Ghost Stalker by Jenna Kernan

a tension she recognized asworry, although she knew it would appear as callousness to one who did not know him. “He’s a wolf. He can take care of himself.”
     
    Nicholas stroked his tongue across Jessie’s ripe pink nipple, glorying in the cries of excitement she gave. They were like fuel to his internal fires.
    This wild, beautiful and passionate Spirit Child had consented to have him. He did not question it.
    This woman, Jessie, she did something to him, something new. The urgency, for one thing. He used all his control not to rush to take what she offered. A sheen of sweat covered them now, adding to the fragrance of arousal and the glide of skin on skin.
    He moved lower, kissing the velvet of her stomach as he peeled away the scrap of lace that kept him from her.
    The nest of dark, tight curls and the moan of anticipation spurred him. He dipped a finger into her honeyed cleft and kissed her as she arched toward him. He kissed and licked as his fingers moved within her. With the other hand he stroked her from the sensitive mound of her breast to the silky skin of her inner thigh. She moved as gracefully as the ocean, rhythmic and eternal.
    She reached her first climax as he kissed her, gasping out his name. He closed his eyes to savor the sweetness of her surrender. Then he brushed his mouth against her inner thigh, to remove the moisture that clung there, and scaled her body like an explorer.
    She splayed her legs as he settled between her thighs,poised to take her. Their gazes met, hers sleepy and sultry, his, no doubt, hungry. The smile she gave him both satisfied and aroused. In it she promised him pleasure, but something more; he knew it was more. This joining, though new, seemed familiar, as if he should remember her, them.
    He brushed aside the odd rumination and grasped her hips.
    “You’re sweet as honey,” he whispered. Who would have expected such passion from a Spirit Child? This was a side of her personality she had kept hidden, this passion and this heat.
    She threaded her fingers in his hair and drew him forward for a kiss, thrusting her tongue into his mouth as he thrust into her.
    She cried out and fell back, arching to meet him. The slide of his turgid flesh against her soft folds made him groan in pleasure. The bump of his hips to her pelvis signaled their joining. He paused there and then drew back. Despite the intimate connection, he needed the connection of her gaze, needed to see if she felt the uniqueness of this.
    In his time on earth, he had slept with many women, too many to count. He could not say exactly what was different, but recognized it just the same. Her anticipation of his needs, his ability to make her lose her reserve and the complete honesty of this moment all struck him.
    He gazed at her, seeing her for the first time as she truly was, ripe, real and passionate. She wanted him, wanted this. He knew she was not like him, randy and promiscuous.
    That she had accepted him, allowed him entrance into her body was nearly unfathomable.
    And then he realized what was different, the reason for his added pleasure, the cause of his increased arousal.
    He was not just guessing at her feelings. He knew them. Felt them as clearly as he experienced his own.
    What was this?
    The shock of his realization caused him to draw back. It was a mistake, the straw on the camel, the step too far.
    He felt the quickening inside her as her climax threatened. The rolling wave of pleasure merged with his own. Together they were unstoppable.
    He surged forward again, gripping her as if to keep himself from falling. He was falling. She lifted her hips and arched her back, opening to his thrusts.
    Her cries mingled with his long groan of release as they toppled into a crashing ecstasy, a waterfall of tumbling, tumult that tangled their limbs together.
    His body jolted awake, the wave of pleasure dissolving into the jagged pain of his waking reality. His face burned, his ribs pulsed with agony and…oh,