Page 19 of What a Wolf Demands

Shock held her immobile. Dimly, she heard the blond mutter and shuffle away.

But she didn’t have time to worry about the woman or her phone or anything else.

Because Dominic Prado’s mouth was on hers, his lips wet and hot and softer than any man’s had a right to be. Like the flip of a switch, the cold hitman was gone. Now, a carnal stranger pressed against her, his big body vibrating with some kind of emotion.

Anger?

Not with the way he was kissing her. He was everywhere—all around her and inside her—his tongue tangling with hers. She let her eyelids flutter shut. With nothing but the wall behind her, she clutched at his shoulders for support. The leather was warm under her fingers.

But his mouth was warmer.

He kissed like she was the only woman in the world—his mouth aggressive and demanding. He licked at the seam of her lips. When she gasped again, he slid deeper inside, stroking his tongue along hers in a sweeping caress. The rich, earthy scent of pine swirled around her.

Heat curled low in her belly. Dampness pooled between her thighs, and she bit back a moan. How long had it been since someone made her feel this way?

Forever.

The sounds of the club faded to a distant throb. The world shrank. Or maybe it got bigger—as if she and Prado stood at the edge of a vast universe, surrounded by stars and wild possibilities.

His hands left her arms, sliding up her shoulders and into her hair. He tipped her head back, then angled his own sideways, giving him better access to her mouth.

And, oh, he took advantage of the new angle.

He deepened the kiss, dipping into her mouth and drinking in her every breath.

Then he sucked at her lower lip.

Another moan built in her throat. Against the cold, wet fabric of her shirt and bra, her nipples pebbled.

His breath hitched. He cupped her head, his thumbs feathering against the fine hair at her temples. Leather shifted and creaked. He slid his tongue into her mouth again, seeking and probing.

Something sharp grazed her lip. The taste of copper filled her mouth.

Blood.

In her mind, Charlie turned his head toward her, his lips moving.

“Murderer.”

Reality crashed in, jerking her out of the hazy moment. The club music swelled. Voices rose and fell.

She whipped her head to the side, breaking off the kiss. Then she shoved against Prado’s shoulders. “Get off me, you oaf!”

He pulled back, dropping his hands from her hair. His eyes were dazed, as if he’d been underwater and had just come up for air.

Running on pure adrenaline, she pulled her arm back and swung her fist at his face.

And connected.

His head snapped back. Pain shot through her knuckles.

Holy shit, I punched him.

Before the thought could fully form, he whipped his head back, his wolf blazing in his eyes.

Oh no. He was going to kill her. She sucked in a breath. “I—”

He gripped her shoulders. “You punched me.” There was anger in his voice, but also something else.

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