Deeper Than The Ocean by Julie Ann Walker

 

 

Chapter 27

 

2:41 PM…

 

Reckless…

Chrissy felt so reckless she wanted to shout for Wolf to forget the damn condom. Her need for him had become a biological imperative. She wasn’t sure she could live much longer without having him inside her.

Alas, sanity and the words of her high school sex-ed teacher—a woman by the unfortunate name of Ms. Cockburn—echoed through her skull. “There’s nothing sexier than keeping the health of your partner in the forefront of your mind when it comes time to do ‘the deed.’” Ms. Cockburn had actually made air quotes.

Scrabbling through the junk in her nightstand, Chrissy located the lone strip of condoms. Using her teeth, she ripped off the foil packaging of one and reached for Wolf. But she’d barely pressed the little ring of latex around his bulbous tip before he caught her wrist at the same time he caught his bottom lip between his teeth.

She frowned up at the tortured look on his face. “No, darlin’.” His voice was barely a thread of sound inside the room.

“Why not?” She knew her tone was full of impatience. Why did the infuriating man keep stalling the process?

Yes. Okay. So after two amazing—we’re talking world class—orgasms, craving more from him might be construed by some as her being…gluttonous.

Just call me one of the seven deadly sins, baby.

“I’m so hot and hard,” he rasped, his eyes glittering dangerously. “I might go off in your hand if you put the condom on me.” He gently plucked the ring of latex from her fingers.

“That could be hot.” She trailed her hand over his broad chest, watching, mesmerized, as the flat brown disk of his nipple puckered when she flicked it with the edge of her fingernail.

It could be very hot to take him in her palm, wrap her fingers all the way around him,and stroke lazily until the pleasure overtook him and he spent himself.

Some of what she was thinking must’ve been written across her face. A low, strangled groan shuddered from him. “Stop your teasin’, wench.”

“Wench, is it?” She cocked an eyebrow. “Next you’ll be sporting an eye patch and jonesing for rum.”

“The only thing I’m jonesin’ for right now is you.”

He hissed when he slid the condom down his length. She couldn’t tell if it was an expression of pleasure or pain. He was so huge and swollen, she figured it might be both.

Once he was fully covered, he gently pressed her back into the pillow. Supporting himself with his hands, he hovered above her and the silver piece-of-eight—a seventeenth-century Spanish coin—that he wore on a chain around his neck, dangled in her face.

She thought he would push into her. And she was so ready, she wouldn’t have minded if he’d done it in one hard, forceful jab. But instead, he traced her face with his fingertip. Her eyebrows. Her cheekbones. Her nose. Her lips.

The way he touched her was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. He wasn’t impatient like some or rough like others. And this was despite being gripped by what she knew was a desperate sort of need, a greedy sort of want—she knew because she was seized by those same feelings. But no. He was sweet. Soft. Reverent almost.

He touched her as if she was the most luxurious, most delicate treasure in all the world. And every time his callused fingertips brushed over some new inch of her skin, she felt a moment of relief. It was like finally, finally he’d claimed that part of her too.

“You ready, Island Girl?”

“Yes. Please.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. And then he took himself in hand.

Ducking her chin, she watched as he positioned his plump head at her entrance. With a subtle flex of his hips, he pushed inside her. Just the smallest amount. Just the barest kiss of his glans stretching her opening. But it felt amazing.

Her breath hissed from her as she let her head fall back against the pillow.

His chin was angled down, watching their union just as she had been doing. But suddenly, he looked her straight in the eyes. “This’ll be a snug fit at first,” he warned. “Try to relax.”

Some men might’ve said the words simply to hear them. To make themselves feel powerful and virile.

Wolf said them because it was true.

“I’ll go slow,” he added. “And if you want me to stop at any point, just say the word.”

Wrapping her hand around the back of his neck, she pulled him close so she could whisper against his mouth, “Shut up and make love to me, Wolf.”

He didn’t have to say the words. They were there in his eyes. Your wish is my command.

She felt his muscles quiver beneath her fingertips. Felt what his restraint had cost him. And then he let loose a little of that iron control and thrust into her.

Sweet Jesus! He was thick and meaty. Having to work at it. Coaxing her body into accepting his own with short, powerful strokes. Stretching her to her limits.

He owned each new inch of her straining flesh as he took it. Smoothed out every wrinkle. Abraded each screaming nerve ending.

And still it wasn’t enough to seat him fully.

Making a sound of impatience, she drew her knees high against his sides. And with the next thrust, she could feel his swollen head smash against the entrance to her womb. Could feel his testicles resting warm and weighty against the curve of her ass.

They both sighed, and for who knows how long—she’d lost all sense of time—he held himself still inside her. Reveling in the joining.

“Y’okay, darlin’?” He spoke slowly, as if he had to concentrate to form words.

“Okay?” she whispered, pulling him down again so she could taste his delicious lips. “Wolf, you feel so good in me. Better than I ever imagined.”

“You’re so hot around me. So soft and tight. Nothin’ has ever felt this good. Nothin’ ever will.” She felt his mouth curve into a smile. “Well, except for maybe this.”

He pulled out a bare inch before thrusting back home. Hissing encouragement, she hooked her ankles together at the small of his back. Wanting to hold him inside her at the same time she wanted him to move.

She was a study in contradictions. And it sounded like she was begging when she said, “More, Wolf.”

His movements were precise and deliberate. Not hurried. Oh, no. Not Wolf. He was metronome steady, his rhythm contrived to draw out their journey. To force them to feel every slow retreat, and then luxuriate in every vigorous advance.

