Page 25 of The Wolf's Plus-Size Bride

“You’re so romantic.”

“Hey, I was a teenage boy. All I could think about was sex.”

“And now you’re a man,” I say. “And what do you think about now?”

“Sex,” he says wryly. “But I’m more sophisticated now. I think about multiple positions and locations.”

“Wow,” I snort. “So, you’re like a real Casanova. A regular Don Juan.”

He laughs and lies back, staring up at the ceiling. “All right, out with it. What’s your weird dating story? I know you’ve got one.”

I press my lips together as I think, running through the options. I’ve had some bad dates and some good dates, but I can’t come up with anything that’s too crazy. “I got nothing,” I finally say.

“Come on, sugar,” he urges. “There’s gotta be something.”

“It’s not like it’s a long list. I’m not nearly as experienced as you are, Mr. Bigshot.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I immediately regret them. The last thing I want Reiner to think is that I’m some inexperienced little girl.

“What does that mean?” he asks.

I blow out a breath, wishing I’d never said anything. “It means, I’ve only had two boyfriends, and neither of them were long enough to…”

“Are you telling me you’re a… virgin?” he echoes, and he turns to face me again. I wish I could disappear under the covers.

“I know, I’m a total loser.”

“No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re just… picky. I don’t blame you. Why settle for less than the best?”

“Ha-ha,” I deadpan. “I’m not picky. I’m just not the most attractive girl in the world, and you can’t blame me for not attracting a lot of attention.”

“Jane.” He says my name like a warning, and he sits up, turning to face me.

“What?”

“You don’t mean that, do you? You’re fucking gorgeous.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” he says. “You’re a knockout. You’re the kind of girl guys fantasize about. Hell, I can’t count how many times I’ve jerked off thinking about how since we met.”

“Reiner!” I gasp, and my cheeks burn. “Jesus, you can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” He reaches for me, cupping my face in his hands. “It’s true.”

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“I’m going to kiss you, and I’m going to prove to you how beautiful you are.”

“You can’t,” I protest. “We can’t.”

“I can,” he says, “and I will.”

I should push him away. I should tell him to stop. But I can’t.

He leans in, and his lips brush against mine, tentatively at first, and then he presses harder, his tongue sweeping across the seam of my mouth. I open for him, and he groans.

He’s so strong, so powerful, and I melt against him. His fingers tangle in my hair, and he pulls me closer, his tongue probing, exploring.

I’ve never been kissed like this. I’ve never had a man’s hands on me like this. I’m lost in him, and I don’t ever want to be found.

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