Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 187

187 Caine: Restraint

187 Caine: Restraint

Grace whimpers, and I glide the washcloth over her breast, pinching her nipple with the rough fabric. She sucks in a deep breath, her body arching into my touch despite herself, and it takes everything in me not to just throw her to the floor like a wild man. Her hips buck, and I shove my cock more firmly against her with a groan.

I am under control, damn it.

Again.

Her dusky nipples are gorgeous and tight and I want to spin her around and ravage them until her breasts are left with my marks across every last centimeter of skin. “Stop saying my name,” she begs, her eyes squeezing shut.

“It’s d–dirty.” Her teeth catch her bottom lip as she stares at the ground. Or my hand.

Fuck.

And my pants, as she immediately shoves her ass back against my cock, nestling its length between each pert little handful of flesh.

My control slips another notch. “But what about the energy, Grace?”

Cold water drips down her skin, pebbling it, and I groan as her entire body goes rigid.

But I hold back.

She nods frantically, her pulse jumping visibly at her throat. The scent of her arousal is better than anything I’ve ever smelled before, and I want it on me every damn minute, every hour, every day of the rest of my life.

“More,” she whispers, the word barely audible.

There’s no man in this world who can hold back in this situation, and I grind against her with a harsh groan.

Her body’s too rigid, and she sounds panicked.

If I can’t fuck her, I at least need the satisfaction of knowing exactly how much she

wants me..

187 Caine: Restraint

“More what? Grace, you have to tell me what you want.” I need her to say it. Need to hear the words from her mouth.

My cock hardens painfully as she rises on her tiptoes, her body instinctively seeking more. Her legs part in wanton invitation, but I stop at her lower abdomen, hovering just above where she needs me the most.

“How is it now?” I ask, fighting for control with every breath.

“Don’t say that,” she whispers, her cheeks flushing crimson.

My cock throbs painfully, demanding I continue, but I force myself to pull away, removing my hand first, then taking a deliberate step back. Cold air rushes between us. My skin feels like it’s on fire while also feeling like I’ve jumped into an ice–filled

lake.

She bites at her lip again and shoves back, whimpering as I rock my hand against her. “Let go, Grace. We can’t touch, remember?” My voice sounds strangled, my fingers tense as I fight back the urge to drop the fucking cloth and plunge them inside of her until she gushes all over this floor.

“Why, Grace?”

I freeze, my hand still pressed between her thighs through the washcloth, my chest heaving against her back. The washcloth drips onto the floor, each splatter loud in the sudden silence.

And I am. Not for wanting her–never for that—but for pushing so hard when she’s clearly overwhelmed.

I’m civilized. Perfectly capable of holding back.

“Is it too much? Too little? Can you handle this?” Each breath draws more of her scent into my lungs.

I pull back, though every cell in my body protests our separation.

“I want you to touch me… more.” Her voice breaks on the last word.

“Because it’s too much!” she gasps, her body trembling against mine. “When you say my name like that–it’s too much.”

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