Page 51 of Love At First Roar
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CORA
The door clicked shut behind them, sealing the world out.
Cora stood just inside the threshold of Callum’s cabin, breath shallow, skin tingling. The air inside was warm, thick with pine and cedar smoke—and the scent of him. That deep, masculine blend of earth and spice that made her body hum before he even touched her. She could feel him everywhere, and he hadn’t even laid a hand on her yet.
He turned slowly.
The shadows bent around his massive frame, blue eyes locked on hers, dark and full of restraint he wouldn’t be able to hold onto much longer. The moonlight hit him just right—illuminating the shaggy brown and gold waves of his hair, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, and the tight stretch of his t-shirt over a body built by years of patrol and protection.
She stepped forward, fingers brushing the edge of the old wooden table as she passed. Her magic stirred inside her—not chaotic, not spiking. It moved with his presence. Like leaves swaying to a steady wind.
He met her in the middle, towering over her, but still.
Waiting.
She reached up, cupped his face in both hands. “You don’t have to be careful.”
His jaw flexed beneath her thumbs. “I’ve only ever wanted to be careful with you.”
Her lips parted.
He kissed her.
Slow. Anchoring. The kind of kiss that saidstay. That saidmine. Her spine melted, her stomach twisted into heat, and her pulse pounded behind her ribs.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. “Still sure?”
“More than ever.”
He lifted her easily, muscles flexing as he carried her across the room. Her breath caught as she threw her arms around his shoulders, the scent of him thick in her nose—warm spice, sweat, pine. He didn’t toss her onto the bed. He laid her down, reverent, as though every inch of her mattered.
Her green wrap dress sighed off her shoulders.
His gaze roamed.
His hands followed.
Calloused palms slid up her bare thighs, brushing slowly over the softness there. His thumbs dipped into her waist, fingers trembling just slightly as he traced the shape of her ribs. Her whole body lit up under his touch—want, heat, magic.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. “You’re… unreal.”
Her hands found his chest, pushed up under his shirt. “Off.”
He obeyed.
The shirt came off in one smooth motion, revealing the powerful stretch of golden skin over hard muscle. His chest was dusted with dark hair, his body as wild and perfect as the lion that lived inside him. The amber flicker in his eyes made her shiver.
She sat up and pressed her lips to his chest, to the place where his heart thundered against her mouth. “Safe,” she murmured.
He groaned—low, guttural—like the word snapped something inside him.
The kiss he gave her then was nothing like the first.
Hot. Desperate. Possessive.
His mouth trailed down her throat, her collarbone, her chest. He peeled the rest of the dress from her like unwrapping something sacred. He kissed the inside of her knee, the soft skin of her hip. Every touch, every scrape of teeth, was a worship.
