"Mary Janice Davidson - Wyndham Werewolves 01 - Love's Prisoner" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davidson Mary Janice)

inside her again while his fingernail flicked past her clitoris, and she shivered so hard she nearly bucked
him off.

He growled. The sound did not frighten her. It kindled her blood, made her want to growl back, made
her want to sink her teeth into his flesh while his flesh sank into her again . . . and again . . . and again . . .

She realized dimly that he wasn't growling, he was saying her name, but his voice was so thick and deep
she could hardly understand him. "Jeannie—let your—hands go?"

"Yes!" she screamed, wild to touch him, to feel his flesh against hers, to rip off his clothes as he had
ripped hers. He released her wrists and in a flash her arms were around him, pressing him closer, she was
tearing at his shirt, frantic to get the damned cloth off him and he was helping her and now her clothes
weren't the only ones in shredded ruin, after all, what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the
werewolf, and—

His hands were beneath her buttocks, raising her to him, and she could feel that long, hard, hot part of
him nudging for entrance. For an instant, reason reclaimed her. Was she really going to do this? This
crazy thing? She had no protection and without it, in this day and age, she was taking her life in her
hands. And why was she cooperating in her own rape, for the love of God?

"Wait—" she said in a thin, high voice, but he drove forward, thrust into her with power and searing heat
and her good sense left her; she threw back her head and screamed until she thought her throat would
burst, screamed at him to nevernever stop and still he came, that hot hard length parting her, filling her,
and it should have hurt, it should have, he was very large and she hadn't known a lover in years, but her
need for him was as great as his for her, and instead of hurting, she needed more.

When he was seated completely within her, somehow, somehow, he made himself stop; he gathered her
against him and she could hear the furious hammering of his heart. His hands behind her back were hard
fists and he was shaking as though he had a fever, and still he stopped. When he forced the words out
she could barely understand him.
"—doesn't—hurt?"

"No," she gasped, wriggling against him, his throbbing cock within her making her frantic. "No no no
please, please you can't stop now you can't you can't you—"

"You're—very small—sure—doesn't hurt?"

"—you can't you can't please I please don't make me—"

"Don't—be afraid—tell truth." He took a deep, shuddering breath; his fists were still clenching beneath
her and, very distantly, she heard carpet tearing. "Can try—wait—if you—"

"—beg, don't make me beg, please please please PLEASE!"

He pulled away but before she had time to groan her disappointment he slammed forward. His mouth
covered hers, his tongue mating with hers as he took her again and again, as they made love so fiercely
the elevator shook. And above it all, beyond it all, she could hear someone screaming with hoarse joy
and dimly realized it was she making the noise.

Her orgasm slammed into her as he was, spasms so fierce she could actually feel her uterus contracting.