TO CATCH A WOLF By Susan Krinard

Once before he had touched her there. What he had done in her room at the ranch was nothing compared to this. The very tip of his tongue teased her nipples to throbbing peaks, and then he took her into his mouth.

Athena had learned, long ago, that women’s breasts were made to feed and nurture infants. Now she discovered that they held secrets of pleasure only a man could unlock. Morgan suckled her, kneading her flesh between his hands. He drew tiny circles with his tongue and drew his teeth to the very tip before filling his mouth with her. Athena let her head fall back, revelling in the body Morgan so adored.

This body, this woman’s body so perfectly designed to fit his. And Morgan was determined to make himself acquainted with every part of it. Athena was not sure she could stand the wait.

He gave her no choice. His was a gentle tyranny of pleasure. When he had finished with one breast he moved to the other and gave it equal attention, drinking in her moans with quick kisses.

Then he slid her down, her thighs parted to either side of his hips. She did not quite dare to look between them. The sleek hardness of his erection pushed against her, the hot tip very near to the place that had become so wet and swollen. Already her body knew what it would feel like, how the delicious agony would be soothed only when he filled the hollow ache inside.

But his fingers found her instead, skimming between her legs until they found the hidden nub. His thumb stroked in a rhythmic motion while his other arm supported her even when her legs could no longer hold her up.

A little more, just a little more, and she would find her way to paradise. But it was too soon. This time, when it happened, she wanted him with her in every way. Blindly she reached for any part of him that she could touch and found the warm, ridged plane of his belly.

He caught her wrist and pressed her hand to his chest. He bent her back, and her newly supple body arched to lift her hips over Morgan’s thighs, her knees to either side of his, her hair spread across the cave floor.

She was utterly exposed. Helpless, yes, but not in the way she had been in her chair. This was willing surrender, excitement, anticipation of inconceivable joys ahead.

It was not long in coming. Something slipped inside her, past the yielding gateway so open to Morgan’s touch. She gasped in surprise.

He leaned over her and kissed her brow. “I am making you ready,” he said. And she knew it was fingers that had found their way inside, preparing her, making her mad for a bolder penetration.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered, brushing her ear with his lips. “So eager to take me inside you.”

The human words he had foresworn held an unbearable magic. Yes, she was wet, and ready, and eager with wanting him. But her mouth would not form the sounds to make him obey. She closed her eyes and endured with mingled pain and pleasure, and when the heat of his mouth replaced his fingers, she knew how naive she truly was.

His tongue followed the same burning path as his hands had done, teasing and suckling her, lapping up her wetness, thrusting deep only to withdraw again. Her body climbed to the precipice, leaving her mind still bound to the dull earth.

“No,” she gasped. “Morgan, I want… both of us. Together.”

The heat of his breath left her, and for a moment she was cold and bereft. Then his strong hands were parting her thighs, lifting her bottom, drawing her onto him. Poised, at last, to finish what he had begun.

“When I go inside you,” he whispered, “there is no turning back.”

She lifted her hand to cover his mouth as he had done hers, silencing him, feeling her wetness on his lips. Then he was inside her, as she had imagined, only a thousand times better. There was no pain, only the fullness of him stretching, filling, completing.

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