Page 74 of What a Wolf's Heart Decides

A rush of surprise and disbelief made her eyelids flutter. “You like things about me?” Tell me the others!

At first, he didn’t answer. Didn’t move.

Her heart pounded.

What was happening?

Slowly, oh so slowly, he dragged his thumb across her bottom lip.

Oh.

The air felt thicker. Heavier. Time seemed to slow. Somewhere in her mind, a devil leaned forward and whispered in her ear. She darted her tongue out, tasting the tip of his thumb and the salt from her own tear.

His gaze shot to hers, and his voice dropped out of human range. “I like a lot of things about you.”

Oh god, he was going to kiss her.

Did she want him to kiss her?

They drifted closer, their movements both subtle and seismic, like two continents rising from their foundations and brushing against each other, their edges cracking and reforming. Nothing would be the same.

Doesn’t matter.

She couldn’t think about that. Because the answer was yes.

Yes, she wanted him to kiss her.

He brought his other hand up so he cradled her face in his palms, then he slanted his mouth against hers.

She met him on a sigh, her lips parting as she granted him entry.

He charged in, taking her mouth like a starving man who just stumbled upon a feast.

Rich sandalwood and crisp juniper filled her lungs, layers of forest wrapping around her. He smelled of everything wholesome and good—green forests and winter berries and Christmas morning.

A moan wound its way up from her chest and huddled in her throat. At the same time, heat gathered between her legs, the flesh there heavy and hot.

He sucked at her lower lip, and her moan escaped into his mouth.

His upper body jerked, as though someone had set off a charge inside him. He pulled back just enough to growl against her lips. “Need more of you.” In one smooth movement, he gripped her around the waist and pulled her astride his lap.

Heart pounding from the unexpected trip through the air, she braced her palms on his shoulders. The position mashed her breasts together, and her thin cami did little to hide her cleavage from anyone who cared to look.

He looked.

The heat between her thighs grew. Perched on his lap as she was, her sex was open and damp against the thin fabric of her panties. A pulse formed there, greedy and insistent, urging her to rock her hips forward and grab the friction she needed. At the same time, his gaze on her breasts made her nipples harden, the peaks visible in the lower half of her vision.

The devil that made her taste his thumb leaned in again. Indulging a brazen streak she didn’t know she possessed, she shrugged out of her shirt. Deprived of its buttons from Bard’s rescue, it slipped down her arms and dropped to the floor behind her, leaving her in her jeans and camisole.

His good eye went heavy lidded, and he seemed to struggle to draw a full breath.

Before her courage could desert her, she pulled her cami over her head and tossed it aside. Then she undid her bra and tossed that, too. Her breasts bounced free, the tips hard and pointed as arrows.

“Christ,” he muttered. He lifted a hand and touched a fingertip to one aching peak.

Electricity zipped through her, running a sizzling path from his finger to her sex. Uncaring how desperate she looked, she thrust her chest out and tipped her head back in an unmistakable invitation. She surveyed him through narrowed eyes, her breath caught in her chest as she waited for his next move.

He traced a light finger around her nipple, then pinched the taut peak, holding her fast between his thumb and forefinger.

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