The Wolf King: A Fantasy Romance
The Wolf King: Chapter 52

Callum smiles.

His rough hands slide down my inner thighs, holding me open. Keeping his gaze on mine, he dips his mouth to my most intimate place, and drags his tongue along my center. I gasp, my back arching from the pile of rugs and furs beneath me.

A low growl rumbles in Callum’s chest. “Fuck.” He groans against me, causing me to whimper. “This is all I’ve been able to think about since I had you in my bed. You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy devouring you.”

Then his mouth is on me—hot and wet. He feasts on me. His tongue slides up and down my core hungrily, greedily. As if he cannot get enough of me. He spreads me wider still and groans. I cry out, my fingers curling in the furs.

“Callum!” I gasp.

I grow more feral with each lick and suck and growl. I feel like a caged storm that needs to be set free. I rock against his mouth, desperate for more of this feeling. More of him.

A low, throaty sound escapes him and vibrates against my center. “That’s it, Princess. Take your pleasure from me.”

He slides his hands up my waist and holds me firmly against his mouth as I move my hips. When I cry out, he moves one hand up my chest and plays with my nipple as he continues to stroke my center with his tongue.

It is almost too much to bear. Merely the sight of his big shoulders between my spread legs, his mouth moving against me, his eyes primal, is almost enough to push me over the edge.

But then he teases my opening with his tongue, before sliding inside.

I cry out with the surprise of it. My back arches, and my head rolls back. “Goddess!”

And I am lost. I cannot think anymore. I am not a human. Not a princess. I do not know my name, or where I am. I am just this feeling. This pleasure.

I grab his wrist as he palms my breast, holding onto him, stopping myself from floating away completely.

He brings his other hand to my inner thigh. He rubs the wet, sensitive bundle of nerves with his thumb—moving in circles. The sensation of his tongue and his thumb, stimulating different parts of me at the same time, provokes sounds from me I have never made before—animalistic moans as I rock against him.

“Callum. . . I’m going to. . . I feel. . . Goddess!”

He groans, and release crashes through me. I cry out, loudly, my back arching, my body shuddering as ripples of pleasure consume me. Callum continues to lick and suck, as if determined to devour every last drop of me, until finally I still.

He kisses me once more between my legs, then crawls up my body—placing his forearms on either side of my head and caging me within them.

His lips are swollen and wet, and the wolf is behind his eyes as he looks down at me.

I’m breathing fast, and so is he. I’m not sure whether the pounding of my heart is due to the release that crashed over me. Or whether it is nervousness, anticipation, of what might come next.

I want to give him what he just gave me. I want him to come undone.

I pull his face down to mine, and I kiss him. He groans into my mouth, stroking my tongue in the same expert way he moved between my legs. Heat starts to pool again, more so when I realize his hard length is pushing against my thigh through the rough material of his kilt. I hook my ankles around his, melting into his solid body.

“Now, tell me what you want, Princess,” he murmurs against my lips. “Tell me what you want, and I shall give it to you.”

What do I want? I want him. All of him.

I push him gently, so that he is kneeling.

With shaking fingers, I undo the buttons of his shirt. I untuck it from his kilt, then slide it off his big shoulders. His breathing deepens as he watches me. He keeps his hands at his sides, as if waiting for permission to touch me more.

I swallow, and look down at his kilt. “I want you to take it off.”

He cups my cheek and kisses me gently. “Okay.”

He shifts back to unlace and pull off his boots—struggling in the confines of the small space. When it comes to taking off his kilt, he curses again as he tries to maneuver out of it and kicks one of the walls of the tent.

“This isn’t very dignified,” he says. I giggle, and his grin widens. “Give me a second. I fear I shall ruin the mood.”

He ducks out of the tent—letting in a refreshing gust of cool night air through the flap—only to remerge a few seconds later, without any clothes on. My heart catches in my throat as he kneels in front of me again.

I look down at his sculpted torso and strong, muscular arms. How can a male be built this way? I drag my fingers down the ridges of his torso, and he takes a deep, shuddery breath.

I saw him naked once before, in the forest when he shifted from a wolf to a man. I didn’t give myself permission to look openly, then. But I do now.

His length is hard. Thick. His arousal obvious.

My insides clench.

I do not know much about the anatomy of men, but I know this part of him will be inside me. And for that reason, it seems large. Larger than I was expecting. My heart beats a little faster, yet heat pools between my legs, and an ache begins to grow.

My fingers twitch. I start to move my hand lower, but he shifts forward and lays me down on the rugs—enveloping me in his searing body heat.

And how strange it is, to have a naked male on top of me. I run my hands over his shoulders, then trace my fingers down the muscles of his back.

“You’re beautiful,” I tell him.

“I knew you thought I was handsome.”

I giggle and his eyes dance with mischief. He kisses me deeply, languidly, his mouth claiming mine and his hand sliding into my hair.

“I want. . .” I murmur against his lips.

“Tell me,” he whispers. “Anything. It is yours.”

“I want. . .” I take a shaky breath, unused to voicing my desires. “I want you to take your pleasure from me.”

