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Her Viking Wolf (50 Loving States #3) Page 14
Author: Theodora Taylor

LESS THAN SEVENTY-TWO HOURS AGO, Chloe didn’t think things could possibly get any more awkward. She was a twenty-five year-old virgin she-wolf who could barely stand to kiss her alpha prince fiancé, because she hadn’t gone into heat. Then a time-traveling Viking showed up to claim her as his fated mate. She had begun to think surely her life couldn’t possibly get more messed up than that.

And then she had unexpectedly gone into heat and been found attempting to masturbate her way to relief by the Viking she was currently trying to convince to go back to his own time period without her.

At that moment, there was really nothing left to do except get angry. “C’mon! Cut a she-wolf a break, why don’t you?” she said to the Viking. “Are you seriously here? Are you seriously, seriously here in my basement?”

But her anger was soon replaced with fear when the Viking advanced on the cage.

“No-no-no-no-no!” she said holding up her hand in the universal sign for stop. “Do not come near me. I am not letting you in here, so you can just get that idea out of your head right freaking now.”

He throttled the bars and said something in his language she was sure translated to, “Let me in, woman.”

She scrambled to the back of the cage, pressing herself flat against the basement’s brick wall and willing it to absorb her. Her nether regions were still throbbing with need, but her mind knew she had to wait for Rafe to shift back into a human and come claim her.

What was the Viking doing un-shifted anyway? And out of the clinic’s cage, which doubled as their town’s jail, and which Doc Fischer had assured her he’d be put in before the moon set?

She soon had the answer to the second question, when he untied the medallion from around his neck and used it to let himself into the cage she’d hope would keep her protected from him.

The fear inside her gut doubled in size and though she knew it was a long shot, she ran for the door, hoping to get upstairs fast enough to lock him in the basement, which had a deadbolt that wouldn’t be easily surmounted by a necklace.

But just as she made it to the cage entrance, he grabbed her by the arm and the next thing she knew, she was pinned underneath him. Man, he was fast for a big guy.

“No!” she cried. “I don’t care what time period you’re from, I’m not going to let you rape me.” She fought to free her hands from between their bodies, so she could go for his eyes. But he adjusted himself, somehow redistributing his weight so she not only couldn’t free her hands, but also couldn’t squirm any part of her body, except the one screaming at her to let him fuck her. Right now.

She looked up and away from him, refusing to meet his eyes as he forced himself on her. But...

...nothing happened. In fact, the next thing she felt was his hand, smoothing back her hair. His breath was hot on her face, but calm, not the ragged affair of someone about to do his worst to a woman.

Her eyes slowly lowered to meet his, and she found him gazing back at her, his own gray eyes soft with infinite patience, as if he had all the time in the world to wait her out.

She felt her heartbeat slowing down as she got lost in that gray gaze of his, and soon she became uncomfortably aware of the large piece of male anatomy pressed against her folds. She could feel its heat, even through the cloth of his basketball shorts. Her own heat called out in answer with an urgency that scared her even more than the idea of possibly being forced to mate with him against her will.

“No, no, no, please,” she whispered, trying to hold on to thoughts of her fiancé, but her body seemed to have a mind of its own and she could feel her hips begin to move against his as if divorced from her better nature.

And maybe she could have gotten herself under control, forced her body to stay still beneath his despite her state of arousal, but when he covered her mouth with his again, her last shred of decency flew away into the night.

This kiss felt like coming home, like water on a hot day, like bread fresh from the oven, the start of a perfect meal. She undulated underneath him, and he made a harsh sound, his Old Norse now coming out hard and fast. He lifted up his chest enough to allow her the use of her hands, which she laced into his long hair, pulling him down for more of his drug-like kisses.

But soon the kisses grew to be too little. She needed him inside her. It hurt so bad that he wasn’t already there, something deep inside her ached in such a painfully sweet way that she soon found herself begging for what she had tried to escape just a few minutes ago.

“Please, please mate with me,” she said now, hating herself for her loss of control, but feeling she would die if he didn’t—

He pushed inside of her with no warning, accept for the feel of his hands gripping her sides as he did so. And she cried out against the arc of red-hot pain that shot through her core as he tore through the barrier protecting her virginity.

He kissed her several times as if to mitigate the pain, saying something in Old Norse between each one, and she found herself feeling grateful for his kisses. They distracted her from the pain below, which soon began to fade.

His eyes then drifted down to her breasts, and bent his head to kiss one, lathing her nipple with his tongue. He then sucked on it so hard, she could feel a corresponding tug below, as her legs came up to fold around his waist, for reasons she didn’t quite get until she felt him sink into her even deeper.

They both groaned as he thrust into her again and again, his hard body rolling into the cradle of her thighs. She held on to his forearms, her own hips involuntarily moving into his, seeking relief from the sweet fire burning in her womb. “I need, I need, I need…” she said, not quite able to put a label on it.

He captured her lips with his again, and rocked into her with a long, slow thrust, causing her to moan when the rub of his chest shot twin bolts of electric pleasure though her nipples.

Every single inch of her felt swollen with desire, but also tight with need. She couldn’t stop herself from mating with this man, even though he was more or less a stranger to her. When she tried to consider pulling away from her, her body went crazy in protest, thrusting her hips into his even harder as if to punish her for even thinking such a thing.

But then he pulled out himself.

“No!” she cried.

But he made the same sound he used to quiet her down before. At the same time, he easily flipped her on to her stomach, and she barely had time to scramble to her knees, before he was on her again. This time ramming into her from behind in what she recognized as the most primal of mating rituals.

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Theodora Taylor's Novels
» Her Russian Surrender (50 Loving States #10)
» His One and Only (50 Loving States #6)
» Her Perfect Gift (50 Loving States #5)
» Her Viking Wolf (50 Loving States #3)
» Her Russian Billionaire (50 Loving States #2)
» The Owner of His Heart (50 Loving States #1)