Psy & Changelings 09 - Play of Passion

strokes, but his rhythm was too fast, too aggressive, and her body was already tightening into an explosive bow. It didn’t matter—it was impossible to halt the movements of her hips now, her flesh claiming and releasing his in an abandoned sexual rhythm that drove him impossibly deeper. Somewhere in between, she realized the fingers of his free hand were locked with hers as it lay palm up beside her head.
    The tension built inside her. Tighter. Hotter. Agonizing. “Drew!” It was a scream as the pressure reached boiling point and exploded.
    Her last thought was that Drew, too, had finally let go.
     
     
    She roused some time later to find that he’d flipped them again, so that she lay sprawled on his chest. Her right hand remained entangled with his, while her left hand was curved around the back of his neck. She’d hooked one leg over his hip; the other lay stretched over one muscular male leg, the hairs on his skin deliciously abrasive against her sensitized flesh.
    His own hand stroked up and down her back, a little rough, all perfect. “Wake up, Indy.”
    “Mmm.” Shifting a fraction, she felt his renewed erection against the skin of her inner thigh. “Even changelings can’t recover that fast.” Her heart was still pumping from the ecstasy of the first ride. She was fairly sure the stars dancing in her vision had nothing to do with the ones in the sky.
    He turned her onto her back, one of his arms cushioning her head. “See,” he said, “this is what you get for choosing a younger lover.” That cocky, teasing light was back in his eyes.
    She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it, missed him.
    Swinging her leg back over his hip, she pulled him down until he was braced on his elbows above her. “Is this where I have to lie still?”
    “Yes.” He pushed up her other leg so it was bent at the knee . . . and slid into her in a blunt thrust.
    Her spine arched off the sleeping bag. “Drew!”
    Freezing, he brushed her hair off her face. “You weren’t ready?”
    She heard the naked concern, saw the wolf flicker in his eyes. Stroking her arms around his chest, she nipped at his jaw. “Oh, I was ready—but a little warning might be nice.”
    A slow smile spread across his face, the wolf continuing to glow in his eyes, but amused now in the most sensual of ways. “No, I don’t think so.” Taking her mouth before she could snap at him for that adorably arrogant statement, he began to move in her.
    She’d enjoyed the hell out of their first ride, expected hard, rough strokes again; he was a young (younger!) male and finesse wasn’t exactly a strong point at that age. Except this was Drew—unpredictable, wild Drew. His strokes were long and slow and deep this time, and her claws were digging into his shoulders by the fourth, her body undulating beneath his.
    He closed his teeth over her lower lip in playful reprimand. “You’re not lying still.” One hand cupped her breast, fingers tugging at the taut peak of her nipple.
    Inhaling a gasping breath, she opened her eyes to fire a retort . . . and saw the wolf looking down at her. “Hello,” she whispered.
    His answer was to kiss her, his tongue pushing inside her mouth in audacious demand, his body strong and beautiful above her as he drove her stroke by slow stroke to another shimmering peak. This time, she held him as he shattered, his body going taut above her.
    When he collapsed on top of her, she nuzzled him close, one leg wrapped around him, the other raised at the knee by his side. It felt sinfully luxurious to lie here so very, very sated with a man who made her body sing . . . and who apparently, she thought, licking her tongue over a few of the claw marks on his shoulders, had no trouble with the fact that she got more than a little wild during sex.
    To be honest—her grin was wide and bright—it would be pretty much impossible to be too wild with a lover as unrestrained and as enthusiastic as Drew. Rubbing her cheek against the side of his head, she ran her fingers through his hair, massaging his nape.
    Stirring a little, he relaxed even more heavily on top of her.
    And with that much muscle, he was heavy. But she wasn’t made of glass—and there was something to be said for being covered by the hot blanket of a sated male wolf. Smile curving her mouth, she tugged the top of the sleeping bag over him so he wouldn’t freeze, and then she continued to pet him, this wolf who’d made every one of her preconceptions come