He looks down at me, his breath mingling with mine. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He takes a deep breath. “You must promise me that if I do something you don’t like, if you want to stop, you will tell me.”

“Yes.” I know he will not do anything to harm me, and I know I will never want him to stop. I try to fight my blush. “Do you take. . . do you take the herbs?”

“Aye,” he says, smiling. “No chance of making a pup this time.”

I push against his chest, and start to turn around—remembering what I was told about how Wolves like to take their women. Callum gently grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Where are you going?”

“I thought. . . I thought that was how Wolves. . .” My cheeks flame. “I thought that was how you did it.”

He smiles, though I am glad he doesn’t laugh at me. “Sometimes,” he says. “But I want to be face-to-face with you tonight.”

Kissing me softly, he guides himself to my entrance.

He holds my gaze slowly as he pushes. He groans as he fills me.

There’s a pinch of pain, and I tense. He feels impossibly big. I do not think he fits. My heart is beating fast.

He stills, resting his weight on his forearms on either side of my head. He’s breathing hard, his biceps clenched. His expression is strained.

I wonder why he isn’t moving, whether he expects me to do something—but then, as he waits, my body starts to adjust to him. He moves slowly, and the pain transcends into something else. Something unfamiliar. Something I want more of. Pressure, and friction, and the feeling of being completely filled.

“Oh,” I say softly.

My body relaxes, then tenses again in an entirely different way. My breathing becomes steadier, then faster. I grip onto his shoulders, sinking my fingers into his muscle.

As if sensing the change in me, he pushes fully inside me. A growl builds in his throat as I cry out.

His hand slides into my hair, and he claims my mouth with his as he rolls his hips again. Moaning, I open myself fully for him, hooking my hands around his neck and pulling him closer.

He dips his mouth to my throat, where he kisses and sucks and nibbles.

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” His voice is strained as he murmurs into my ear. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

I slide my hands down to his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles. His skin is hot and damp, and I feel the restraint rippling through him.

Even now, he is holding back. Afraid I will break. Afraid he will scare me away.

I grab his face. His jawline is taut and the wolf flickers in his eyes.

“I will not break,” I whisper. “Take what you want from me. I want to give it to you.”

“Rory—” His voice is strained.

“Take it.”

I sink my teeth into his bottom lip—determined to provoke that primal side of him. Determined that he will take what he wants from me, what he needs.

He growls, and he plunges into me. Hard. I cry out.

“Fuck.” He curls his fist into the cushion by my head. “Sorry.”

“Take it,” I growl.

I tilt my hips to take him deeper, desperate for more of him, and slide my hands down his back—urging him further inside.

He groans and I feel his submission. His shoulders relax beneath my fingertips; his expression changes from restrained to hungry. The wolf glows behind his eyes.

“I told you you were a demanding, fearsome creature,” he whispers.

“You also told me you would give me what I want.”

He thrusts into me, hard and deep. Goddess! He groans loudly.

I hook my legs around his waist, curling my ankles around his back, and he takes me deeper still. The change in pressure and friction provokes harsh sounds from the back of my throat. Feral sounds. Sound I did not know I was capable of. I grip onto his shoulders, my fingernails digging into his skin.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs. “So beautiful.”

Something within him calls to something wild within me. Delicious tension builds as he moves deeper, faster. And I cannot get enough. I kiss his neck. I sink my teeth into his shoulder. I grip him tighter.

Goddess! My head tilts back.

“Look at me, Princess,” murmurs Callum.

I bring my eyes back to his. There is something like awe in his, flickering with the wolf that lingers there. He plunges deep inside me, and it pushes me over the edge. Release surges through me and I come completely undone beneath him. I cry out, gripping tightly onto him as my whole body shudders.

His rhythm becomes feverish. His shoulders tense and his cheeks redden. His face is strained for a moment. Then he groans, long and hard, his muscles spasming beneath my fingers as he spills into me. “Fuck. Aurora. Fuck.”

When he’s finally stilled, he crumples down on top of me, dipping his face into the nook between my neck and my shoulder. He’s murmuring under his breath in a language I do not understand. I can feel his heartbeat thudding against my chest, beating as quickly and frantically as mine. His weight is almost too much for me to bear, but I cannot bear the thought of him being further away from me, either.

I run my hand over the back of his neck, holding him close.

After a moment, he slides his hand out of my hair, and props himself on his forearms. The feral look is gone from his expression. He looks relaxed. Soft. There’s a playful glint in his eyes. He kisses my nose, then my mouth.

He looks down at me and a slow smile spreads across his face.

I return it, an unfamiliar feeling of elation bubbling inside me.

He laughs, and I laugh too. I do not know what is so funny, but we laugh until my cheeks ache, and tears spring into Callum’s eyes. And all the while, he looks at me as though I am the most wonderful thing he has set eyes upon.

“I think we should do that again sometime,” I say, stroking his cheek.

“You shouldn’t have said that, Princess.” He brushes his lips against throat, then my jaw. “I fear we shall never make it to Highfell.”

