Aviva
Warmth. I feel warm to the bone and heavy as I roll to the side and snuggle deeper against the body beside me. My hands drift up his stomach to his chest, tracing taut muscles until I reach the half-moon shaped scar on his shoulder. He stirs, rolling over and running his calloused hand over the slope of my naked hip, over my thigh.
When he kisses me, it’s unhurried, his tongue sweeping over mine and exploring any place he hasn’t yet discovered. My breasts ache as he rolls my peaked nipples between his fingers, stirring that desperate, unending want between my legs.
His tongue dances with mine as he slides a hand down over my belly, his fingers reaching for my slit, and he finds me wet and aching for him.
He hums with satisfaction, his mouth still on mine, and whispers, “What have you done to me, little wolf? I can’t get enough.”
I gasp, my eyes flying open to pale gray daylight streaming through the window over the bed. It’s raining hard, pelting the window in little rivers that flow down the glass.
I’m in Ryan’s bed. I slept for hours, I’m sure, because, for once, my brain doesn’t feel clouded by fog, and I’m acutely aware that I’m not alone. Ryan’s arm is draped over my waist, his hand clutching the slope of my hip, warm and tender.
I shift my weight, trying to slip out of his embrace, but my thighs slide together from the wetness pooled between them. The friction is enough to send a jolt of heat licking up my spine, igniting more of that nonsensical desire that’s making things exceedingly difficult for me right now. Memories of last night start to trickle in, but it’s not enough. It’s not enough to break me out of the haze of the dream I just had, of the faded details that I’m trying to clutch and hang onto, just so I don’t have to feel anything else.
What Ryan said to me last night at the hot spring isn’t lost on me, but he was there when I spiraled out of control, when I couldn’t breathe, when any rational thought in my mind left the building, and I lost myself entirely.
Now, I’m in his arms, and I don’t know what to do.
“You okay?”
I turn to look at him. His face is cast in shadow, but his eyes are open and locked on mine. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I don’t even get a thank you?”
“For what?” I scowl at him, and he smiles softly, sleepily. His gaze drops from my eyes to my lips, swollen from biting down on them last night, I’m sure, and then down to my… breasts.
My nipples are peaked, and it’s evident through the thin fabric of my dress. He looks back up at me. My breath hitches in my throat as the hand still resting on my hip moves upward just a touch, just enough for the sensation of his touch to bloom across my skin, and I fold.
I cup his cheek, his stubble tickling my palm as I run my fingers into his hair. He leans into the touch. He likes this, I realize. He likes having his hair played with, pulled. I wonder if he knows how his lips part, and he makes that little sound in his throat that has my heart skipping beats when I gently tug on the strands.
He closes his eyes and groans as I rack my nails over his scalp, his hand sliding up my side and over my chest. He palms my breast, dragging his thumb over my nipples in slow, deliberate strokes that leave me panting. My lips part as he opens his eyes to slits, his gaze heavy and heated. “Aviva,” he groans, flicking his thumb over my nipple, and I moan.
He groans low in his throat, and then his mouth is on mine–hot and reckless. Our teeth clash as he rolls over on top of me, his tongue dragging over my lower lip. He bites down, moaning, and I open my mouth in invitation.
He takes it, and the kiss turns feral in a way I didn’t know it could. His tongue swirls around mine while he tangles his hands in my hair, his knee drawing up between my thighs, and I’m… a goner.
This man can kiss. At least, I’m pretty sure this isn’t normal. This can’t be what everyone feels. If it is, why don’t people talk about it? Why would I have had any reason to be nervous to share a bed with him when my body wants this?
His hands drop from my hair to explore other places. His fingers glide over my collarbone and back down to my breasts, thumbing my nipples before dipping lower, and lower, until he moves his knee and cups me between my legs.
I arch my back off the bed as feeling explodes through me, showering me in pleasure I’ve never experienced.
“Fuck, Aviva,” he growls, releasing me from the kiss and gazing down at me. He props himself on one elbow as he rubs the heel of his hand up and down over that sweet, aching spot between my thighs.
I bite down on my lip, my eyes fluttering shut as sensation builds and builds.
He dips his head down again, sucking a bruise into the crook of my neck. I grab his arms, writhing beneath him.
He’s still in his clothes from last night. I wish he wasn’t. All I want right now is to feel his skin, to smell him, to bury myself against him, and again, I’m reminded that this isn’t normal. This can’t be. This feeling like I’ll die unless he touches me where no one has ever touched me before.
The sensation dies, and I’m left wanting when his hand drags over my thigh, bunching up the fabric of my dress.
“Do you touch yourself?” he rasps against my neck, his teeth nibbling the tender skin there.
“Yes,” I nod as his fingers move in a featherlight touch toward my inner thigh.
“Show me.”
