Grace of a Wolf-Chapter 58: Grace: Climax (END OF BOOK ONE)

Why does he keep talking? Every time he opens his damn mouth, it makes the throbbing harder.

"You want this."

Telling him I don’t seems kind of... well, pointless. Because my body, my actions, my everything right now is giving him an entire different story. And he isn’t wrong. Murderer or whatever, it doesn’t change the fire he’s bringing to my blood, the tense anticipation which has me quivering as his fingers slip just a little bit closer.

"Say it, Grace," Caine demands. The words are so rough, his voice so deep, my hips jerk. "Tell me you want this."

I press my lips together. Some wanton part of me wants to do as he says, but the overwhelming majority denies his request, the embarrassment too much to overcome. Even with it flushing my cheeks, though, my body continues its responses. A shiver here. A sharp intake of breath there. A wiggle of my hips to entice his fingers further, until they finally reach the edge of my panties.

More.

Higher.

"Stubborn little human," he murmurs. "I can hear your heartbeat racing. I can smell your desire. It’s so thick I could choke on it. Is that what you want, Grace? For me to die in your arms?"

How does he say things so easily? It just comes out like he doesn’t feel any mortification at all. Meanwhile, I’m slamming my palms against my face, hiding behind them as if they might shield me from his shamelessly erotic words. As if covering my flaming cheeks might somehow cool the heat spreading throughout my body.

"Look at me."

I shake my head behind my hands once more.

His hips shift, his legs spreading mine wider. Then his hand leaves my hip to wrap around one of my wrists; not pulling, just holding it where it rests. "I want to see your eyes when you admit what’s happening between us."

The gentleness in his voice almost undoes me. Almost. I expected the Lycan King to continue his demands. To force. Conquer. This patient coaxing feels more dangerous somehow.

"You’ve never felt this before, have you?" His thumb traces circles on the inside of my wrist. "With him."

The mention of Rafe should douse the fire, but instead it burns hotter with indignation. I stiffen, but his fingers swoop under the edge of my underwear, gaining access to the slick arousal beneath. My breath hitches.

Caine chuckles, the sound dark and knowing. "Your silence tells me everything I need to know."

He sounds so smug, but the brief flash of irritation over Rafe’s name disappears under the assault from down below. Hard, hot fingers glide, shoving my panties to the side, and I arch my hips up, moaning when they brush the entrance. There’s a small spot there, more sensitive than the rest, and I want him to press it hard. To grind down. To rub and do whatever he wishes.

But instead his fingers slide up, finding something just as good. He flicks and pinches and twists, harassing my clit just a little before sliding down again. Back and forth. Leaving me breathless and whimpering, legs quivering.

He taps his fingers at the entrance of me; not shoving inside, but almost like... I’m not sure. It’s hard to catalogue what I’m feeling down there.

It feels like he’s covering my vagina like a freaking garden hose, and why does it feel so good? I rotate my pelvis, and one finger slides just a millimeter inside, pushing down. I groan in half relief, but it isn’t enough. I need more.

"I could make you beg, you know." His voice drops an octave, rougher now. "I could touch you until you forget who you are. Until the only word left for you to scream is my name."

Ah, that beautiful mouth of his.

My breath catches. My eyes squeeze shut even tighter, as if darkness might somehow dilute everything.

It doesn’t.

"Fuck," he mutters, and his teasing fingers press harder. "Your scent..."

Suddenly, he swivels his hand a little and something blunt and hot slides inside, stretching the sensitive skin. It’s a pleasant ache. More than pleasant. I want... more.

Bigger.

Deeper.

"Two," he groans. "Fuck. You’re tight, but you’re wet enough to take two right away. How fucking perfect."

A sharp, rapid-fire knocking interrupts the perfection.

Caine freezes above me, a low growl building in his chest. I should be horrified. Mortified.

All my arousal should be flying out the window.

Instead, I push my hips down, forcing his fingers in just a little farther. My hands slide off my face, eyes still closed as I reach frantically for the hand between my thighs.

