Page 25 of Witch's Wolf

I should look away. Shouldn’t let her see this moment of weakness, this flicker that I don’t want to define. Should, but instead, I reach for her. My knuckles brush her fingertips. The contact is as light as a breath, but it ignites something primal.

“That’s not up to you,” I say, my voice softer than I intend.

She lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking her head.

“Come on, Sam. Who are you kidding? You don’t trust humans, you trying to tell me there’s any chance in hell you’d trust a witch?”

“I think it’s up to you,” I say, holding her gaze.

Her breath catches. I don’t know what I expect her to say, but she doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. The only sound between us is the wind whispering through the trees, rustling the leaves beneath our feet.

“When I heard you sing,” I continue, watching her closely, “I thought you must be a Siren. That’s why I went to your dressing room. I was going to tell you that, but then you…”

I trail off, unwilling to say what had happened, even this much feels like a confession that I’m not sure I’m ready to give. She blinks, confusion flickering across her face.

“A Siren?” she whispers, like the idea is too foreign to grasp. “Me?”

“Yeah,” I say, stepping closer. Drawn to her despite every bit of reason I have screaming to turn and run. “Sirens, you know, like the ones that would lure sailors in with their voices. The sailors knew better, knew they shouldn’t trust them, but they went anyway.” I hesitate, my pulse pounding. “I want to believe you’re a Siren I can trust, Erica. I really do. So, help me.”

A breath rushes out of her, half-laugh, half-scoff. Then, something changes. She tilts her head up, her eyes searching mine, dark and unreadable. The air between us shifts. Thickens. And then, before I process it, she moves.

Her mouth finds mine, swift and unrelenting. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. It’s heat and urgency, a collisionof frustration and longing, of something neither of us can control.

A growl rumbles in my chest. I wrap my arms around, pull her close then press her back with my weight. We come up against the rough bark of the tree, but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away. Her hands find my face, her thumbs skim over my cheekbones, tracing the line of my stubble. A single thought pulses in my head.

Conquer. Mark her as mine.

I shudder, fighting it, fighting myself. But my restraint is slipping. And I don’t know if I want to hold on.

Five words. Two commands from my beast echo through my insides, fusing with his satisfied rumbles.

Take. Claim. Make her ours.

Refusing isn’t an option. Not with her in my arms, her scent flooding my senses, making it impossible to think of anything buther.

My hand slips beneath the fabric of her blouse, and damn. Silken warmth meets my palm, a softness that threatens to undo me. She gasps, breathless, her fingers tightening on my face, her body arching--

Yes. No.

I’m on the razor’s edge. One step forward, and there’ll be no turning back. One step back, and I may lose her completely.

Which is worse?

Her breath, hot against my lips, is all the answer I need.

14

ERICA

Sam’s naked body rubs together with mine.

I have had more than a few fantasies about being with him, but not one of them included us in the wild. My bedroom, kitchen, living room and even the bathroom, for sure. The woods? This hadn’t crossed my dirty mind.

No matter, I’m not going to ask him to slow down. I've been longing for him. I've been yearning to be touched by that big, gorgeous bastard. And my God, he feels so damn good against me…

His long, muscular arms trap me, holding tight. My legs wrap around his waist, my heels bumping against the backs of his thighs. I clutch his shoulders, my lips locked with his, drinking in the heat of him.

His hard cock presses between my thighs, the thick ridge rubbing right against my aching pussy. I whimper into his mouth. His hands stroke along my outer thighs before sliding forward and gripping the curves of my ass. His demandingsqueeze sends a shudder through me. I drag my fingers down his shoulder blades, desperate for more.

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