After Dawn, What Came Next

Well, tonight he wouldn’t hurt. Catcher would know nothing but pleasure. She would make sure of that. Fallon couldn’t fit the entire length of him into her mouth. Necessity was the mother of invention and she had gotten very inventive in her means of delivering pleasure to every single inch of him. Giving him fellatio was a terrifying task. She was sweating and trembling, her jaw aching, and tongue raw from scraping against her teeth. She used her fingertips to stroke the parts of him she couldn’t manage with her mouth and was rewarded with a shuddering gasp and a very male sounding groan of desire. That sound, the twitch of his cock inside of her mouth, and the fluttering of his belly muscles was all the encouragement she had needed to keep going.

Catcher thanked the scientists that had created him that he hadn’t been gelded. In the past there had been plenty of times when he wished he had been. The only reason the bastard scientists hadn’t was because they needed his DNA to parent the next litter of omegas. That, and he couldn’t service his mistress in the way she had grown accustomed to without a cock. A neutered male was a passive male and Eloise needed her omegas dangerous and aggressive and had therefore spared he and his twin’s man parts.

Fallon’s mouth on him was an equal mix of the joys of heaven and the agony of the fires of hell. He hadn’t missed the way her eyes widened in trepidation when they had settled on his cock. He didn’t go around evaluating other men’s penises. He had no idea if he was average, too small, or too large for her tastes.

He had what he would like to think was complete control of his cock, but Fallon had him rethinking that particular idea. He exercised no small feat of will to keep the thing flaccid and limp out of sheer practicality. Wayward erections were not quite unpleasant, but not pleasant either. Nothing put a damper in a man’s mood as quickly as a hard cock pounding against the fly of his jeans with no means of escape.

Fallon had freed him and his cock had risen to the occasion. Stripped of his clothes and laying bare for her view didn’t really effect him. He had no shyness where nudity was concerned. He hadn’t liked being divested of his weapons and without his armaments within fingertip reach though. He felt completely naked. He grinned at the compromise she had made for him. His holsters rested fully loaded and draped over the bedpost. He could reach them easily enough, if the need arose. It was the letting his guard down that was much more difficult to manage.

Her mouth was warm on him. Her tongue was moist and soft, flicking over the head of his cock, savoring the bead of moisture that had arisen on the tip. Her grip was gentle on his shaft, working up and down the length, and then venturing lower to cup his balls. Her hair, the flames of fiery orange-red and deeper crimson and lightest gold tickled the tops of his thighs and feathering lightly with the motions of her head up and down to tease his groin.

He was a quivering mass of nerve endings set a fire and scorching in her heat. With his jaw clenched tightly enough to crack his molars, he grappled to maintain control. Sweating and panting against the pleasure of her feminine ministrations, he felt the need to let go and just let it happen. Fill her mouth with his seed. Grip the back of her head and fist her hair and coax her lower onto him, faster and faster until he couldn’t prevent what would happen from happening. Catcher was going to burst. He wanted to explode. A very male part of him wanted to watch his orgasm shoot out across her pink lips to dribble down her chin. He wanted to see his seed drying on her breasts. He wanted to taste himself as he claimed her mouth in a deep, probing kiss. But, he couldn’t. No, he wouldn’t soil her in such a way.

Fallon didn’t know how long she had been working on getting Catcher there. He was close, but wouldn’t let himself go. She could taste the salty essence of his orgasm on the tip of her tongue and smell his arousal in the air. His body was a mass of tense corded muscle beneath her. His groin was so tight that even the slightest brush of her fingertips sent the flesh quivering and prickling with goose pimples. Her neck was stiff and the muscles knotted from exertion. It took no small amount of concentrated effort to force the rusty hinge of her jaw shut. Her lips were swollen and bruised, and she hadn’t known a person could suffer from tongue fatigue. Simply unable to continue her mission, she hadn’t quite completely abandoned the task but had to rest a minute or two first. Not one to leave a man cold and shivering and completely unsatisfied, she milked his cock with her fist while she caught a few much needed deep breaths. “Catcher?”

