A Study on the Sex Life of a Werewolf's Mate

Chapter 10: The Need to Mark

It took a concerted effort to keep from either grinding her teeth in annoyance or biting her lip as her stomach flipped uncomfortably, insecurities she'd long believed conquered reemerging to taunt her.

Insecurities she rationally knew were entirely unjustified. As though in reassurance, the barely month-old silvery scar on the juncture of her shoulder seemed to tingle.

Unfortunately it did little to help.

It just set her teeth on edge to see another woman sniffing around her mate!

Okay, that was uncharitable. She huffed, leaning back against the table and dropping her face in her hands, forcibly trying to ignore the thrumming, insistent pressure deep in her chest. But seeing the Pack's only unmated female wolf so near the Alpha - her mate - what felt like every time she looked his way? It left her feeling restless and irritable and like her skin was far too tight and too warm and -

"Pet?"

She looked up and the flushed feeling blooming beneath her skin flared at the sight of her mate - her tall, broad, thickly muscled and very, very male mate - standing framed by the back door of their cottage.

Their cottage.

Her mate.

Her core clenched, her knickers suddenly uncomfortably slick and feeling far too restrictive.

His nostrils flared, a low, feral rumble sounding deep in his chest. His gaze gleamed, dark and swiftly bleeding gold and, as palpable as a physical touch, slid slowly, sensually down from hers to her parted lips and further to the suddenly pronounced rise and fall of her chest.

And lower still as she leant back against the table, letting her knickers drop the rest of the way to the floor as she pushed them down past the curve of her thighs.

His golden eyes glowed with hunger.

A hunger she was very certain was echoed in her own consuming gaze as she stared right back.

She licked her lips, her mouth watering as her gaze traced up the long, powerful lines of his legs, lingering hungrily on the pronounced bulge straining the front of his worn jeans, and up along his sinfully defined abdomen and solidly muscled - and deliciously heaving - chest that his old cotton shirt did nothing to hide, across his broad, tense shoulders and corded neck back to those gleaming, feral-gold eyes.

Not breaking contact for a moment, she tugged the knee-length skirt of her sensible sundress up and spread her knees. Grinning wolfishly - and didn't she nearly roll her eyes at that observation - he stalked toward her, his shirt swiftly joining her knickers on the floor even as his hands fell with single-minded purpose to his waistband. Leaning back on her hands, she closed her eyes, already panting with vindicated anticipation as she spread her legs wider at the unspoken request of the large, calloused palms smoothing up her thighs.

Only to gasp with surprise as, instead of a hard, thick cock pushing into her, a hot, eager mouth delved eagerly between her legs instead.

She shuddered, her head falling back briefly at the unexpected sensation, moaning low and deep in her throat. Her thighs trembled where he'd hooked them lazily over his shoulders, threatening to clamp shut in an instinctive effort to urge him closer as his tongue dipped shallowly inside her, rumbling with satisfaction as he greedily lapped up her slick, before turning his focus almost solely to her nub, his beard scratching deliciously at the over-sensitive flesh between her legs with every kiss and nip and suckle. Liquid heat coiled and throbbed deep in her belly, radiating out beneath her flushed skin in flaring, heady waves.

It was then that a long, tapered finger teased at her entrance before pressing into her, sinking deep and curling purposefully, torturously. Seeking.

And easily finding.