The Werewolf’s Bride: The Pack Rules #1 by Michele Bardsley

filled me, stretched me. He let my body get used to him, and he held me close, breathing hotly onto my neck, shuddering with his own feral longing.
    “Put your legs around me,” he said in an aching whisper. “And let me love you, Arabelle.”
    I did as he asked, slipping my legs around his waist while he settled even more deeply inside me.
    He began to thrust.
    In no time at all, I was lost in his sensual movements, and I found myself rocking to meet his every penetration, straining yet again for that nirvana.
    Erotic tension coiled tightly.
    Then Grey cried out, his expression one of exquisite pain, as he released his seed inside me. His final brutal thrust plunged me over the edge into beauty and light and fulfillment. He took a moment to recover, and then he blew out a breath and offered me a grin that had my toes curling. He rolled off me, and the sudden movement dislodged the plate of treats.
    Suddenly, it was raining cake and truffles.
    “Oh!” I cried as cakes splattered my naked flesh. A truffle rolled between my breasts, down the valley of my stomach and stopped right on the curls that hid my womanhood.
    “I’ll get that one,” said Grey. He didn’t seem to care that he was squishing desserts into the covers, onto me and him, as he sought the chocolate. In fact, he seemed to delight in it.
    He licked all round the dessert before slowly taking it into his mouth and chewing. He re-positioned himself beside me and looked at me, eyes filled with amusement. “Now that’s the best chocolate I’ve ever had.”
    “Grey!” I couldn’t help but laugh, and then, without quite thinking it through, I pushed him over and crawled on top him. He, too, became a victim of the cake debris.
    I leaned over him and kissed his naked chest, swiping at bits of frosting and smashed cake with my tongue. I could taste the faint musk of his skin. We both smelled like sweat and sex. It was an essence I liked.
    Grey’s skin was taut, all muscled curves and ridges. I feasted on his pectorals, trying to kiss every centimeter of flesh. I even dared to treat his tiny brown nipples like he had mine, and flicked my tongue across each hardened nub.
    As I explored his body with fingers and lips, his hands were restless on me, so restless that Grey pulled me forward so his mouth could ravage my breasts.
    Oh, sweet, sweet mercy. These marvelous zings traveled from my nipples to my core as he tugged one peak, then the other, between his teeth and flicked his tongue rapidly. An ache bloomed within.
    I popped out of his embrace, and he scowled at me. Laughing, I scooted down and rubbed my wet heat against his length. It pulsed against me, hardening.
    Anticipation trilled through me.
    My skin prickled, as if electrified. I was learning about my own body, what I liked, what I didn’t. Exploring this new part of who I was, indeed, learning about my own sensuality with Grey was gift. And learning about him, about how to please him—that was a gift, too.
    I loved the feel of him, the smell of him, the way he groaned as I explored his body, familiarizing myself with every curve, ridge, swell, and scar. I very much liked getting to know my mate, my husband, in this intimate way and I delighted in making him want me . I wanted him so much. I wanted to feel the way I had in his arms moments ago.
    Pleasure unbound.
    I placed my knees on either of his hips and hovered over his shaft.
    “Help me,” I said. “Please, Grey.”
    He held onto his manhood with one hand and placed the other on my hip, directing me until the tip of his shaft touched my entrance. He said, “Push down.”
    I did, slowly, taking in every delicious inch of him. He cupped my hips as I planted my palms on his chest and started to move. He was patient as I tried to figure out how to move, what felt good to me, what felt good to him.
    “Everything feels good to me, sweetheart,” said Grey as though he’d read my thoughts.
    I felt shaky, unsure, but willing—very, very willing.