Grace of a Wolf - Chapter 224

Chapter 224: Grace: Just the Tip
I’m going insane.

Absolutely, positively insane.

Between the energy surging between us and the ache between my legs and how he keeps sucking on my neck like it’s the best lollipop in the goddamn world, I’m ready to explode.

Half of me is concentrated on the energy rushing between us, keeping it muted. The other half of me is deeply concerned about the lack of dick in my vagina, and I have no self-control left whatsoever.

Who needs self-control? I don’t have any time to deal with it when I’m busy trying to keep us alive through the sex. Priorities.

Caine’s not being as helpful as I thought he would be, constantly pulling back when I’m trying to jump forward. He’s obnoxiously worried about me while I’m desperate to fill the aching pulse between my thighs, and I swear I’m going to die right here, right now, if he doesn’t fuck me already.

Trying to shove it in myself isn’t working, as his dick stabs against my inner thigh while I grind down on his leg. But it’s okay. Practice makes perfect. If I can just aim it myself…

I’m so focused I can hardly hear what he’s saying.

“Hold on, Grace. I need to get—”

I groan. He’s slowing us down again, and I’m frantic to do the deed before we hit my metaphysical limits. “You’re taking too long.”

It’s usually Caine in charge of the flow of our unfortunately few sexual contacts, but embarrassment is completely absent in the truck, uninvited to the party. Once again, I don’t have the time or energy to deal with something as simple as shyness or embarrassment when my vagina’s pulsing the way it is, almost painfully aroused, while I’ve got a death grip on the arcana flowing from me to him.

So without waiting for him to go through whatever mental crisis he’s having, I slide one hand down to wrap around his cock, breathing out a soft little moan as I lower my hips again.

“Shit—Grace, no, I haven’t—”

I throw my head back as the hot, blunt head of Caine’s cock presses against my entrance. The promise of relief is so fucking close and I’m desperate.

Desperate.

I grind down harder, desperate to take him inside me, imagining how he’ll fill me in one swift move, driving the full length of him inside until I’m stretched and full and panting—

Then pain slices through me.

Sharp and unexpected, it’s nothing like the teasing stretch of his fingers I’ve felt on what is now multiple occasions.

This isn’t a slow, sensual, thigh-shaking stretch. This is a fucking sword slicing through the dangerous fog of my arousal, splintering my rose-colored dreams with brutal reality.

“Ah!” I gasp, my body stiffening above him. My thighs clamp around his hips, muscles locked in shock, and tears fill my eyes.

My concentration shatters in an instant. The arcana I’ve been desperately controlling bursts free—a dam breaking after holding back a flood. Energy surges between us, wild and untamed, flooding Caine’s body with everything I’ve been restraining.

His eyes flash silver and his head snaps back against the truck seat, tendons straining in his neck. “Fuck—damn it, I can’t…” His hips surge upward, the movement involuntary and powerful, driving him an inch deeper into me, and I swear I’m dying.

Dying.

Oh my fucking God, it hurts, this is impossible, sex is literally impossible, why is he so fucking big, oh my God, oh my God, nope, I’m becoming a fucking nun.

“Get out, get out, get out,” I hiss, smacking at his shoulder as I try to jump off his dick, my arousal shriveling into nothing in an instant.

“Wait—fuck, Grace, wait, don’t move.”

His arm wraps around my waist and holds me in place as my entire body stiffens, my thighs trembling with the force of my rejection. A lone tear escapes, the dramatic beginning of what promises to be an epic waterfall of broken sexual dreams.

Sweat beads on Caine’s forehead. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. His tattoos are gleaming with what might be faint blue light, or I’m just delusional from the fact that his dick is literally slicing me in two right now.

“Grace,” he growls, my name strangled as his other hand grips my hip hard enough to leave five distinct bruises. But he doesn’t push me down, even as his fingers keep flexing against my skin. “I told you to wait, didn’t I?”

My lips tremble, and I’m not sure if I should cry. Or laugh. Laughter might break the awkward mood, but crying feels like the most authentic reaction.

My poor, abused, broken vagina throbs around him, and I wonder why the hell people even want to have sex. Foreplay is where it’s at. Never will I covet a dick again. He’s got to be halfway inside and it’s already impossible.

Everything online says vaginas stretch. Yeah, right. Liars. And all the romance books say it’s just a little pinch.

Hah!

Hah.

Fucking hah.

“M-maybe we should have started slow,” I mutter. “Half of you at once was too much. It really hurts, Caine.”

He grunts, his fingers flexing again. Then he says, “It’s only the tip.”

I stiffen further, which only makes it hurt worse. He groans.

“Stop, Grace. Just relax.”

“I can’t. Maybe you should just… get out?”

“No.” He stares at me, and I think his smile is supposed to be sweet and comforting. Instead, it just looks like he’s being tortured.

By me.

Or, I guess, by my vagina.

Death by Vagina. Looks like I finally have a talent.

But since he didn’t understand my suggestion for him to take his dick and go wasn’t really a suggestion, I rephrase it: “Pull it out.”

“Grace, just… relax a minute. It won’t hurt as much if you just relax.”

Hah. I’ve heard this line in romance novels, too. “I was relaxed. But I didn’t know it would hurt this much.”

A muscle in his jaw jumps. “It won’t hurt as much in a few minutes.”

I hesitate.

“I don’t think I can hold myself up like this for even one more minute,” I admit, my legs tense and trembling with the force of holding me high above his stabby-painful dick.

There’s no way I’m lowering myself down, because that means he’s going to go in deeper. And the way the tip hurts? Yeah fucking right. If he gets within a mile of me with that weapon, I’m calling the police.

He blows out a breath. “Just calm down, Grace. If you—shit, don’t move like that—”

My thigh’s starting to cramp, and I shift a little over his lap, only for my other thigh to slip while I’m moving.

If some poor, innocent soul happened to pass by the truck in that specific moment, they’d probably think someone was being murdered.

But no, it’s just me, literally slipping on my boyfriend’s dick until it’s another ten inches inside of me, and the arcana is completely out of control.

But self-preservation instincts right now are reigning, so I force it under control before I end up making this awkward moment even worse by fainting. Goddess, the thought of explaining to Lyre how I went unconscious because his dick was trying to murder me… no, thank you.

“Oh my God, I think you split me in half,” I hiss.

Caine sounds a little strangled. “I barely went in, sweetheart. It’s still just the tip.”