Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 147: Grace: Squeeze

His finger pushes deeper, hitting a perfect, toe-curling spot inside me.

I can’t think, can’t breathe—can only feel. The energy between us rushes like a freaking tidal wave; it’s become millions of threads, impossible to contain as it overwhelms every rational thought.

He curls and drives his finger just right, dragging moans out of me with every slow grind, and it’s absolute madness in my head.

My hips buck against his hand with a will of their own. I’m grinding down, chasing the pressure, the friction, desperate for more. The golden threads connecting us pulse brighter with each movement, multiplying until they’re all I can see behind half-closed eyes.

"Do you have control, Grace?"

Fuck. I was supposed to be focusing.

His voice is strained, as if he’s hanging onto his restraint by a thread.

Me, too.

I shake my head—wildly, desperately, honestly. The confession burns my pride, but lying now would be catastrophic.

I’m trying—I swear I’m trying—but every time he curls his fingers—fuck—my brain goes blank.

He growls, the sound rumbling through the room and straight to my clit. His free hand grabs my chin, fingers digging into my jaw as he claims my mouth again—wet, open, demanding. His tongue sweeps inside, commanding rather than asking, and I surrender willingly.

The energy surges between us, doubling in intensity. I feel it everywhere—not just where his finger works inside me, but racing along my skin, crackling through my veins, setting fire to every nerve ending and diving into him at every goddamn opportunity.

His finger curls, pressing hard against a swollen spot deep inside, and I cry out against his mouth. He adds a second finger, stretching me, filling me, working me with ruthless precision.

I arch. I can’t not. My back arches hard, and I clutch the sheets as if they’ll anchor me. I can’t even tell what I’m reacting to anymore—the pressure, the tension, the way everything slick and perfect keeps winding me tighter, or the magic racing wild beneath my skin.

I should be doing something—anything—but my brain’s gone completely sideways.

No control.

No thought.

pulse, and more. Too much and not enough all at once. I think I’m panting. Or maybe whimpering. Goddess, he’s going to kill me with

so bright I can’t look directly at them anymore. They’re searing white at the center, blinding, overwhelming. I try—really try—to grasp them, to contain them, but it’s

on the edge of freaking heaven, and I might actually explode if

No.

It’s too much.

to tell

feels so good. The way his fingers slam inside, how his thumb rubs at my clit, the way

tearing my mouth from his.

burned, yanking his hand back and rearing up on his knees above me.

It’s awkward.

it’s fucking

glory and he hasn’t even gotten a hint of release yet, and I slammed the brakes right in the

his glistening fingers

painfully at the sight. It’s a claim, pure and simple. An ownership of my pleasure, my taste,

Shit.

want him to

shirt clings where it shouldn’t, and my whole body feels like it’s been rung out and left wanting. I throb in all the wrong places,

current between us leaves tingles skimming over my skin. Magic jitters in my veins, sparking and seeking release, trapped just beneath the surface as

same. Maybe even worse, judging

up to his face, only to find him now staring directly between my thighs. The heat in his eyes could melt

him has me on

again. I hesitate only a second before reaching up. Our fingertips brush—and a spark slams through me, forcing reconnection. My body

anymore, but a steady stream of

this. Need to understand it.

arcane surge builds once more—slower this time, but

to control it, focusing on pulling the energy back toward me, trying to yank it into submission. Nothing happens. The

with his free hand. I’m not doing

I want more.