Page 52 of Witch's Wolf

His hands skim up my sides, slow and reverent, like he’s relearning the shape of me. His fingers ghost over my back, curling around my shoulders before pulling me tighter.

“Damn it,” he murmurs against my lips, voice rough, raw. “I’ve missed you.”

A shudder rushes through my entire body.

“I missed you too,” I breathe, fingers tangling in the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

His hands keep moving, exploring, mapping. When they find the zipper of my dress, I feel the briefest hesitation before the quiet rasp of the metal sliding down. A thrill rushes in, his need, his desperation and mine.

Then reality slams in, carried by muffled footsteps from outside and the chatter of staff finishing their shifts. I let out a breathless laugh, breaking away just enough to tease.

“Someone’s impatient.” His answer is a wicked smirk. “Not here,” I say, brushing my lips over his one last time. “Come to my place.”

The hunger in his gaze sharpens, but there’s something else beneath it. Something deeper, something that tethers me to him in ways I don’t understand.

I step back, retrieving my purse. My eyes flick to the dark stain on the floor—the only reminder of the vampire who’d almost ended me. Sam had saved my life. He’d protected me when I had given him every reason not to. I should ask about Helena’s warning, demand to know how he knew to be here.

But not now. Right now, I only wanthim.The questions can wait. But this? Thiscan’t.

Heading home with Sam gives me time to think, to plan. This will be our first night together here, in my space. I want it to be different. I’ve had him before of course, wild, urgent, and somewhat desperate. Tonight, I need more, want more. Not a frantic, mindless collision against the nearest surface, not a stolen moment that ends too soon.

So, when we step inside my house, I don’t hesitate at the door, don’t let temptation drag me into another reckless repeat of what we did before. Instead, I flash a knowing smile over my shoulder and sway my hips as I move toward the bedroom, anticipation curling low in my belly.

The sight of my bed, deep purple sheets, soft and inviting, causes a thrill. I reach for my zipper as I step out of my heels. I’m picturing the way he’ll look sprawled out beneath me. I’m ready to pose for him, tease him, drive him insane, but then a sound stops me.

The rush of water.

I glance toward the bathroom, and sure enough, light spills through the doorway. A smirk tugs at my lips. Of course. I should’ve expected this. Padding forward, I lean against the doorframe, taking in the sight.

Sam stands under the shower, head tipped back, water streaming onto his face, down his chest, and cascading over sculpted abs that make my mouth go dry. His muscles flex as he rubs a hand over his arm, rinsing away the remnants of the fight, of that thing.

He senses me before he sees me, his voice low, deep and rumbling.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He doesn’t turn, but I catch the tension in his shoulders. “Had to wash that vampire off.”

Mind? A breathless laugh escapes as I ease down the strap of my dress, letting it slide over my shoulder.

“Are you kidding me?”

Sam doesn’t answer my question with his voice, but this moment isn’t about words. His eyes follow me as I step into the bathroom. They trail down my legs, lingering, but never settling on one place for too long. It’s deliberate and calculated. A slow, silent worship that makes my skin prickle.

I lift my leg over the side of the bathtub and step in, heat wrapping around. Steam rises between us, curling in the space as I bridge the last of the distance. My palms find his upper thighs, a gentle push urging him back beneath the stream of water. Warm rivulets slide over my skin as I reach up, fingers threading through my drenched hair, water spilling down my chest.

Then—heat.

A soft, searing press of lips just above my navel, followed by the rasp of stubble against my stomach. A tremor runs through me, sharp and electric.

“You’re so sexy…” Sam murmurs against my skin, his voice rough with something deep, something dark.

His hands find my hips, squeezing as he kisses his way up, slow and reverent. My breath catches when his mouth brushes the underside of my breast. His fingers drag up my back as his lips close around my nipple. The wet heat tightening the sensitive peak.

I grip his hair, wet and slick beneath my fingertips. He groans, the vibrations pulsing through me as his tongue circles, tasting, teasing… claiming. He wants more. I want more.

“More, baby,” I breathe, my voice a broken plea. “I want more.”

His response is a grunt, low and needy. His hands slide down my back, a rough scrape of calloused palms before he squeezes my ass, hard enough to make me gasp. He spreads me and strokes, his lips closing tighter and then a sharp, wicked bite that sends my head tipping back.

I barely register the way he moves. Barely process the shift of his body and the shift of mine. My knees tremble. Staying upright is suddenly impossible.

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