TO TAME THE BRUTAL LYCAN BEAST-Chapter 41: MY ALTAR. MY CUNT

AZRAEL

A low chuckle rumbles in my chest.

"C’mon now... don’t just stand there. Seduce me." I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping she can’t hear the raw want thickening my voice.

Thankfully, she is too nervous to see the power she has, the effect she has on me.

The last thing I need is for her—or anyone—to know that this shaky, innocent little game of hers is making me fucking hard.

She moves closer, a slow, hypnotic sway in her hips that makes my dick twitch. She stops just an inch from my bare chest, her heat searing my skin.

Her small hands come up, fluttering over my pecs, her touch so fucking hesitant it’s agony.

Then she leans in, her eyes squeezed shut, and presses her mouth to mine.

I let her lead. Let her figure it out. Her kiss is all closed lips, soft and unsure, like she’s never done it before.

But then her tongue, shy and sweet, darts out to trace my lower lip. A jolt of pure lust shoots straight to my groin.

My hands clench into fists at my sides, the urge to grab her and take over so strong I’m shaking with it.

Wait. Be patient.

But the waiting is fucking torture. Infuriating. I want to taste her, to devour that sweet mouth until she can’t breathe.

I break.

My hands snap around her waist, yanking her onto the bed and pinning her beneath me in one brutal, fluid motion. The control is gone.

My mouth crashes down on hers, taking and tasting. I lick into her, swallowing her gasp, my tongue tangling with hers.

I tear my lips from hers and trail them down the wild pulse in her throat, over the delicate curve of her collarbone, down to the swell of her breast.

She squirms under me, a weak, frantic struggle that only makes me harder. When she turns her face away, refusing to look at me, something dark and possessive snarls in my gut.

I grab her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand. My other hand grips her chin, forcing her face toward mine.

"If you want to do this," I growl, my voice rough, my cock a hard, aching thing against her thigh, "then fucking do it. Look at me when I’m on top of you. Like you actually want to be here."

A dark, predatory smile slashes across my face. I see the war in her eyes. The wrestle between desire and fear; a dark, depraved hunger and her precious innocence.

"Your eyes say no, but this..." My hand slides between her thighs, and my palm presses hard against the heat there. "...this dripping cunt tells me the real fucking story, Valoria."

She gasps, a sharp, choked-off sound, and tries to clamp her thighs together, but my body is her prison. A wall of muscle and pure fucking want.

I hold her open, my fingers finding her soaked, swollen flesh.

"See?" I drawl, my lips dragging across her jaw while I circle her clit with a ruthless, teasing touch. "It’s begging for my tongue, my fingers. It’s begging to be mine."

She sucks in a sharp, delicious breath, her back arching off the bed in a helpless, beautiful curve.

A soft "Goddess..." escapes her lips, a sound that breaks what little control I have left.

I am on her in an instant, my mouth claiming hers in a deep, devouring kiss meant to swallow the moan I’ve torn from her.

But it isn’t enough. I am an addict, starved, my mind racing and desperate to taste every inch of her at once.

I tear my lips from hers, trailing a searing path down her throat, over the wildly racing pulse at its base.

I find her nipple and draw it into my mouth, sucking and laving it with my tongue until she cries out, her fingers, now free, tangling in my hair.

I move to its twin, giving it the same relentless attention, drunk on the sounds of her whimpers and the hitched, shallow breaths that follow.

My lips blaze a trail down the quivering plane of her stomach, my hands gripping her hips to hold her steady. I am lost, consumed by a fervent need to have all of her.

Finally, I dip my head between her thighs, my breath a hot promise against the most intimate part of her. She smells fucking delectable.

For a second, my eyes meet hers; wide, innocent, yearning. She shakes her head slightly, a plea, a soft prayer whispered to the one who sent her to die at my hands.

I chuckle.

"Scream for your goddess all you want. But your body knows the truth. It prays to me. This cunt..." I hiss, "is my altar, and you’re going to come all over it, proving what a filthy, faithless thing you are for me."

My mouth descends on her.

There is no gentle exploration. My need is a raw, pent-up thing. Rage. Hunger. Ruthless yearning.

I lick a broad, devouring stripe from her entrance to her clit. All tongue and slick against her waiting wetness. Her taste is divine; salty but also perfectly her.

It is a flavor that rewires my brain. Every other woman is a ghost on my tongue. This—this is the only taste that matters, and it is fucking starving me.

She cries out, her hands fisting in the sheets, her back arching off the mattress. I don’t let her adjust. I seal my lips over her clit and suck, hard.

A desperate, guttural moan is torn from her throat. She tries to muffle it, biting her own knuckle until I wrench her hand away, pinning it to her stomach.

"Don’t you dare hide from this," I snarl against her sensitive flesh, the vibration making her jolt. "You will scream for me. You will enjoy every second of your ruin."

I drive my tongue inside her, fucking her with it, mimicking the act she both craves and fears.

My hands grip the backs of her thighs, hooking them over my shoulders, holding her wide open, completely vulnerable to the onslaught of my mouth.

I am relentless, feasting on her, learning the rhythms that make her hips stutter and the little choked pleas that mean she is close.

"Please..." she whimpers, but the word is shapeless, devoid of its earlier meaning.

It is a plea for more, for release, for an end to the unbearable tension. My newest torture.

I add a finger, pressing slowly, inexorably, into her tight, clutching heat. She is so wet it is a sin, her body accepting me greedily even as her mind fights it.

I curl my finger, finding that secret, spongy spot deep inside, and rub it firmly as my tongue continues its devil’s work on her clit.

Her breathing becomes rough, broken with sobs.

"I-I... I can’t..."

"You will," I promise, my voice thick with her taste.

I add a second finger, stretching her, filling her. The burn makes her cry out, but her hips roll, meeting the thrust of my hand involuntarily, rocking harder against my fingers. I am relentless, but so is she.

The contradiction is the most erotic thing I’ve ever felt.

"Come on, my little mouse. Come all over the devil’s face. Show your goddess what you really are."

She reaches her crescendo. A piercing, feverish scream rips from her lungs as her orgasm seizes her.

Her body convulses, back bowing violently, her inner walls clenching rhythmically around my fingers in wave after wave of violent pleasure.

I don’t stop, licking and sucking her through the cataclysm, drawing out every last, shuddering spasm until she is a limp, trembling mess under me, sensitive and overstimulated.

I rise over her, my cock so hard it is a brutal, fucking demand against my pants. The blood pounding there is a drumbeat for every filthy thing I want to do to her.

It aches to take her in the next breath—to fist my hand in that perfect hair and yank as I bend her over and take her against the headboard all night.

But one night could never be enough.

No.