Catcher sensed Fallon’s doubt and confusion. She thought she was doing something wrong and he was displeased. Nothing could be further from the truth. She simply didn’t understand the depth of the things that had been required of him in Eloise’s service. He had told her everything, but hearing and comprehending the true extent of the matter were two different things. “I…it feels so good…but, I can’t,” he finally managed to grit out.

Fallon immediately understood what the problem was. Catcher was built for endurance in all things. He had been trained to withstand any physical assault…even pleasure. He couldn’t because he never had been allowed to. Physically he was more than ready and capable. Psychologically, he was completely unprepared for what she was doing from him. Damn Eloise and damn Catcher’s past. “I want you to. Believe me when I tell you I’m doing this not only for you but for me too. I need this just as badly as you do, Catcher. I need you…all of you.”

Catcher rested his weight on his elbows and stared down at Fallon in disbelief. Her jaw was set in determination and her eyes flashed with feminine stubbornness and a sheer will to give everything she could to him. He didn’t completely understand why, but he liked the way she looked at him. As if he had value that went beyond the outward evidence of his perfect DNA, beyond his abilities as a protector and deep into the heart of him. He was a male and knew what stares of feminine appreciation of his body looked like. But, no woman had ever made him feel like more than a specimen before. No woman had ever made him feel like a man, a real living breathing man with both heart and soul before. He wanted to be the man she saw. He wanted to be the man she needed. Settling his own resolve, he determined to do just that.

Fallon took Catcher into her mouth. His fingertips gently brushed her cheek and settled on her jaw, stroking away the fatigue and soreness in her muscles with just a touch. She coaxed him onto his back with the press of her palms against his chest. She let him set the pace. Timing the motions of her mouth and the pass of her grip up and down his length with the bucking of his hips and the gasping exhales of his labored breathing, she worked him to a place where there was no sense of reason or restraint and nothing but pleasure.

His hands fisted her hair, guiding her deeper and faster. A salty taste flooded her mouth. Her tongue was slick with him, gliding over the pulsating flesh trapped between her lips. Catcher’s shout of completion, a gasping, utterly male shout of pleasure and wonder filled her ears and went straight to her heart.

Fallon tore the fragile shattered pieces of her heart from Daniel’s grasp and placed them in Catcher’s hands for safekeeping. The two of them were damaged, but not broken and for the first time ever learning what it was like not only to love and love in return, but live, truly live.

Fallon had given him his first orgasm not provided by his own hand. She swallowed him down, wanting to capture the moment deep inside of her. She had freed him in the only way she could. Perhaps, rescued him and herself along with him. She had been trapped in the same prison Catcher had found himself in for so very long. The wanting and the craving, the hunger, and the isolation of the void of denial for nothing more than, same as Catcher, it was the only thing she had ever known.

Catcher thought there would be more. The rush of his orgasm, leaving his body to fill Fallon’s eager mouth was an all encompassing thing. He was dizzied and his limbs leaden and heavy from the aftermath of so much pleasure. There was though, one lingering drop of his release staining the dainty curve of Fallon’s lower lip. He scooped the creamy, white drop up with the pad of his thumb and slicked the liquid bead over her bottom lip. She opened up and took his thumb and the drop into her mouth, swabbing the pad thoroughly with her pink, sleek tongue, licking him clean.

Fallon shot him what he thought was a very pleased smile. She was curled on her side, lounging lazily and very satisfied with herself on an elbow. Her hair was a tumble of curling tongues of fire against the peachy tone of her skin and the pale white of the sheets beneath them. Catcher’s thoughts were a crazy mishmash of whirling emotions and jumbled words impossible to string into a comprehensible sentence. His fire dancer knew no fear as he drew her to him and held them both in the ring of flames.

Their dance was only beginning. He knew not where his feet would fall or where the steps would lead them. He knew only that they were dancing gladly and willingly risking the flames in a ring of fire. She was soft and yielded beneath him. Gasping as he trailed his fingers over her fluttering eyelashes and down across her heated cheeks, pausing to trace the vermilion border of her lips and their peaked cupid’s bow before venturing lower to the graceful column of her neck.

He could taste the lingering essence of himself on her lips. Salty and tangy, the flavor made his blood boil with masculine pride and no small measure of gratefulness for the gift she had given him. Fallon was shy and hid behind closed eyes and the fiery shelter of her hair. They were naked in the bed. This was not the place for shyness or hiding. He gathered her hair in his palm and held the soft length of it away from her face. Blowing a light, gentle puff of breath over her lashes, he coaxed her to retreat from her place of privacy and aloneness behind the cover of closed eyes to open up and look at him.

