Page 9 of Fated Wolf's Redemption

"Didn’t think you were the type to run, Stone," she calls, amusement laced through her voice.

I stop, my back still to her, hands curled into fists. I should keep going. I should let this go. But I do none of those. Instead, I turn.

She’s still in the water, standing now, droplets tracing the curves of her bare skin, silvered by the moonlight filtering through the canopy. She should look vulnerable, caught like this. She doesn’t. There’s nothing vulnerable about Sophia McKenna.

She tilts her head, watching me like I’m the one caught instead of her. "You can pretend all you want, but we both know you didn’t track me down so you could patrol your borders."

I keep my expression unreadable. "You’re in my territory. I needed to be sure you weren’t up to something."

That makes her laugh out loud, bending forward, which results in her luscious breasts jiggling temptingly. "And do you consider me a threat?"

She has no idea. I don’t answer, because every response that comes to mind is a mistake.

She takes a step toward the edge of the stream, water lapping at her thighs. "You’re still looking."

I should force my eyes away. I should tell her to get dressed and leave. I don’t.

Instead, I meet her gaze, steady and unflinching. "You want to play games, Windrider? You will not like how this one ends."

Her grin widens, slow and knowing. "I don’t know about that. Given the size of the bulge in your jeans, I think I might enjoy myself a great deal."

The challenge hangs in the air between us, electric, like a storm building on the horizon. My wolf watches her just as intently as I do, torn between the instinct to dominate and the knowledge that Sophia isn’t the kind of woman who submits easily—if at all.

She reaches for the rock where she folded her clothes but doesn’t bother covering herself. Instead, she stretches her arms overhead, unapologetically baring herself to the night, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me—daring me to do something about it.

"You don’t like losing control, do you?" she muses.

I let out a slow breath, my patience wearing thin. "And you do like testing limits you don’t understand."

Her gaze locks onto mine, sharp and deliberate. "You think I don’t understand you?"

"I think you don’t know what you’re asking for," I say, my voice lower than I intend.

She steps out of the water, still drenched, still glistening with moonlight, her hair clinging to her bare shoulders, curling around her nipples. She doesn’t rush to dress. She just stands there, watching me, like she’s waiting for me to break first.

Something inside me snaps. One second, I’m holding the line. The next, I’m in front of her, so close I can feel the warmth radiating from her damp skin.

Sophia doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down. She lifts her chin, eyes burning with something dangerous and reckless.

I grab her wrist, slow but firm, giving her one last chance to walk away. "Get dressed Sophia. You don’t want this fight."

She lets out a soft laugh, husky and full of something wicked. "Oh, but I think I do."

Then she moves.

I don’t know who starts it, but suddenly we’re on each other, the space between us gone in a clash of heat and instinct. My mouth slants over hers, demanding, taking, daring her to push back—and she does.

She fists a hand in my shirt, pulling me closer instead of shoving me away. Her other hand slides up my chest, nails scraping just enough to send a pulse of fire through my veins. I fist her hair, tilting her head just the way I want before biting down on her bottom lip, pulling a sharp breath from her throat.

She presses up against me, forcing me to meet her halfway, her kiss a battle neither of us wants to lose. Her teeth graze my lip, answering my bite with one of her own, her body arching against mine like she’s already claiming me right back.

My control, already razor-thin, shreds into nothing.

I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world as I carry her away from the stream and pin her back against the tree behind us. The rough bark scrapes against her skin, and she laughs into my mouth, like she likes it.

"You’re going to be a problem," I mutter, dragging my lips down her throat, feeling the wild pulse beneath her skin.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me back up to meet her mouth again, hungry and unrepentant. "So stop pretending you don’t like problems."

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