Page 43 of Just a Friend for the Lion

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And I don’t mean casual, might-get-interrupted-alone.

I mean her and me. No one else. Nothing between us. No distractions. No distance. No damn excuses.

Just the two of us.

Together.

Mine.

This house is old. Older than any place I’ve ever been. Wards hum in the walls like distant thunder, quiet and protective.

There’s a charge in the air—magic, time, memory—but nothing that matters more than the scent of her.

There are no footsteps echoing on the creaky stairs. No voices rising up the corridor. No other Shifters, witches, or meddling matchmakers lingering nearby.

No one to stop me.

No one to stop us.

Just my sweet Kitten.

MJ with her wild curls, kiss-bruised lips, and a dress that’s about five seconds from being torn in half.

With her flushed cheeks and that look in her eyes—the one that says I’m yours even if she hasn’t figured it out yet.

My mate.

And, fuck me sideways, the sheer need roaring through my blood has me walking a razor’s edge.

My Lion is barely restrained, stalking beneath my skin, demanding to claim her.

Mark her. Bite her. Own her.

Make her ours.

But I hold the line.

Barely.

I kiss her because it’s the only thing keeping me sane. Because if I say how badly I need her, how long I’ve waited, I’ll scare heroff.

If I show her what I feel, it’ll be too much too soon.

So I just keep kissing her.

Hard. Deep. Slow.

Like I’m drowning, and she’s the only oxygen left on earth.

She gasps against my mouth, and I take that as an invitation. My tongue slides against hers, claiming, coaxing, tasting.

She’s so warm, so sweet, her lips parting wider, her hands fisting in my shirt as she whimpers into the kiss.

My hands are on her hips. No—her firm, plump ass.

Then her back.

I can’t keep still. I need to touch her everywhere.

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