Page 30 of Fated to the Wolf Billionaire

She was still, then, and I began to worry I’d said too much, too soon. I didn’t know how to exist in half measures, and we’d barely met, after all. Holding back, though, felt like a lie.

Because my feelings? They were intense. My wolf didn’t care if we didn’t know her yet. We would. I wouldn’t stop until I knew every single thing that made my mate tick. He wouldn’t stop until she was ours.

Fiona curled her fingers into my collar, not letting me escape her, as if I’d ever want that.

There was something new, wild in the depths of those mismatched eyes when she said, “Take me back to your room, Reed.”

I didn’t make her ask again. I waited for her to clutch the strange book to her chest and then levered her up by the thighs, anchoring one hand on her lower back as I stood, her head on my shoulder.

She was peppering kisses along my throat, the tiny touches like little flames, branding me everywhere she touched.

I didn’t see the landscape as we crossed the courtyard. It was all a blur between the library and my temporary bedroom. But when the door clicked shut behind us, she wriggled free of my hold. The book, she carefully deposited on my desk, then turned back to face me. Her hands were behind her, gripping the top of the desk chair like it was a lifeline.

The position thrust her breasts forward, and it took everything in me to keep my gaze locked with hers.

I flipped the lock on the door, and she seemed to make a decision. She kicked off her shoes, then backed toward the bed. There was a determined look in her eye that I didn’t quite know how to interpret. But when she reached down for the hem of her shirt and began slowly peeling it up over her head, I groaned.

Every inch of skin she bared was beautiful torture.

Because now I knew what that look meant, and just as much that I couldn’tindulgeit.

She would regret it come morning. And I couldn’t ever let her regret our first time. And damn, I knew that if I let her finish stripping down, laying herself bare, I would never be able to resist her.

“Fiona.” Her name was a command, a reprimand, as much as I tried to keep it gentle.

She flung the shirt free, exposing the skimpy bralette she wore. The tops of her breasts were right there, on display for my greedy eyes. And I drank her in. How could I not?

But I crossed the room in a flash, pinning her hands at her sides before she could start peeling off her pants.

“Not yet,” I whispered against her ear, pressing a kiss to the feverish skin right below it, finishing it with a sharp nip.

She gasped, arching in my grasp at the tiny sting of pain. I groaned, dropping my forehead to her hair, pulling in her scent, the sweet, heady arousal I found there nearly driving me to throw chivalry to the wind.

“Why not?” she asked, no small bit of impatience adding a snap to the words.

“Because the first time I take you, it won’t be because you’re sad and confused. When I’m ready to own you, it will be because you’re mine, and you know exactly what it means to surrender to the wolf.”

She shuddered, pressing her face to my neck and inhaling, that wild part of her craving my scent as much as I did hers even if she didn’t understand why. A tiny nod, that was all she gave me, but I took the assent, and drove her back onto the bed, following her down until our chests were pressed together, our faces buried in each other’s necks. I held my weight on my forearms, not wanting to crush her, but wanting her to feel me over her, protecting her, cherishing her as she drifted off to sleep.

And if our hands wandered in the night, stroking and reassuring, owning just a little bit more of each other with every stolen touch, we were only putting each other back together, keeping the darkness at bay.

FOURTEEN

Fiona

Iwoke on top of Reed, his chest bare, shirt discarded sometime in the night. He still wore his slacks, the expensive fabric silky under my thighs. I should have felt embarrassed—Lord knew my mother would have been horrified by my behavior last night—but all I felt was satisfaction. So much of our bare skin deliciously pressed together.

With any other man, I’d have felt rejected. But with Reed… He had a way of making me feel cherished. The way he held me, kissed me, I knew he wanted to take it slow, not push me away.

In the soft light of dawn, I felt cared for. I was stroking his collarbone, tracing down the center line between his pecs, when I froze, staring at my hand. Which was no longer blue, all the color apparently having drained away as more time passed since I’d touched the book.

I was turning it back and forth in the light—was that atinytinge of blue left around my fingernails?—when Reed stirred, his rock-hard erection pressed up into my thigh.

I froze like a scared bunny.

He groaned, tossing his head against the pillow as he ground up against me again, and I resisted the urge to push down, notch him against my core.

Becausedamn. Even through his slacks, I could feel the impressive size of him, and I knew I’d never been with anyone whose equipment was even close to what he was packing.

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