Her blue eyes glittered with feminine arousal. Fallon had what were called bedroom eyes, slightly up turned at the corners and deeply set. Those beautifully expressive eyes were on him now, sparkling with hunger and flaring in delight as he fed her body with the tips of his fingers, his lips, and the palm of his hand. He watched the expressions flutter across her face. She could hide nothing. Every touch, every brush of his fingers or whisper of his hand over her sensitized skin invoked a new curve of her mouth, arch of her brow, flair of her nostrils, or flick of her tongue over her swollen lips. She moved him to poetry and song with every gasp of pleasure that escaped her throat. The ripple of her skin in response to his exploratory touches made his heart pound and his body ache.

Fallon was not a dainty flower on a fragile stem. Long legged and curvy, she had a body that was meant to be beneath a male. Her breasts were high and pert and the erect nipples, a flushed shade of rich, decadent cherry. The shape of her breasts was rounded and they were full enough to fill his mouth and to cup in the palm of his hands. Her stomach was flat with a sloping curve arcing down to the thick thatch of ginger colored curls between her thighs. The tips of his fingers could make out the trace of her bones beneath her skin. She was a strong woman, physically built for endurance and the long haul rather than a short sprint. The athlete’s frame she had inherited from her father gave her a stability that many women lacked. And the surety of it made him feel comfortable and left little room for doubt that she had the stamina to endure a man like him.

Speckles of bronze and fiery ochre dotted the tops of Fallon’s shoulders and the shallow valley between her breasts. Compared to the russet colored skin of most of the pack, Fallon was specter pale. Almost self-consciously, she rolled her shoulders toward his body to shield herself from his view. He was having none of that. He captured her wrists in his hand and extended them over her head. She thought her differences were ugly and made her stand out when all she had ever really wanted to do was blend in. It was that she was so different and so unique that endeared him to her. Precariously balanced on his side, bracing his weight on one knee he kissed every sprinkle of freckles dotting the bridge of her nose and cheeks, the tops of her shoulders, and her chest. There were a few random patches of bronzy freckles lower down, and he’d get to them in time too.

Her skin was perfect. Creamy peach and flushed with a rosy hue, tanned golden brown in places with the lingering traces of summertime sun and pale in areas she was too shy to show in plain view. Fallon’s was a precious life, flaming bright like firelight captured in the palm of his hand. She bore a small scar on her right knee that caused a flare of protectiveness to rise up within him. The events that had resulted in the scar had probably been long forgotten, but he wanted to beat the shit out of anyone who dared to inflict one second’s worth of pain on her. She squirmed in his hold, but he did not release his grip. Perhaps, she was impatient or uncomfortable with his inspection of her body. He didn’t care. He wanted to memorize every last inch of her before releasing her from his hold.

Guiding her hands up, he wrapped her fingers around the bedpost and with a gesture daring her to let go, continued his self-guided tour of the wonder that was Fallon. His cock was hard, begging him to get on with it. Her thoughts must be on line with his cock. She wiggled and bucked beneath the brush of his fingertips and roaming heat of his stare, but she didn’t let go of the bedpost. He grinned at that thought and delved between her parted thighs.

Fallon was just as beautiful here as she was everywhere else. Her sleek closely cropped thatch of feminine curls were a lush haven he had just begun to explore. Carefully parting her outer lips, he groaned in masculine appreciation of the glistening dew slick and fragrant on the tips of his fingers. She was aroused, very aroused. He hadn’t even really gotten started yet and she was already wet and ready. Her clit was swollen and pulsating beneath his fingertips and her core wrapping tightly, slick and tight, around his probing exploration. He couldn’t wait to taste her and feel her slickness coat his tongue.

Her scent was a blend of feminine musk, sweet vanilla arousal, and spicy ginger and cinnamon desire. She was fire, fire everywhere, singing him with her heat and leaving him to smolder to embers in a slow burn. Catcher was careful with her. She was tiny and tight. He had to be sure she was ready for him or risk hurting her. He would never harm one hair on her head and he’d kill anyone, including himself, who did. Sliding one finger in he worked her slick and stretched her gently and slowly until she could comfortably accept a second finger.