"I know I’m interrupting," Lyre’s unmistakably bored voice filters through the door, "but your boyfriend’s presence is required."

Caine growls. "Ignore her."

I already am, grabbing onto his forearm with both hands and pulling.

He obeys instantly, slamming his fingers all the way in without warning. My back arches as I let out a little scream, and he bends over me with a groan, grabbing my jaw and yanking my face toward his.

"Open your fucking eyes, Grace."

"Again, his presence is required," Lyre intones, knocking again.

Everything downstairs tenses. She could open the door at any time. Walk in. See what we’re doing. It would be a horribly embarrassing situation; I’d never be able to look her in the eyes again.

So why is my entire body writhing, shoving harder against him? Why am I opening my eyes at his command?

Fuck reason. Fuck rationality. I don’t even know what’s happening anymore.

"Please." The word flies from my mouth without permission. "Please, Caine."

I cringe at the desperate sound of my own voice, too arousal-drunk to care. He’s still, frozen above me as if my plea surprised him as much as it did me. I meet his eyes, vulnerable and helpless. Pleading.

His lips twitch with a suppressed smile. Storm-gray eyes brighten. They’re glittering with intent and wildness, bringing a flutter to my stomach.

I swear it still feels as if there’s something connecting us, pulling something out of me and shoving it all into him at every point our skin makes contact. Especially down there, with his fingers...

"What a good girl, Grace." He shifts his hand, curling his fingers inside me. Watching my face as he moves them. "Is that what you want, Grace? Do you want more?"

"Yes."

The admission costs me all my self-respect.

He rocks his fingers inside me. Slow at first, dragging them out, then in, as my body acclimates to the gentle stretch. It’s exquisite and still not enough, but soon his pace increases until he’s pistoning his fingers, creating the most awkwardly erotic squelching I’ve ever heard.

Half of me wants to kick him off and run because oh my God, is that the sound my body makes when his finger’s inside of me?

But the other half...

"More," I whimper, my hips shaking and rolling and rocking with each thrust. "Harder, please."

His fingers stutter for a second, only for his thumb to rub against my clit. Electricity shoots through me, white-hot and pulsing, and then he’s moving again, circling and pressing and curling his fingers in time with the flick of his thumb.

"Seriously, I’m going to open the door in five seconds," Lyre shouts.

"Come for me," he demands on a growl. "Come on my fingers like a good girl before your friend comes in and sees you spread out like this, taking all my fingers inside you."

His dirty words are too much, and it’s like flipping a switch. My spine bows, arching up off the cushions, and I squeeze my eyes shut as a strangled cry rips from my throat. That strange feeling of energy between us grows; this time it isn’t the feeling of a gentle absorption. It’s like a gushing river, from me to him.

"Four seconds!"

My entire body snaps like a rubber band stretched thin as his fingers return to pistoning, slamming into me harder. Deeper. Just like I’d requested.

And I come like a geyser, bearing down with all the tension in my body as something pours out of me, drenching his hand.

"Three seconds. I’m not kidding, you perverts."

It’s too much. Too perfect.

"What a good fucking girl," he says, slamming into me one last time with the last word.

I collapse, spent, little more than a puddle of Grace on the daybed.

My limbs are impossibly heavy as Caine’s fingers slip free. The room’s spinning, the ceiling moving in circles above me.

"That was..." I can’t finish the thought. My tongue is thick and clumsy in my mouth, like I’ve the strength even to form words.

Caine hovers over me, his face blurring at the edges. Something’s wrong. My vision darkens around the periphery, narrowing to a pinpoint. The strange connection between us pulses once more, but now it feels as if there’s nothing left in me to pull from.

Like I’ve been drained dry.

"Grace?" His voice sounds distant, underwater.

My eyelids flutter. Too heavy to keep open. How strange. It’s like... am I fainting?

Lyre’s voice is the last thing I hear, distorted beneath the haze filling my ears. "Two seconds and I’m coming in there, even if your dick is out."

Blackness swallows me before I can hear the rest.