Page 5 of Moonlight's Mate
With one hand, much stronger than the breeze and almost as hot as the slumbering sun, he swept the hair from the back of her neck. He leaned down to bite her nape as his free hand came around her to cup her breast. He rolled the peak between his thumb and finger, drawing a moan from her trapped halfway between a sigh and a howl.
“Ah, hell, babe, you run and I can’t stop myself from chasing.” His murmur against her skin was cool on her dampened flesh as he kissed a line across her carotid, raising a shiver from her.
“Chase?” Ignoring the endearment—she wasn’t that much younger than he was—she tilted her head to give him more access to her throat. “I had to practically drag you out here by the scruff of your neck.”
“By the neck of my shirt.”
“Your scruffy shirt.”
“It’s a classic.”
She groaned again, not in pleasure this time. “We should’ve stayed in the verita luna so I wouldn’t have to hear this again.”
“Let’s,” he quickly agreed.
But she turned in his arms, deliberately brushing her belly across his rampant cock. They’d never come together under the moon in wereling form. It was…too animalistic.
Too true,a voice in her head accused.
She ignored the voice by taking Beck in her hand. He bucked, golden eyes widening at her aggression.
It always shocked him when she took the initiative so quickly. Which was why they could never be truly together.
She was Alpha. He was Alpha. Worse than fire and water, they were fire and fire, which was great for the sex, but would burn both their worlds to the ground.
She pulled herself up to her tiptoes and still had to drag him down to her kiss with one hand fisted in his unruly curls. What was a thick ruff in his wereling form was almost as wild now and a perfect hand hold. Their tongues tangled, and the flames in her imagination licked higher with each kiss deep as the night sky.
He growled into her mouth. “You taste like my brew. Like me.”
She growled back, wordlessly, a caution at his presumption. Then she stroked him, a deft circling of his cock and a delicate caress of his tight sac that brought him to his knees.
For a moment, she admired him there, with his shaggy head at her navel. He tongued her, dipping his fingers into his mouth before brushing over her slit. With a gasp, she followed him down. Dominance was all well and good, but it had been a long week in New York.
He tried to spread the T-shirt behind her, but she rolled him so that he was underneath her and sat up straddling his thighs. Okay, so maybe dominancewasgood.
His cock surged between them, a pearl of fluid glinting in the moonlight. She took him in her hand and gave him another stroke. He bowed his hips up, lifting her easily, the long muscles of his thighs flexing under her. To stop herself from falling, she flattened her other hand across his broad chest, sifting her fingers through the patch of fur that was only a reminder of his wereling self. Under the scars, his abs tightened as his breath caught, and he stared up at her with darkening eyes.
“What do you want?” she murmured, one word for each stroke.
“You.”
He always made it sound so simple. Alarmingly so.
This once, she wanted it to be that. “Then have me.”
When he rolled her, somehow he managed to center her perfectly—terrifyingly perfectly—right on the T-shirt to protect her from the prickling grass. He loomed above her, silhouetted against the bright moon for a moment before he dipped his head to kiss her.
“You make this so hard,” he said.
“I make you hard.”
“That too.”
“Now.” She raised her hips toward his.
“No.” He kissed his way down her throat, as leisurely as the moon tracking across the sky to the swell of her breast. She clutched at him impatiently and he chuckled. “You’re not in the city anymore. You’re on country time now. We do things the old-fashioned way.”
“Damn the old ways,” she muttered.