All of the air leaves my lungs as he straightens, his eyes dark with need. He nudges my legs apart, kneeling between them, all while keeping his eyes locked on mine.
I can barely catch my breath but my hand moves on its own accord, traveling over my breasts, down my belly, toward my sex. He watches every move I make with a predator's gaze–sharp and focused. My hand slips beneath my dress, now bunched over my hips. My fingers slide between my wet, aching folds, and the sound I make is guttural and far away, something I’ve never heard before.
I stroke my clit with easy, slow circles, all while he watches. Slowly, his hands run up my thighs. He grips them, his head bent as I speed up, chasing the feeling he started.
“More,” he commands, and his tone is nearly even to send me over the edge.
One of his hands slips down as his eyes meet mine again. He slowly presses a finger through my folds and I swear he trembles when he realizes how wet I am. With his gaze locked on mine, his lips parting, he presses his finger inside of me.
“Ohhh.” I arch into the feeling, the stretch, my walls clenching around him.
He adds a second finger, and it’s almost too much. I inhale sharply, slowing my own fingers.
“You can take it,” he says in a low whisper that sets my soul aflame. He thrusts his fingers inside of me, hooking them, drawing out a moan as I tremble around him. Every part of me is focused on his touch, of the feeling of him slowly dragging his fingers in, and out, hitting a place deep within that has my muscles coiling with tension. His thumb slides over my swollen clit, and I almost come. He chuckles, low and dark. “Not yet, little wolf.”
“Bossy,” I manage to say, but my voice is ragged and broken by a sharp intake of breath as he lowers his head and…
I grab his head, tangling my fingers in his hair and pulling hard, but his tongue swirls over my clit while his fingers stay fixed inside of me. “Ryan!”
He growls, his voice sending exquisite vibrations through my center. “I want you to scream my name the next time you say it.”
He sucks and licks, sometimes using his teeth, and I’m losing my will to even breathe as my body succumbs to his touch. I draw my knees up, his head lodged between my shaking thighs as he picks up the pace, working me into a frenzy that leaves me dizzy and gasping.
He pulls out his fingers and grips my thighs, pulling them apart so I’m laid out like a meal before him, and he feasts.
White-hot, blinding pleasure rips through me. I bite down on my lip to stop from screaming as I come undone. My legs shake as I arch my back, twisting to the side as pleasure explodes through my thighs, my lower back, and my core.
“Ryan!” I gasp, my eyes squeezed shut, my lungs burning for air.
This isn’t what I thought this would be like. Whatever this was… I want it again. And again.
He keeps going, groaning as I ride out the orgasm on his tongue. He kisses my inner thigh then rises, crawling over me to press a firm kiss to my lips, his tongue sliding over mine.
His cock grinds into my thigh, but he’s still clothed. That’s what comes next, right? He’s going to break me apart, I can already tell.
I reach down and clasp him over his pants. He makes a sound deep in his throat, hissing out a breath as I run the heel of my hand down his length, and back up again.
“What have you done to me?” he asks against my lips.
Goddess, I need him inside of me. I have to have him. I’m going to cry if I can’t have him. Right. Now.
But he kisses me again, softer this time, a gentle peck that leaves me… confused.
He pulls away, resting his hands on the bed for a moment with his hand bent so I can’t see his face.
“Stay here.” He’s gone in a flash, but he doesn’t leave the house. His footsteps sound in the darkroom, and when he returns, looking mussed from sleep, his lips slightly puffy and cheeks a ruddy pink, he’s carrying something in his hand.
“Stay right where you are, don’t move,” he rasps like someone took a rake to his vocal cords. The notion that I affected him so greatly whirls through my body, sending a shimmering sense of pride and possession coasting through me, unlocking parts of me I hadn’t known were there. He climbs back onto the bed and straddles me, reaching to part the curtains, then pulls them back again, adjusting the way the morning light plays over my face.
“Don’t move,” he whispers, looking down at the thing in his hands. It’s square, metal, with sharp lines and a strange… nose of sorts that sticks out from the center. He raises it to his face.
My lips part in anticipation for what this thing can do, why he has it, and why it’s covering his eyes, but then a soft click echoes between us. This is his camera, I think.
His whole body is relaxed in a way I haven’t even seen when he’s asleep, like this object is his lifeline in some way, just like… just like my bow, which is gone now.
He reaches for me, twisting a curl around his finger before letting it go against my cheek, but his hand lingers there, his thumb resting on my lower lip, slightly dragging it down. Another soft click fills the space between us, the sound only broken by our heartbeats.
“We have a lot to do today,” he says softly, lowering the camera.
“Can I take your picture?”
He holds my gaze, his mouth twitching softly, like he’s trying to decide what his answer might be.
“Sure. Some time. Right now… I want you to spend the day with Shoshannah.”
I frown.