Page 21 of Wolf Duke

Alaric laughed against her silken skin as he continued tormenting her nipples, circling with his tongue and lightly scoring with his teeth. “If you think this feels good, imagine my tongue inside you.”

“Then take me…my king.”

The words would forever inflame him. With a feral snarl, he gripped the back of Evaine’s neck and kissed her deeply, mastering her petal-soft lips before plunging his tongue into her mouth. But she was no passive receiver, winding her arms about his neck and tangling her tongue with his.

He groaned, only breaking the kiss when catching his breath seemed impossible. But the call of her drenched center was far too strong. “Spread your thighs, sweetheart. I’m going to kiss your cunt.”

If she could capture a moment in time it would be this one: Alaric gazing at her with such desire, such possessiveness…yet also something much deeper, like she was dawn after an endless night.

He was her fated mate; they had the marks to prove it. Now he would teach her so much more about pleasure.

Evaine leaned back on her hands, bringing her feet up to the edge of the desk for balance and offering him a long look at her drenched center. Then she teased him by immediately pressing her thighs back together. It made Alaric’s eyes flash, and his growl of warning made her wetter than ever. Indeed, she might be a strong and bold she-wolf, but there was something so exciting about provoking her alpha king until he dominated her thoroughly. “Perhaps I spoke too soon. Surely a reward is much sweeter when one battles for it…my king.”

Without warning she was flat on her back, the smooth, polished wood of the desk cool against her fevered skin. His muscled forearms curled around her spread thighs, anchoring her in place. “That saucy tongue, Evaine,” Alaric rumbled, as he leaned down to inhale deeply of her scent, before blowing gently on her bush, ruffling the crisp hair.

Before, he’d kissed her with unleashed passion. Now the cool, calm king had returned, the one who would torment her until she begged for release.

Evaine moaned, attempting to lift her hips so she might grind her throbbing, aching center against his chin, or even better, be closer for his tongue.

But her mate merely laughed. “Now, what were you saying about rewards being sweeter when one battles for it, Evie?”

“Alaric.”

“I must confess,” he said conversationally, as though they were two humans discussing the weather, “if I knew no other scent than your wet cunt until the end of time, I would be quite content. It is like earth and air and water and fire and honey cakes combined. Sweet and musky.”

“Then taste me,” Evaine pleaded. “Take me. Give me what I need.”

Alaric pulled back slightly, his thick brows drawing together. “Take you? Not until we are publicly mated and you are crowned Queen of the Western Lands. Such ceremonies take many weeks to prepare, perhaps as long as a month…”

Her outrage almost unleashed like a storm…until she saw his faint lip twitch. He was teasing her once more.

Evaine nodded slowly, then languidly lifted a hand to cup her right breast, lifting and weighing it, stroking it, before lightly pinching her own nipple. “Mmmm…you are right of course. A month. Yes, so many things to prepare. Fine clothing and jewels, a full banquet and entertainment, invitations to dignitaries, offerings to Leto…”

Alaric’s searing gaze fixed on her hand’s movements. “Tomorrow.”

She giggled, pinching her nipple with more force. “Ooooh. Certainly not. The tapestry with both royal crests must be embroidered. We’ll need colored flags for the ramparts. And your soothsayer needs time to arrange the ceremony. Two weeks.”

“Three days,” he responded, tracing her inner thigh with the tip of his tongue.

Goddess. How is anyone supposed to think when their mate does that?

“One week,” Evaine managed breathlessly. “We must have a proper ceremony that welcomes the future and honors the past, Alaric.”

“One week,” he agreed, his eyes glinting, and a part of her just knew that had been his intention all along. Wicked wolf!

She batted her lashes at him. “Now, are you going to do what you promised, or must I find someone else…oh!”

Evaine bucked as Alaric nuzzled the crisp hair between her legs, parting it slightly and nudging the swollen bud nestled there. Then, balancing on his elbows, he used his thumbs to spread her glistening nether petals.

“Watch me,” he growled. “Watch me feast.”

At the first touch of his rough tongue on her pleasure bud, Evaine moaned at the jolt that lanced through her entire body. But as he laved and nipped, as he circled the nub then took it into his mouth and suckled, she could only thrash atop the desk as once more that wave of heady sensation built and built. Without warning it exploded, and she cried out his name as bliss crashed over her.

Yet he didn’t stop. Alaric merely moved down a little and began lapping up the honey trickling from her center. On a few occasions she’d heard human women whisper about the delights of a lover’s mouth, but surely nothing in the world could compare to Alaric’s tongue. The roughness. The dexterity. The hunger. Even better, the strength and force as he plunged it inside her channel, entering and withdrawing and rubbing and flicking…

Evaine’s fingers tangled in Alaric’s thick hair as she held him in place, never wanting this perfect pleasuring of her needy core to end. She might not be able to move her legs, but as he hurled her toward ecstasy a second time, her hips bounced on the desk, her toes gripped the edge, and she screamed as she found her peak once more.

Panting for air, her mind empty in a most peaceful way, Evaine sighed happily. “Is it Western Land lore that a mate must use his tongue at least every other day? If not, then you must rewrite it at once.”