Page 110 of What a Wolf Demands

Dom shot her a disgruntled look, the expression so reminiscent of the old Dom she almost laughed. “I’d rather not go to New Orleans,” he muttered.

“Why not?”

“It’s full of old magic. I don’t trust it.” He scowled. “And the French. I don’t trust them either.”

“Hey!” She punched his shoulder. “You realize the loup-garou are Acadians, right? We migrated from Canada before the American Revolution. I’m as French as Max and Remy.”

He propped himself on his elbow and kissed her forehead, and his voice was soft when he said, “In that case, I love the French.”

She used her fingertips to give his jaw a light, playful slap. “That’s a pretty convenient change of heart, don’t you think?”

He captured her hand and kissed her knuckles. Rubbing his lips back and forth over them, he murmured, “Maybe that’s your true Gift, sweetheart. Changing hardened hearts. You certainly changed mine.” His eyes gleamed. “You make me a better man.”

Oh no. He was going to make her cry—something that happened fairly often these days. “You were always a good man,” she said, cupping his jaw. “You just needed someone to punch you in the face.”

His eyes widened, then he collapsed on his back, his chest shaking as he laughed.

Her own humor bubbled up, but she shoved it away, determined to enjoy the undeniably sexy sight of a laughing, smiling Dom. His dark looks were always smoldering, but there was something irresistible about his handsome face crinkled in mirth. He was freer somehow, all his reservations stripped away. She let her gaze wander over his black-stubbled jaw and broad chest.

After a minute, he quieted down. “Lily?”

“Mmmm?” She’d moved on to his hips, which were lean in the old jeans he wore whenever he went on patrol with the other Hunters.

His voice dipped into a lower register. “Are you checking me out?”

“Mmmhmm.” Her nipples tightened, and a surge of desire made her blood heat. That happened a lot, too. Hell, sometimes the weepy feelings and the lust happened at the same time, which made for interesting experiences.

Unable to stop herself, she reached over and stroked her hand down the bulge between his legs.

He closed his eyes on a groan.

“Good?” she asked.

“You have no idea.”

With a practiced flick, she undid the button at his waist.

Another groan. Eyes closed, he murmured, “You know, I didn’t believe it at first when Damian claimed there are werewolves with witchblood running around.”

A wicked smile spread in her mind as she lowered his zipper. His stomach muscles jerked. She slid her hand inside his boxer briefs and grasped his shaft. “But now you do?”

His reply was a breathy moan. “God, yes. Now I do.”

She lifted his shaft, loving the sight of her fingers curled around him, the smooth head of his cock gleaming in the room’s soft light. Fascinated by the contrast between his tan skin and her paler hand, she slid her fist down his full length.

His lips parted on a sigh. He turned his head toward her and cracked one eye open. Voice breathless, he said, “I believe it, because only witchcraft can explain what you do to me.”

Heat gathered between her legs, and her heart rate picked up. Gripping him tighter, she met his gaze. “Make love to me.”

“Are you sure?” His eyes darted to her swollen belly. “I don’t want to hurt anything.”

“You won’t.” She recalled something she’d read in one of her pregnancy books. “In fact, they say sex can actually bring on labor.”

His eyes lit up. “Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“You’re not joking.”

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