Can you die of a broken heart? For a Wolf, the answer is yes. Can what's broken be mended? That depends.
It's been a year since his mate's betrayal, and Martin lives for one thing: his kids. As a single dad, he devotes himself to ensuring his child...
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Content warning: explicit
The night air is cool against our skin, but the exertions of passion warm us quickly. Martin's sighs and soft moans are sweet as music to my ears, and I draw them from his lips like nectar as I kiss him.
Gradually, he had surrendered himself to me, piece by piece, until he lay soft and malleable as butter in my arms. A brush of my hand and he shivers; a stroke of fingers and he gasps. The slide of his tongue is hot silk against mine; the catch of his breath a spark that ignites a fire.
I love his softness and the smoothness of his skin, and trail kisses down his body in a meandering path. My tongue teases the erect bud of a nipple, and his barely stifled cry tells me I found a sensitive spot. I subject him to this amorous torment a while, my hand tracing a slow trail up his thigh, until his breath quickens.
Shifting my position, I pause to meet his eyes and smile.
"You're beautiful," I say.
Even breathless with arousal, a trace of his self-consciousness returns. "If you say so."
"I do. And I want you to feel as beautiful as you appear to me."
"I suppose there's no accounting... for taste," he gasps, as I settle between his thighs.
"Speaking of taste..."
I grin and sink below his line of sight to lick the tip of his stiff little cock. He's got nothing to be ashamed of, as far as I'm concerned: just on the small side of average. Perfect for sucking on.
His body jolts as I take him in my mouth and he stifles a whimper as I set to work. When his abdominal muscles contract and I taste precum, I stop.
"Turn over," I say, reaching for the bottle of oil.
His breath hitches and his eyes widen in the dark, twin moons reflected in the black orbs.
"Only if you want to," I amend. "Only if you're sure."
"I'm sure," he whispers, and turns over, raising himself on his elbows and knees.
"Talk to me," I say. "Tell if it's good, or if it hurts. Tell me to stop, and I'll stop."
He nods, then whispers, "Okay."
I study his form and hesitate a moment more. He's offering himself willingly, and I sense his passions match my own, but after everything he's told me, I wonder if it isn't too soon; if this will hurt, or help him heal.
Then he does as I'd asked, and speaks.
"Sky... please."
I rest a hand on his back. "Please, what?"
"Please... fuck me already. I want you to fuck me... please."
I swallow, more turned on by his breathless plea than I care to admit, and uncap the oil.
