Read Online White Wolf 2: The Call of a Soul by Jianne Carlo - Free Book Online Page A

golden halo on the glistening ruby purpled head. Not circumcised. Onyx pubic curls. Massive.
    “Naked. Now.”
    Naked. Her purse fell to the floor with a loud thud ; then the heavy coat slipped from her hold. She fumbled with the back ties of her apron, kicked off her sensible shoes, and shrugged out of the uniform. Fingers crossed, she looked down. Thank the Lord. Her best bra and panties. Heart leaping to escape her throat, legs wobbly, she half ran, half shuffled to the bed, lifted the covers, and slipped under.
    “Uh-uh. You. On top.”
    Her courage crumbled. Tears welled, and one rolled down her cheek.
    All at once, his weight shifted, he tore the sheet away, and hauled her on top of him. He licked the tear. “Sorry. Scared you. Made you cry.”
    He was hard and hot and rigid. His erection twitched between their bodies. One palm cupped her bottom, and he nuzzled her neck. “Mine. Melanie. Mine.”
    She loved that his voice had gone guttural and scratchy. The way he said her name, all possessive and fierce, took the edge off her fear. She unfisted her hands and touched him, letting her fingers rest near his dark, budded nipple. It was kind of flat and wide with a few coarse hairs dotting the brown circle. This close his aroma had changed to the screaming-orgasms muskiness of last night. She wanted to suck on that flat nipple and graze the budded peak with her teeth, but settled for rubbing her finger on the tip.
    He shuddered. His massive body clenched, and his embrace tightened. He squeezed her ass cheek and nipped her neck. His tongue felt wonderful, rough, wet, and hotter than hell could ever be. The burn between her legs returned with a painful vengeance.
    She helped when he undid her bra and eased the straps off her shoulders. Then his fingers slipped under her waistband, and he eased the panties down over her rear. His hand grazed the folds of her sex, and she hissed at the sweet friction. He bit her earlobe, tickled the whorl, and she never realized the panties were history until he caressed her pussy lips, the rough callus on his thumb so delectable when he grazed her clit that she moaned, “More.”
    “Yes,” he agreed, the word as abrasive and dense as the air in the cabin, heavy with the pungent perfume of their sex essence. He petted her; his talented fingers traced every crevice over and over, and he soon had her writhing and pleading for his possession. She opened her thighs and couldn’t choke back a moan when her folds slipped around his cock’s head.
    He rooted for her mouth, his lips claimed hers, and he eased her legs farther apart, nudging his cock to her core. She dug her nails into his shoulders, and their tongues tangled—a slick, dueling dance that had her heart hammering. He lifted her higher, and she tensed at the feel of his penis probing her entrance.
    “Mine.” Melanie didn’t realize his intention until too late. He drove into her, one hard, punishing stroke that would surely rend her in two. She hadn’t expected it to hurt so much and yelped, the sound muffled by their fused mouths.
    He went drop-dead still, drew back, cradled her face, and stared at her; the bright halo framing his silver eyes glowed. “Hurt you. Love you. Didn’t want to hurt you.”
    Love her? He couldn’t mean it. Every pore, every follicle, every bone in her body turned into mush, and the tension in her pussy, the unbearable stinging and the full-to-bursting pressure lessened. She sighed in relief. “Better now.”
    But it wasn’t. She needed more. More filling. Melanie rubbed on him, and his cock slipped out a little. She shook her head. “No. Don’t go. Not now.”
    “Not going.” He moved slowly, filling the ache in a tortuous, drawn-out pushing until she swore she could feel him in her throat. “Sweet. So sweet. Mine.”
    He found her mouth again, the agonizing slowness of him entering and leaving her pussy mimicked by his stroking tongue. It drove her wild. She tangled her fingers in his