" Crooking a finger, she beckoned him.
Crawl back in bed and try to keep his mind off sinking his hard cock into her sweetness, or take a really cold fucking shower— while giving himself a hand job to better help him keep his promise to her of not claiming her before she was ready.
He chose pure torture. He crawled back into bed with her.
Was the “Eep,” that escaped him as the touch of her burrowing against him very manly? No, and neither was his feline very supportive considering it did a flop and stuck its legs in the air, lolled its tongue, and pretended it was cartoon dead.
Very fucking funny.
But true. It might kill him having her spooned so close, and him promising to not claim her. Yet, how could he refuse her when she said, “Will you sleep with me and keep the nightmares away?”
He uttered a mournful second “Eep” as her buttocks fitted against his groin, but he used the torture as a strengthening exercise all the while thinking, my woman, mine, as he held her in his arms. "

― Eve Langlais , When a Beta Roars (A Lion's Pride, #2)