Retreat and advance. Retreat and advance until her entire body was alive with the most astonishing sensations. Until she could feel that curling, furling tingle low in her belly, her womb aching and begging for that last little bit of friction that would release the spring coiling tighter and tighter at her center.

Her hand mapped his long, strong body. The hard muscles of his back. The uncompromising powerfulness of his tattooed arm. The hard flex of his ass as he continued to rock against her in that mind-numbingly wonderful back and forth. Rise and fall.

“Faster,” she whispered desperately. She just needed…

“Oh! My! God!” she cried after he pushed up, using the headboard as leverage, and started pistoning his hips faster. Faster. Harder.

The head of his fat cock knocked against her cervix. His veiny shaft rasped along that sensitive patch of nerves dedicated solely to carnal pleasure. Reaching one hand between them, he pressed the pad of his thumb into the top of her sex.

“Yes! Just like that!” she moaned.

Her eyes were bare slits, but she could see the perspiration beaded on his forehead. A low series of grunts bubbled up from deep inside his chest as he continued to drive into her. Over and over.

He was close. It was there in his eyes, in the tightness of the muscles in his jaw. And then she couldn’t see anything. She couldn’t hear or smell or taste either.

All she could do was feel.

Feel her orgasm building, rising, rushing toward her like a tidal wave. Then it broke over her. Lifting her up. Crashing her down. Tumbling her over.

Crying out his name, her body became one with the wave. A liquid, powerful force that pulled Wolf in its wake.

She felt him thrust into her, high and tight, holding himself still even as his impossibly swollen erection bucked and pulsed. She heard him growl her name in a voice so low and guttural, it didn’t even sound like him. And she saw the veins and tendons standing out in his neck as he strained with the power of his release.

For long moments, they simply stayed that way. Joined. Replete. Basking in each other’s gratification. And only when their breaths stilled, when their muscles relaxed, did he move to disengage their thoroughly wasted bodies.

After disposing of the condom, he rolled onto his back. With a come-hither motion, he invited her to join him.

She didn’t hesitate.

Throwing her leg over his much larger, much hairier one, she found the spot on his chest that seemed made for her head.

“Wolf…” She said his name simply because she wanted to hear it. Then something occurred to her. Propping her head in her hand, she gazed down at him. “How did you get that nickname anyway?”

“You mean Wolf?” He frowned.

She rolled her eyes. “What else would I be talking about?”

“Smart-ass.” He shook his head, but there was affection in his eyes. “I was confused since it’s not really a nickname. It’s my middle name.”

“Your middle name is Wolf?”

“Sort of.”

She blinked. “I’m confused.”

“My middle name is Waya, which is Cherokee for Wolf. When I was little, my family called me Waya. But once I started school, I was teased by the other boys for havin’ what they thought sounded like a girl name. So I asked everyone to start callin’ me by the English version.” He hitched his shoulder. “I’ve been Wolf since I was six years old. Although, my elisi still sometimes calls me Waya.”

“You don’t talk much about your indigenous heritage.” She cocked her head. “Why is that?”

He scratched his chin in thought. “Probably two reasons. The first one bein’ there’s still pervasive discrimination against Native peoples. I remember my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Yates, tellin’ the class ‘The only reason Oklahoma exists as a state is ’cause the Indians were too drunk and too stoned on peyote to keep their land.’”

Chrissy’s heart shriveled at the thought of little Wolf hearing that from an adult who was supposed to pass on the knowledge of cursive writing and multiplication tables, but instead passed on bigotry, hatred, and unspeakable misinformation.

“It was better to blend in,” he continued. “Which was actually pretty easy. I mean, it’s not like I was playin’ stickball and goin’ to pow wows and stomp dances every weekend. I was playin’ baseball, eatin’ hotdogs, and helpin’ my grandparents on their farm. Pretty much like every other kid from my neck of the woods.”

She nodded. “At that age no one wants to be other.”

“Oh, I mean I loved my Cherokee culture. And durin’ the festivals I did play stickball and go to pow wows and stomp dances. It’s simply that it wasn’t part of the day-to-day, and I learned not to advertise it.”

She nodded again. “And the second reason?”

“I’ve never felt like an authority on the culture or traditions, so I’m not comfortable talkin’ about it. My grandmother is an authority. And believe me, as an adult I can sit and listen to her for hours. But when I was younger?” His expression turned chagrined. “I was more interested in how to make a mountain of nachos than one-pot venison stew. More excited to talk about girls than the Cherokee creation myths.”

“Still,” she sighed, “it must be nice to belong to something bigger than yourself.”

He nodded. “Gloria Steinman once described white Americans as ‘a people without a tribe.’ I supposed, deep in all of us, there’s a need to belong to somethin’ larger, somethin’ older and more fundamental.”

Maybe that’s why Chrissy had always longed for a big family. She was trying to build her own tribe.

She was pondering this when fatigue slammed her. Hard. Like, seriously, people talked about “hitting the wall”? She felt like she’d plowed into one going seventy miles per hour.

A huge yawn stretched her mouth wide. She looked up at Wolf and warned, “I have to go to sleep now.”

He cast her a wry smile before pulling the edge of the comforter over them both. “Go on then. You deserve it after the day you’ve had.”

Her eyes were already drifting closed when she asked, “You’ll stay?”

“Nowhere I’d rather be, darlin’.”

She smiled, a feeling of warmth slipping over her.

No. On second thought, it wasn’t warmth. It was security. Contentment. She felt satisfied. At ease. Fulfilled.

She felt…loved.

Yes, that’s what it was. She felt loved in a way she never had before. And she liked it.

No wonder Mom kept doing this over and over again. Moments like these almost make all the pain that comes after seem worth it.