Page 15 of Moonlight's Mate
Her eyes narrowed to slits.
Whoo. Chasing after the imp hadn’t been anywhere near as reckless as what he was doing now. Why did he feel the need to grab the wereling by the tail?
Because he wanted more than tail.
She leaned into him, close enough that her breasts brushed his chest. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing down the V-neck of her sweater. It wasn’t his fault; the wolf inside him saw the pale swell of skin, thoughtmoon,and came out to sing.
“I. Don’t. Run.”
He lifted one brow. “Really?”
He tilted his head, leaned down without moving his feet, and kissed her.
Open mouth. Tongue. Slick lips. A moan. His or hers?
He sealed the kiss so they had to swap breath or separate, and he knew she wouldn’t give ground. Not now. He canted back over the pool table, forcing her to anchor one hand behind his head or lose the kiss. Lose the fight.
He was an idiot to fight so hard when she didn’t want to be won. But her kiss… Ah, her kiss was like a howl in his heart, and he had to answer.
She levered one knee up onto the felt so her thigh pressed hard against his flank. He gripped the curve of her ass in those tight leggings, feeling the flex of muscle and lush padding. The fringe of her sweater tickled his wrist.
She wrapped her other leg around him, both hands anchored in his hair while she kissed him, hard and desperate, as if she were drowning…
He pulled her snug against him, dry humping like a randy kid. God, he could have held her aloft with the might of his throbbing cock alone if he letthatbeast out.
No longer needing to hold herself, she let her freed hands skim inside of his T-shirt. Her fingers tripped up his abs, and he flexed for her, every muscle tightening. She rubbed his nipples, and he jerked against her, which made her rub him again, harder. Then she pinched, and he gasped, pulling the air from her lungs.
If he wasn’t careful, she was going to make him come in his jeans.
He hitched her higher on his belly, taking the strain off his denim-bound erection. Down through the opening between their bodies, she wedged one hand into his waistband. His cock, already surging upward, rose to meet her questing fingers as she popped the first button of his fly.
She slicked her thumb over the first bead of cum at the same time she pinched his nipple again, sending an electric jolt through his groin.
She palmed him, sliding the ring of her thumb and forefinger over the blunted head of his shaft. He threw back his head in anticipation of that first delicious stroke…
That didn’t come.
He opened his eyes to find her all but crouched over him, eyes glittering, both her knees on the pool table, him bent over nearly backward.
“I don’t run,” she repeated.
“You better not.” The threat sounded a little breathless in his own ears. “Not now.”
Still she lingered, holding him—literally—on the edge.
Footsteps scraped in the gravel outside, and a quartet of voices rose. In another second, the door would swing open.
And here he was, almost flat on his back, surrendering in his own bar.
He heaved upright, dumping Merrilee off his lap while he hastened to stuff his stiffy back behind the buttons.
She landed easily, the long hem of her sweater settling around her as if nothing had happened.
But she gave him a triumphant look. “So having people know about us…”
He growled low in his throat. The sound was a little ragged and lost in the thump of the door swinging wide to admit Orson and his cronies.
“I’m telling you,” Orson was saying. “Imps are only the first sign.”
