The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (good book club books .txt) 📕

Oh. Okay, then. "You're not wrong."

"Do you need a break or can you keep going?"

I met his eyes and the dark focus there. Oh my god. He wanted me rude and lusty. He wanted to work for the second, the third, all of them. My core gave a violent clench of delight. "I can keep going."

He entered me again and wrapped his arms around my torso, his beard brushing the back of my shoulder as he dragged his teeth along my neck. This wolf of mine. "That's right," he rumbled. "Show me what you need, baby. Show me how to get you there."

I didn't know what to do right now. Even if he wanted the rude and lusty version of me, I didn't know if I could do that. But now here we were, a hand splayed low over my belly and his cock owning me with every long, dragging thrust, and a simple request hanging in the air between us.

"Is your cock always this fat?"

Even saying that had the stirrings of a fresh orgasm building in my center. It was like a gateway opened to all the things I needed and now that I'd stepped through it, I could have them.

"Just for you, Jasper," he panted as he held me tight to his chest.

I brought my hand to my mound, parting the folds to trace the spot where his shaft moved in me and then up, up to the place that wanted more attention. "Pinch my nipples again. You're good at that."

He brought one hand up to my breast, quickly snagging my nipple between his knuckles like he did that night when he had me up against the sink. It hurt in the most terrific way and I could barely hear my thoughts, let alone decide what to think. The only things that seemed right were working my clit harder and harder, screaming every time he let up a little on my nipple, and letting him pound me like this even though I knew I'd feel it everywhere tomorrow.

"You're getting close," he said, his lips on my neck.

"I don't need you explaining my vagina to me."

"Should I say that the next time you tell me my cock is fat?"

Heat started washing down my spine, circling my legs, unraveling in my center. "That was a compliment, not a status report."

His hold on my nipple turned aggressive, like he was trying to determine how far I'd let him go with this. Maybe I would've enforced a limit or stopped him if things were different but the warm, loose flutters inside me turned wild with that assertive touch of his. They went crazy as they expanded and spread out from my core into my limbs. I felt it in my face, my cheeks a little too hot and my lips tingling. It was overwhelming. It hurt in a desperate, needy way—that same old lustiness that made me say the filthiest things, it hurt like that. Like I'd die if I didn't catch hold of this sensation and send it somewhere because my body could not contain this, it simply could not.

I couldn't hear anything but my own rushing pulse and when I looked down to watch him abuse my nipple, I caught sight of his legs pumping between mine. I could see the stretch of muscles under the dark hair and the silvery lines of old scars. There was something about watching his body move as I felt the product of that effort while his hips slapped my ass, his cock dragged against every sensitive inch of me.

"You're not done yet," he said. "Don't check out on me now."

"I am not checking out," I said, my words barely more than a slur.

Linden closed his fingers around my wrist, pulling my hand away from my clit. "Hold on to me." He raised my arm, brought my hand to the back of his neck. "Let's see about taking care of you now."

I tried to protest. There was a lot of protest in me. I had things to say and I intended to say them. But also, when he covered my mound with two thick, blunt fingers and pinched the same way he was pinching my nipple, I lost track of those protests.

He continued pumping into me, a little more reckless now, a little more erratic. He let out a low growl as he slammed into me at an angle that did glorious things for everyone involved, and his teeth were on my neck. "I told you we could do better."

I could only murmur-groan in response. There was no way I could speak and make sense right now. I couldn't tell whether I was climbing toward a third orgasm or the second was spectacularly long and complex. I didn't actually care but it gave me something to think about as I tried to pull back the tension, the twisted-muscle clench that lived in my hips and belly, the one that only seemed to vanish when I imagined a big ball of rope methodically unknotting itself.

"I need—" I didn't know what I wanted to say. I just knew I needed something.

"Do you have a list about your orgasms?"

"Wh-what?"

"You make lists for everything," he panted. "I'm just wondering if you have one on how to make your cunt happy."

"Are you looking for some suggestions?"

He shook his head against my shoulder. "No, baby, I don't want the list. I want you to forget it ever existed. Rip it the fuck out."

All these sensations—his cock as he ground against me, his beard on my neck, his fingers holding my clit captive—they dragged me down as I reached for the edge of this orgasm. "Why?"

"Because that shit is over. Because I want the wild, screeching girl who can come on my cock twice without quitting. The one who doesn't think, doesn't plan a fucking thing. The one who wants it rowdy and messy and dirty. I want to be