Page 49 of If The Shoe Fits

“Home. Now,” he growls, his deep voice sending a shiver straight through me.

I feel him pulse against my belly, and my brain short-circuits.

Every coherent thought evaporates into the ether, leaving only one clear, undeniable fact.

I want him. Desperately.

“I can do that,” I manage to reply, my voice breathy and just a little wobbly.

And then, because I apparently have no shame, I wiggle my nose.

What can I say? I teach moral use of magic for a living.

I’m practically the poster child for ethical spellcasting.

But sometimes? Just sometimes?

A little personal gain doesn’t hurt.

As I call on my powers, the familiar hum of magic sparking to life around me, I can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction.

Wulfy’s eyes darken, his gaze locked on me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

The ballroom fades away in a swirl of blue light, the hum of conversation and laughter replaced by the quiet intimacy of a bedroom.

His—soon to be our—bedroom.

It’s warm and inviting, the soft glow of candlelight casting long shadows across the dark wood furniture. The bed—large, sturdy, and entirely too tempting—sits in the center of the room, draped in deep, forest-green linens that look far too inviting.

Wulfy wastes no time. The second our feet touch the ground, his arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against his chest.

His lips crash into mine, all heat and urgency, and my knees nearly buckle from the sheer intensity of it.

His growl rumbles through me, low and possessive, as his hands grip my waist like he’s afraid I might disappear.

“You’re trouble, Sweet Witch,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough and deliciously dark.

I grin, threading my fingers through his hair and tugging just enough to make him growl again. “And you love it.”

“I love you, Madora. My mate,” he says, his response is immediate.

Wulfy’s lips claiming mine in a kiss that leaves no room for argument. And as his hands roam, his touch igniting every nerve ending in my body, I can’t help but think that sometimes—just sometimes—being wicked is absolutely worth it.

epilogue

Wulfy undresses me in an unhurried rush, if such a thing can even exist.

“It exists all right. Feel my urgency. I need you naked, mate. But I refuse to miss one glorious inch of you,” he growls, peeling away my gown faster than I can tear plastic wrap off a candied apple.

“I got this,” I say, waving my hands and removing both our clothes with a flash of silver and blue magic from my fingertips.

Pale moonlight shines on us from the beautiful skylight over the bed and I bite my lip as Wulfy stalks me until I fall backwards onto the mattress.

A smile teases my mouth as he follows me, his hard mouth crushing mine in his need to claim me.

“Damn right, I feel like I’ve been chained up for months. Kept away from you. Now, I’m free, Sweet Witch, and I plan to have you,” he growls, licking a trail down between the valley of my breasts, over my soft belly, to the short curls covering my aching pussy.

“Wulfy,” I moan, leaning upon my elbows so I can watch him feasting on me.

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