Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 147

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.

Just sensation, heat, 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 this.

The golden threads in my mind’s eye are 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 impossible.

It’s like trying to hold onto an orgasm on the edge of freaking heaven, and I might actually explode if I try. But also I might die if he doesn’t...

No.

It’s too much.

I have to tell him...

Fuck, it feels so good. The way his fingers slam inside, how his thumb rubs at my clit, the way my entire body’s coiled and about to—

"You have to stop," I gasp, tearing my mouth from his. "I can’t—it’s too much—"

He pulls away like he’s been burned, yanking his hand back and rearing up on his knees above me. "Fuck!" The curse rips from him, his chest heaving as he stares at me like a wild man.

It’s awkward.

Of course it’s fucking awkward.

I was a literal half-second from glory and he hasn’t even gotten a hint of release yet, and I slammed the brakes right in the middle of my whimpering puddle of almost-orgasm.

For a moment, he just stares down at me, eyes wild. Then he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth and slowly, deliberately licks them clean, his eyes locked on mine the entire time.

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

Need more.

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