The Walls of Jericho

Truth and Doubt

“Are you hungry, babydoll?” Channing emerges from the bathroom, freshly showered, completely naked and still drying off with a thick cotton towel.

I must admit, I poke a lot of fun at my mate over his blatantly lustful werewolf nature and high drive. To his credit, he’s brutally honest and good-natured enough to let my hypocrisy slide. Which I thoroughly appreciate, because I am, in fact, quite hypocritical in that regard. Especially since he gave me werewolf venom.

Which is a preface for the experience of watching his fully-grown, lean to a fault, lethally gorgeous werewolf-ness prowl out of the bathroom amid a puff of steam like a god descending from on high to mingle with the peons. He always starts the post-shower drying process at his feet, then dries his muscular calves, leaving his massive thighs and arms, his chest and those splendid sacred abs of his glistening in a way that makes me a believer that he has the absolute best body that has ever existed.

“Jericho?” There’s a panicky edge in his ice cream smooth tenor before the alpha compulsion kicks in and the ring of it echoes in his demand. Are you with me?>

But at that point, everything he’s said is all white noise because I’m actually convinced my eyes are fixed—very lustfully— on a true god. A god capable of delivering sensual satisfaction beyond my ability to bear. All my brain cells are firing at maximum capacity, not because of anything important that may have passed over his infinitely kissable lips. Oh no, fine weapon of overwhelming pleasure that that mouth of his is, I’m busily focused on his scrumptious V, still beaded like the rest of his chiseled chest and taut abdomen with glittering drops of water, as if he’s adorned with liquid jewels and not a damn thing else.

Because sweet mother of god, the V on this man is so perfect and beautiful. He’s all flawlessly molded muscle, so strong, and so tall, that every non-essential brain function ceases immediately. All of that IQ is channeled one-hundred percent into envisioning him diving deep into my achy female bits.

On high alert now, Channing shifts to a more aggressive stance that only fuels the hunger that consumes me. His gorgeous blue eyes bathe me in white-blue alpha glow, domineering and undeniable, instantly reawakening the sodium-yellow of my magic. Because there’s nothing left inside me but lust.

Imperceptibly, I wrap my invisible tentacles around him in a loose coil, much like I did Ferdi at the Titanic Belfast waterfront. Alarm flashes over his face as they close abruptly around him, securing him, but not immobilizing. I give him a full minute to explore how it feels, slipping out of my magic’s undetectable grasp in an awkward, jerky marionette-like dance only to be recaptured in the next instant.

Jericho! Yield to me!>

I chuckle wickedly—because, oh, the V— then reel him to me. I toss my phone and the dragon panel photos from the tapestry at the Ulster museum aside. I gather myself into a kneel at the side of the bed, leaning back on my heels in ravenous anticipation. The authoritarian alpha glow in his eyes transitions roughly from aggression to shock when my hands tighten on his muscular thighs.

The golden hairs that lightly dust them are still damp with clinging water but it’s not enough to cool the delicious heat rolling off of him beneath my questing palms. My fingertips graze the bulging appendage at the junction of his thighs and it gives a powerful twitch in response. The wicked little laugh bubbles out of me again and I wonder if I could ever be content again without that magnificent tool in my life.

Then I reach the V. Channing’s eyes locked to mine burn with an intricate mix of watchfulness, curiosity, and desire. He’s gone completely still, but his delectable body is taut and prepared to spring into action. His scarred brow twitches as I move my face closer to his abdomen.

“Oh, I see now.” A lazy smile curls the corners of his mouth, then a low growl of approval escapes him as my tongue pokes out, slowly lapping the glistening drops gathered in the hard line of that mouthwatering V.  “I thought I’d satisfied that hunger, babydoll, but I’ll bang you again until you can’t see straight,” he promises.

His menacing non-threat makes me laugh out loud. “You know, it’s hard to seduce you when you talk to me like that.”

Channing flashes me one of his mega-watt grins. “I’m seduced. Believe me, I’m seduced. Although I have to admit, that slithery feel of your invisible magic sliding over me was a little unnerving.”

I stare up at him blandly, then sigh in disappointment. “So much for the moment.” Turning, I start to crawl to the opposite side of the bed and feel his large warm paws close on my ankles. I crash with a muffled ‘oof!’ into the mattress when he jerks my legs hard, pulling my limbs out from under me.

“Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah.” He drags me to him, burning with fierce animal desire. “This is a moment.” Flipping me over and spreading my legs wide, Channing presses a hot kiss against the soft, damp flesh between them.

I can’t help my breathy sigh of enjoyment, even though he’s effectively killed the moment for me. “Don’t lie, Channing. I know you’re hungry, so let me get dressed and we’ll go feed you.”

“I would never lie to you, babydoll.”

My head jerks up so I can see him bent over me. On my finger, SOFie still billows her icky nebulous bile over me, a response to his statement that he’d never lie. I arch a brow. “You’d never lie?”

He huffs a laugh, pressing a kiss to my middle. “So suspicious, Jericho, and so abusive to my poor ego. If you were asking how you looked, I’d tell you beautiful, because you are, even though your hair’s in a bird’s nest that’ll take a metric shitton of work to straighten out and you've got mascara smeared into your hairline. So, yes, I’d lie, but not over something important. Can we get back to our moment now?”

Letting my head fall back, I stare at the ceiling. Why do people have to be so damn complex? Will I find out what he’s lying about?> I ask SOFie. I get a bright twinkle in reply.

Heaving a patient sigh, I sit up so we’re face to face. “Let me up. We’ll find you some food. I already said you could play a full game before we go to bed tonight.”

Channing studies me carefully, but doesn’t say a word, nor does he relax his hold on my spread thighs. A yawning minute passes with him staring at me. Then abruptly, he hooks my knees, jerking me onto my back again. He pushes them up so they’re alongside my chest.

“Channing!” I exclaim, exasperated.

“Shhh.”

It’s impossible not to notice his excitement growing as he examines the soft folds he so recently pummeled into delicious soreness. Dipping his head, he traces each one, gently poking, prying and kissing and I can’t help my moan of pleasure.

“Was I too rough, babydoll?” he murmurs.

In that second, I sort of resent how well he knows me. Fortunately, his stomach comes to my rescue, giving a loud rumble that floods the silence of the room. “You’re hungry, Channing. Let me up. And you’d best get dressed and downstairs to ask Nora about hiring a ride because I want to go to the Ten Square Hotel for dinner.”

“Ten Square Hotel?” He plants one more gentle kiss between my legs, then eases them down. “What’s there?”

“Jospers Steakhouse.”

His face lights with a beaming smile. “Hot damn! Let’s go!”