Page 55 of Fire on the Moon

Grasping his wrist with one hand, she used the other to undo the button at the top of the jeans he’d hastily put on after his shower. Ignoring his questioning look, she finished with the button, then slowly lowered the zipper of his fly.

She had already aroused him with her touches and kisses. He caught his breath as she reached inside the jeans and closed her fist around his cock. That was enough to make him feel like he might go off like a rocket.

When she released him, he heard himself make a moaning sound. And when she climbed off the bed, he wanted to plead with her to come back. Instead she stood beside the bunk and pulled her shirt over her head before unhooking her bra and tossing it away.

As she stood before him, she lifted her breasts in her hands. The nipples were already hard, and she took them between her thumbs and fingers, playing with them as she kept her gaze locked on him.

He could barely breathe as he watched her. Next she undid her pants, skimmed them down her legs along with her panties.

Naked, she stood looking down at him before reaching to pull off his pants.

He lay in the bed, fully aroused, struggling to keep from begging for more. She didn’t make him wait for long. His heart leaped as she climbed back onto the bed. Her movements decisive, she straddled him, bring him inside her in one smooth motion.

For long moments she stayed poised on the knife edge of possibility, and he forced himself not to thrust his hips upward as her eyes locked with his.

Her first movements were slow, teasing. And when she began to move faster, he kept pace with her, his breath coming in gasps as she brought him higher and higher to a peak of pleasure he had never imagined. He grasped her buttocks with the hand of his good arm, anchoring her to him, holding back until he thought he would reach his breaking point. When he felt her contract around him, he let go, his shout of pleasure vibrating through the small cabin.

They were both slick with sweat and breathing hard as she shifted off of him and flopped onto the mattress.

He brought his uninjured arm up so that he could stroke her damp hair back from her forehead. Pushing himself up, he looked down at her.

His throat was so constricted that he could barely speak, but he managed to ask, “Why, exactly did you come back here?”

“Out in the main cabin, I started thinking about what kind of man I wanted to spend my life with. I wanted someone steady, honest, loving, a man with principles. And when I thought about the past few days, I realized you were all of those things. Everything about you is right—except for one scary detail.”

“The big bad wolf?”

“Yes. But I guess I’m getting used to that, too.” She cleared her throat. “And your weird diet. Werewolves don’t drink coffee?”

“Any drugs play havoc with our systems.”

“And I guess I’m not going to be making you a lot of salads.”

He laughed, astonished at the one-eighty turn their relationship had taken.

Closing his eyes, he knitted his fingers with hers. They were in a hell of a mess, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to get them out of it. But for the moment he felt a kind of peace—and completion—that he had never before experienced in his life. His brother and cousins had never told him about this—but he knew they would have been embarrassed to reveal so much.

“Thank God,” he murmured. “I was thinking about what I was going to do if you walked away from me. Of course, I still have to figure how we’re getting out of this mess.”

“You work for a detective agency, don’t you? Can’t they help us?”

He sighed. “They were providing support. I called them when you were at the grocery. But I’ve been busy since then.”

He pushed himself up and reached for the burner phone that he’d set on the shelf next to his laptop. When he punched in the Decorah Security number, the phone was answered on the first ring—by Frank Decorah, who must have been at the office all night.

“Zane? Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“What the hell is happening down there? You went silent after we last talked.”

Zane sighed. “Sorry. We were dealing with a situation.” Quickly he filled in his boss on Francesca’s trip to the grocery store and their departure from the marina.

“Are you all right?”

He sighed again. “Still recovering from the gunshot wound. Do you have any information on the other one—the guy who Francesca hit over the head to save my bacon?”

“He’s recovering in the hospital, but he’s refusing to say anything.”

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