Catcher knew the steps to this part of the dance. He had danced it many times before. And while Fallon’s particular tempo was somewhat different, he had no problem keeping up with the pace. He suckled her breasts while pumping his fingers in and out of her wet core. The bedpost groaned beneath her grip. She was struggling to maintain control. He didn’t want her controlled. He wanted her wild with frenzied abandon and more importantly he wanted her hands on him. She quivered and vibrated as he removed his fingers from their work and eased her hold free from the spindles of the bedpost. Her fingertips hovered over his shoulders unsure of where to touch him. He really didn’t care where she touched him, just as long as she made contact.

Fallon’s back arched as he took her breast into his mouth and flicked his tongue over the ripe tip. Catcher gauged her reactions to different techniques and committed to his memory what she liked best. She didn’t care for rough and tumble, especially to her more sensitive parts. Using the undulations of her hips as a guide, Catcher took things slow and easy, bringing her there while exercising the patience of a saint and the sacrifice of a martyr in the process. He was eager to be inside of her, but perhaps even more eager to return the favor of the gift she had granted him.

He groaned from the absolute delight of her flavor on the tip of his tongue. Her shy, surprised squeak and shuddering exhale of pleasure was no blow to his ego either. Fallon’s thighs rippled beneath the palms of his hands. Her heels dug into the mattress as she lifted her hips to meet the thrust of his tongue into her depths. He was relentless with her, flicking his tongue over the heart of her and quickly retreating to savor her liquid core.

Catcher could smell faint traces of Daniel and taste the lingering tang of him mingled in with her sweet decadence. Catcher was a possessive male by nature of his genetic design. His wolf growled deep within his chest at the intrusion to what he now considered his territory. He would wash away every last trace of Daniel from Fallon’s body and fill her with his essence till it overflowed and there was no doubt of whom she belonged to. He would mark her with his come, his bite, and his scent. And as for her heart, he would own it too, in time. The man in him focused on the job at hand. Getting her there and keeping her hovering in the never land between pleasure and absolute completion.

If there was one thing Catcher understood above all others it was the fine line between the boundaries of the heart and the body. Pleasure could drive a person to desperate acts. And while he wasn’t quite sure if it worked the same way for women or not, he was willing to bet where the body took the woman, the heart would follow.

Fallon was a whimpering, begging mass of quivering flesh. Catcher’s hair tickled her inner thighs. He was thorough, leaving no inch of her untouched and tasted. Her body was to the point of reaching critical mass. She was going to die if he didn’t get her all the way there soon. His breath was hot on her core. The exhales light and teasing and so much a part of the seduction. His long fingers reached deep inside of her turning her core to liquid. He found places in her she hadn’t even known existed. Delightful bursts of pleasure and wonder spread through her limbs as he explored each and every point in detail.

To think, she had been worried about her body stretching to accommodate his girth. She shouldn’t have gone through the trouble. Catcher had her slick and ready and close, so very close. Fallon knew it wasn’t physically possible to die from prolonged sexual arousal, assuming there wasn’t an underlying heart condition to begin with. She was healthy as a horse and Catcher was living proof that not achieving release was not fatal. She had a new appreciation for him and gut wrenching empathy for everything he had endured. He was teasing her but he would not leave her hanging in such a miserable physical state. Catcher was a man who finished what he started.

Catcher withdrew his tongue from Fallon’s core and gently stroked her arousal down to a slow, lingering burn. She whimpered in protest and grappled with his hair to ease him back to where she wanted him. He chuckled and kissed a path up to her breasts. She dug at his shoulders with her nails, clinging to the flesh and flexing her fingers to maneuver him into position. “Do you need something?”

Fallon’s eyes popped open in surprise to Catcher’s question. He had asked it with a very masculine, very assured, seductive drawl. Need something? Her mouth moved to form words, but Catcher’s lips were on hers, swallowing the words before she could speak them. She could taste herself on the tip of his tongue, sweet and musky and feminine. She dug her nails into the roundness of his butt cheeks to get her point across. Need something? She needed everything and he was the only one capable of giving it to her.