Page 90 of What a Wolf Demands

Now he was nonchalant Dom? The easygoing hitman? She stomped to him and shoved his shoulders. Hard.

It was about as effective as a gnat trying to move an elephant.

She slapped at his arm. “Damn you!” Damn him for not caring what people thought. For loving her and not giving a single shit about pack culture or politics. For being everything she needed.

And the one thing she could never have.

The thought just made her angrier. She slapped at him again, striking his shoulder. “Damn you!”

He stood there, taking it. The wind whirled around them, tearing at their hair and clothes.

“Damn you!” She hit him again. “Damn you!”

His body rocked slightly. He kept his arms at his sides.

Tears coursed down her cheeks. She grabbed the sides of his jacket and screamed. “Damn you! Goddamn you!”

He crushed his mouth against hers, his hands threading through her hair and holding her still.

She opened her mouth, letting him in.

He stroked his tongue deep.

She went onto her toes, molding her body to his.

The wind raged. They raged, too—sucking and biting at each other, bruising each other’s mouths and not caring.

His hands tightened in her hair as he took her mouth, giving her every bit of himself. It was like he’d opened a portal from his soul to hers, and now they swirled together, their essences mingling and twisting in a furious, primal dance.

She drew in breath, which was his breath. His scent surrounded her and filled her, leather and pine and something that might have been a little bit of her.

At last, he broke away, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes, his hands still in her hair. His chest heaved as if he’d just run a long distance.

Come to think of it, her heart was pounding, too. Her lips stung, and the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth.

She licked her lips, tasting him there.

“Mate me,” he said, his voice harsh.

Shock skipped through her. “What?”

“Mate me. Right here, right now.”

She tried to step back, but his hands held her in place. “I . . . it won’t work. I’m a latent.”

“I don’t care. It’s what I want.”

“But—”

“It’s what I want.” His gaze burned. “Is it what you want?”

Oh yes. More than anything.

But . . .

She closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see his face when she said what she needed to say next. Throat tight, she whispered, “What if I’m going feral?”

His scent grew, then soft lips touched her forehead. “Open your eyes, beautiful girl.”

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