***

Callum wakes me twice in the night.

He takes pleasure from me languidly, sleepily—his body warm and comforting as he draws moans from my lips and groans softly in my ear. When we fall asleep, we are a tangle of limbs. His warmth prevents the need for me to cover myself in the furs and rugs laid on the ground.

I wake first thing in the morning. The sunlight creates streaks of cold light on the tent’s surface. The trees whisper outside in the breeze.

My back is flush to Callum’s chest, and his arm is slung possessively over my waist. He snores gently in my ear.

I want to stay where I am, but I need to relieve myself, so I try to disentangle myself from him.

He growls once, his eyes still closed.

“Get off me, you brute,” I whisper, not bothering to suppress my smile as I remember the first time we were in this position—just after Callum had taken me from Sebastian’s castle.

He grunts, and I wriggle free.

Not wanting to dress yet, I pull on Callum’s big shirt, letting it hang down to my knees. I crawl out of the tent and relieve myself behind a bush nearby.

When I’m done, I wander onto the shore and look out at the rippling grey waters of the loch.

I shiver; the air is bitingly cold. The wind whips my hair, and the pebbles are cold and hard beneath my bare feet. The sky is grey, and rain might be coming.

Yet I smile.

The water laps the shore near my feet. All I can hear is my own breathing, and the gulls that swoop down to the water to catch fish.

I am happy.

I am safe.

I am free.

There’s a crunch of pebbles behind me. I do not turn around. I can sense him. Smell him. He hooks an arm around my waist, and nuzzles the back of my neck.

“It’s beautiful out here,” I say, my breath misting in front of my face.

“Aye. Just wait until we get to Highfell.” He nibbles my earlobe. “The mountains and lochs around here are small wee things in comparison.”

He slips a hand beneath my shirt and runs his hand along my stomach. I’m aware of his hard length, pressing against my lower back.

“You seem to be missing your clothes,” I say.

“Aye. Imagine my horror when I went to get dressed only to replace my shirt was gone.”

I giggle. “So that is why you came outside completely naked. You were looking for your shirt?”

“Oh, aye. Luckily, I have found the thief.” He nips my ear with his teeth and a burst of heat surges through me.

“Aren’t you cold?” I ask.

“No.” He runs his hand down my stomach, then slides it between my legs. “Aren’t you?”

He strokes me, and I moan, pressing my head back against his shoulder. His warmth wraps around me, and his fingers stoke a fire in my center. “No,” I whimper.

He rubs slow excruciating circles on the most sensitive part of me, until I cry out with release, my knees buckling.

He throws me over his shoulder. His shirt rides up to my chest, exposing my most intimate parts to the elements.

I squeal. “Callum!”

He chuckles. “What? I’m giving the gulls something to look at.” He taps my bum lightly and I squeal again.

While I’m laughing, my legs flailing over his shoulder, he carries me back to the tent.

***

When Callum is done with me, his spirits are higher than I think I’ve ever seen them. He announces that his appetite is simply too large for bread and cheese this morning, and he will hunt us something proper for breakfast.

After getting dressed, I sit on a rock and wait for him on the shore where we ate last night. I warm my hands by the fire we built before he left. I cannot fight the smile on my face.

I feel so different from the woman I was before I came to the Northlands. I am dirty and unbathed. I am wearing breeches. I can smell Callum on my skin. I am sore, and I do not know how that can be a good feeling, but somehow, it is. I feel. . . full. Content. Excited for the future. Excited for Highfell.

You’re free, the wind seems to whisper. You’re free.

I hear the crunch of pebbles close by, and I turn—not expecting Callum back so soon.

My stomach drops and I jump to my feet.

Two men in kilts are walking along the shore, fifty meters or so away. One of them looks right at me, and I recognize him. It’s Duncan, the male I met when I arrived at the castle. My blood turns to ice. They’re James’s men.

“Over there!” He points at me. “They’re still here! She’s over there!”

I turn, and I run.

Heavy footsteps pound after me.

I tear across the shore, then scramble up the rocks by our tent. I run as fast as I can over the sloping land, to the forest ahead where Callum went hunting. The shouts of the men behind me get closer.

“Callum!” I yell.

I run as fast as I can, bumping my shoulders against tree trunks as the forest gets deeper, darker. Thorns snag my shirt, and pine needles crunch beneath my boots.

“Callum!”

I trip over a fallen branch and go flying into the dirt. I scrape my hands and knees on stones and twigs that litter the floor.

Get up, the trees whisper. Get up.

I scramble to my feet, but it’s too late. Five men enter the clearing.

No. This can’t be happening.

I step warily back, and I hit something solid.

A strong arm hooks around my waist, and the familiar scent of the forest at night washes over me. My blood turns to ice. I buck against the male who holds me, but he merely tightens his grip.

He pushes a cloth over my mouth, and I smell something chemical that makes my eyelids droop.

No. No. No.

He dips his mouth to my ear. His tone is as dark and smooth as the shadows that surround us. “You should have run faster, little rabbit.”

Then, black.