, so filled with pleasure it humbled her. His face was flushed, his eyes glittering with rich, golden browns, almost a fire inside the dark orbs. He was staring at her pussy as though it contained all the secrets of his pleasure. His fingers slid through the sick folds again, parting them, easing inside her.
Easing inside her, when she needed more. Her hips jerked, her pussy convulsing around the single finger as it rubbed against the sensitive tissue.
"Matthias, please. Please. I need more." She was shaking, sweating. God, she had never before perspired like this in the height of sex, let alone foreplay.
Her muscles were tightening, pleasure was streaming through her bloodstream, her clit was on fire, engorged and needy.
"Easy baby. I have you." Two fingers slid inside her as his thumb slid against her clit, circled it, rasped along the bundle of nerves and sent her exploding into a cascade of pleasure. Violent, white hot, blistering in its intensity, the orgasm that tore through her had her crying out his name. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she lifted on her tiptoes, tightened on his fingers, and felt her juices rushing around them.