Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
His grip on my breast tightens. “Say it,” he murmurs against my temple.
“Yes.”
Brick
My need to give pleasure to a female has never been so strong. This isn’t like our desperate first fuck over the conference table.
No, this time, I don’t expect to get myself off. Only to take care of her needs. To give to her. She deserves pleasure at the tip of my tongue. She deserves it all.
The moment she gives her consent, I roll her to her back. She averts her gaze, still too mad or hurt to look me in the eye, and I don’t force it. I trail light kisses between her breasts, slipping lower beneath the cover to kiss down her soft belly.
I drink in her nutmeg and oranges scent. This time it’s coupled with the scent of the outdoors–snow and pine and residual fear.
Fuck, I wish I could go back in time and make things right. Prevent the hurt feelings and the trauma of nearly dying out there in a snowstorm.
I swirl my tongue around the inside of her belly button, and she squirms. I continue lower, slowly opening her thighs with my hands and kissing along each inner thigh before I part her flesh with my tongue.
Her breath leaves her with a shaky exhale.
I take my time. This isn’t foreplay, it’s the main event. For her pleasure only, not that satisfying her won’t satisfy me, too, on some level.
I trace her inner lips with the tip of my tongue, then tease her entrance. I find her clit and swirl around it until her legs start to grow restless.
Then I catch her knees and push them up to spread her wide for me. I kiss and suck with more fervor, and she starts to moan and cry out. I work a couple fingers inside her and stroke her inner wall, seeking the place where the tissue stiffens and swells under my fingertips.
Madison rolls her pelvis, her knees clamping around my ears. I use my tongue on her clit at the same time I pump my fingers in and out, and she starts to arch her back and pull my hair. With my other hand, I slip my thumb between the crack of her ass to find her anus. The moment I rub it, she comes, her internal muscles squeezing my fingers, her knees clapping against my ears as she cries out hoarsely.
It was a small orgasm, but considering what she’s been through, I think it’s enough. Her body needs rest and sustenance. Using up what little fuel she has left on pleasure would be a mistake.
I climb up beside her and nest my body against hers, even though she’s no longer freezing. She no longer requires skin-to-skin contact. I don’t care–I do. I wrap an arm around her waist and listen as her breaths grow longer, and she falls into a gentle sleep.
Good. My wolf’s content at having her safely asleep in my arms. Recovering from her trauma.
“You’re still here?” she asks when she wakes an hour later.
Okay, she’s still mad at me. I deserve that.
Rather than grovel again, I go Big Bad Boss on her. I climb over her and pin both her wrists down beside her head. “You’re not quitting.”
Her gaze meets mine then skates away. But it returns to my face. There’s a vulnerability in it that makes my chest ache.
“What would it take to get you to stay?”
She lifts her chin at a stubborn angle. “Invite me to Thanksgiving dinner with you.”
Now that she says it, I realize the scent of turkey roasting, along with sweeter notes of pumpkin and apple pies have filled the room.
“Ugh. You want to eat with my fucked up family? I was going to use you nearly dying in a snowstorm as my excuse not to go. Can’t we skip it?”
She studies my face. She wants to know more about the drama with my mom. She needs to be included. I pushed her tender spot by making her feel unwelcome and socially slighted. The thing about putting her in the servant’s quarters? It never would have occurred to me that’s what she would think. But now I remember the story about her dad. He was rich and her mother was a nobody, not good enough to marry. She must carry that wound close to her heart.
“Fine,” I say, even though having her at Thanksgiving dinner is the last thing I want. “You’re probably the only reason it will not be a shit show. What else?”
“I want a raise.” Her voice is flat, like she’s defeated rather than elated by the idea. Usually money tweaks her–although I guess that’s the double-edged sword. It was her perception of her own lack that allowed me to hurt her so badly.
“How much?”
“Double.”
“Done.”
I see none of her usual glee at winning a negotiation, and it makes my chest throb even more. She rolls out of the bed with her back to me and walks toward the bathroom. She looks small and so fucking fragile.