Page 78 of What a Wolf Demands

A growl rumbled low in his throat.

She drew in a ragged breath. “I—”

He was on her before she could get the words out, his mouth hot against hers.

She lifted onto her toes, desperate to get more of him.

He grabbed her hips and walked her backwards. Something bumped the backs of her knees, and then she was falling. She hit the bed with a soft thud that forced the air from her lungs.

Dom was right there with her, his powerful body covering hers. His mouth was everywhere—her lips, her neck, the tops of her breasts. He nipped at her, as frantic and aggressive as she’d been the previous night when the urges overwhelmed her.

There were no urges now—at least not like before.

No, this wasn’t about painful, stabbing need or out of control lust.

This was about—

“Life,” he said against her lips. He lifted himself onto his elbows, his body pressed against hers from chest to thigh.

She gazed up at him, her anger fading. Tears still clogged her throat, making her voice thick. “I thought you said you couldn’t read minds.”

“I can’t. But in this case, I don’t need to.” He brushed her hair away from her head, spreading the red strands across the pillow. He met her gaze. “You saw death today. You could have been killed.”

Yes. The basement was a place of death—both past and present.

He cupped her jaw, his thumb moving in a feathering caress she’d come to crave. “That sort of experience creates a need.”

“What kind?” Although the answer was pressed hard against her thigh. He’d been in that basement, too. Had survived the standoff with the loup-garou and the mad scramble from the plantation. It made sense that a close brush with death would conjure a desire to celebrate life in its more primitive expression.

“Ah, Lily,” he said, his voiced filled with an emotion she couldn’t place. “You need someone to love you.”

She touched his cheek, savoring the scratch of stubble against her fingertips. “Well, we’re doing that.”

He frowned. “No, sweetheart.” He found her hand, then brought it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles and pressed their joined hands against his heart. “You need someone to love you. To be in love with you.”

Time stopped. For a second, she couldn’t breathe.

She’d misunderstood him. Because he couldn’t be saying—

“I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before.”

She opened her mouth, but all she could manage was, “You . . .”

“Love you.” He leaned down and brushed the softest kiss against her lips. “I love you,” he murmured.

Tears pricked her eyelids. She swallowed a couple times as wonderment drifted through her. It was hard to get words out, and her voice sounded like sandpaper as she asked, “You . . . love me?”

He leaned in again, this time planting a gentle kiss over each puffy eyelid, his lips seeming to soothe away the sting. “I love you, Lily Agincourt,” he whispered. “I love you, I love you.” He pulled back, a soft smile in his eyes. “I’ve loved you since you punched me in the jaw.”

She touched his cheek. “I’m sorry about that.”

“I deserved it. I stole a kiss.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Now his smile reached his mouth, one side kicking up in the sexiest grin she’d ever seen.

Oh, she was lost for this man.

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