Chapter 9 — You Won't Be Dreaming

• ~ RONAN ~
• Somehow, I manage to remove Lyra's sweater without tearing the fluffy cotton, pulling it over her head along with an equally soft camisole. I bite back a curse when I see her bra, her hard pink nipples visible through white lace. After I remove the skimpy garment, I take a moment to appreciate the view.
• Her flawless skin reflects the rays of the moon—pale, silky, and smooth. Her breasts are full and lush, nipples hard and waiting to be touched. Before the night is over, I intend to leave love bites all over her creamy flesh, including one behind her ear and on the curve of her shoulder for the world to see.
• My woman. My mate.
• A surge of possessiveness sears through me. The wolf inside me wants to come inside her and mark her with my scent so that every werewolf she encounters knows she’s taken. A good thing, because the man also wants the same thing. I can't wait to feel the clasp of my mate's pussy around my cock, to finally learn just how hot and tight she'll be.
• I pop the button to her jeans and grasp the zipper when she stops me, her voice husky. "Wait."
• Everything in me rebels, my wolf fighting for dominance, wanting to take over so it can fuck its female until we're all gasping for breath, bodies covered in the smell of sex. Only the bitter smell of fear quiets the animal, allowing the man to take control. I have to be tender with her, and thank the gods my wolf understands this too. Forcing all primal emotions aside, I put Lyra's needs first. I don’t take my fingers from the zipper, but I stop the downward motion of my hand.
• In an attempt to calm her, I peer into her eyes. "What's wrong, honey?"
• Her irises are even lighter now, the portion of her that responds to my wolf riding the line between lust and—
• Oh, damn.
• I immediately understand her terror, becoming aware of the source of her anxiety.
• Along with the fragrance of her nervousness is the musky scent of her wolf's arousal. Our mating is calling to the wolf instincts within her.
• And since she doesn't understand—can’t understand—what she’s experiencing, she’s understandably terrified.
• Lowering my head and brushing my nose against hers, I soften my voice, gentling her with words. "You're hurting, aren't you? You want me so bad you ache with it. But you don't understand why you need me so much. It's throwing you off balance." She releases a shaky sigh and nods. I say, "What you're feeling is normal. Don't be afraid. I told you I'd take care of you, and I meant it. You're safe with me. I give you my word."
• "This is wrong." She arches her hips, pressing her mound against my fingers. "I should make you stop."
• Like hell. "How is this wrong?"
• Against my better judgment, I lift my hand and slide my fingers beneath the lacy trim of her panties. I take it slow, watching her expression, making sure she accepts my touch. As I'd already smelled, her pussy is drenched. I slide the pads of my fingers against the swollen crease, coating them with her cream, gliding up and down her slit.
• "Do you want me to go down on you, honey? You're so ready I can practically taste you." When I slide my fingers free, she cries out. Again, she thrusts her hips toward me. "I'm going to do everything you've dreamed about and then some."
• Since she's nervous, I decide to ditch my clothes to even the score. I pull my T-shirt over my head. The brisk air hits my skin, cooling sensitized flesh. I consider ordering Lyra to lick my chest, to tease me as she's done in our dreams, but I don't. Right now, I have to keep stoking the fire. She needs me; she just doesn't know the true depth of how much.
• Not yet.
• I bring my torso down so our stomachs collide—caramel skin clashing with tan, softness cushioning muscle. Her hesitancy vanishes, her small hands drifting up to clutch my arms. I can't prevent the growl that creeps up my throat. The moment I'd entered Lyra's dreams, she'd put her mark on me. I was useless to other females, meaning I'd had to take care of my own needs. It had only been a matter of time until we met, but I’d never thought it would be like this. With her sweetness and softness in my arms, and trusting me even though she isn't aware of the eccentricities involved when mating with a shifter.
• "I'm going to start here." I pull at her underwear and jeans, intentionally skimming the back of my hand against her skin. "And work my way up."
• This time she doesn't protest, aiding me by lifting her pelvis. The delicate curve of her stomach flexes, displaying the tender, toned muscles of her abdomen. After I slide off her shoes and socks, I remove her jeans. She is as lean as I remember, her shape like that of a female werewolf, although less muscular than most—lithe and strong, trim and curved in all the right places.
• My gaze rests on her sex, and my wolf howls in pleasure at the sight of trimmed brown curls. Her pussy lips are swollen and pink. Her flesh glistens in the light coming through the window, her clit pushing free of its hood.
• My fangs lengthen, my heart drumming in my chest. I'm going to leave my imprint all over her, covering her with my scent, marking her soft skin with my teeth. She lies there, all seductive and inviting, waiting for me to make the next move. I pause over her mound, blowing softly against her weeping flesh.
• "Don't stop," she moans and clutches the comforter. "Please."
• "I won't." My growl fills the room, my wolf eager to claim its mate. I lower my head, guided by my nose and the sweetness of her pussy. "I'm going to please you all night long. And this time, baby, you won't be dreaming."