“No. Do you?”
She shook her head, biting her kiss-swollen lips as she looked up at me through her lashes. “I want more.”
How could I resist that?
Chapter 12
Cheribelle
It Takes Two to Tango
Never in a hundred,million years did I ever expect to be under Paul VanMarche as he kissed me senseless, his movements full of just as much bite as he had passion.
For once, my brain was quiet.
I was so locked in on the moment, only experiencing what was happening and focusing on thenow,it was like a drug. And my dealer was the handsome wolf shifter above me.
I knew it meant nothing. We were just letting off some steam. Butman,was I elated that he hadn’t kicked me to the curb. He had every right to, because what I’d done had been sneaky and selfish. I didn’t deserve a second chance.
Yet he was giving me one.
And that second chance wasn’t contingent on what we were doing now. Even though he’d never said it, it was so implicit in the multiple ways he tried to make sure he had my full consent. Which he had, unequivocally.
I liked sex a little rough around the edges. I preferred my pleasure to have a bit of bite and burn along with the ecstasy. I liked being put in my place just as much as I loved pushing boundaries and defying any sort of authority—but only if I trusted and felt safe with my partner.
And I really did trust Paul.
That was completely crazy since this was only our second time being in each other’s presence, but that was double the length of a one-night stand, so who cared? Despite how badly I’d fucked up, we had a connection, so who better to celebrate the fact that we’d survived a run-in with a very angry dryad than Paul?
By the way, you really need to follow up with that.
Not now, brain! Fun times! Endorphins.
Fuck, his abs are delicious!
When we broke apart to catch our breath, I gently removed his glasses. The simple act seemed heavily weighted as I hung them from my easel.
“Kiss me,” I demanded again, and the snarl he let out had me dripping in my panties. Maybe one day I’d examine that particular reaction, but not today. Right now, my brain was finally fully occupied with a task.
Granted, that task was getting laid, and if that wasn’t worth concentrating on, I didn’t know what was.
“Brat,” he hissed before his teeth scraped against my neck. It was a thrilling sort of threat, and I tried to squeeze my thighs together, but Paul filled the space between them with all his heat and hard muscle.
I’d read about mating glands and how shifters bit into each other’s in a very important, ancestral ceremony that was even more important than marriage to them. That had been interesting enough, but what I’d foundreallyfascinating was that there was an entire thing called gland play(unsexiest name ever!)where they teased the area with fangs or fingers. So, even though I didn’t have that particular anatomical part, I liked that Paul was treating me like I did.
“You know it,” I murmured as he sealed his lips over my skin and sucked. It would leave a mark, which sent a delicious thrillthrough me. The idea of wearing his mark made me even wetter. If he didn’t get inside me soon…
That hazy thought was disrupted when he pulled away from my neck and knelt in front of me, keeping his eyes on mine as he draped my knees over his shoulders.
And holy fuck, his entire half of the room was completely saturated with unmitigatedlust.It made my breath catch in my throat.
Vibrant pink mist shimmered this way and that in what little streetlight filtered through my lace curtains. Feral pinwheels of burgundy slowly rose into the air like dandelion puffs, disappearing through the ceiling. Streaks of deep purple desire. Scarlet domination. Lightning strikes of vermillion debauchery without a hint of shade to dilute them.
Did he really feel that way about me? Even after I’d lied to him?
“Oh my god,” I whispered, so turned on I was surprised I didn’t combust.
“My name’s Paul, actually. But close enough.”