Page 109 of Saddle and Scent
"You said it was just flirting," I manage to whisper, though my voice comes out shaky and breathless.
Wes lifts his head slowly, and when his eyes meet mine in the harsh fluorescent light, there's no more pretense left. No more careful distance or professional composure. Just raw, unfiltered desire burning so bright it's almost painful to look at.
"I lied," he says simply. "I've been fantasizing about you since the day you set foot back in this town. Since the moment I caught your scent on that first morning when I brought you breakfast."
My thighs clench involuntarily at his admission.
Because the heat in his voice, the absolute honesty of it, goes straight to every nerve ending I possess.
"You want to know what I think about every time I see you in this clinic?" he continues, his voice dropping to that dangerous whisper that makes my skin feel too tight. "Every time you smile at me or laugh at my jokes or just exist in the same space as me?"
I should say no.
I should maintain some dignity, some sense of self-preservation.
Instead, I nod, mesmerized by the intensity in his eyes.
"I think about lifting you onto my examination table and peeling those tight jeans down your legs inch by inch," he says, each word precise and devastating. "I think about spreading you open and tasting every drop of slick until you're begging me to stop. I think about sliding into your perfect little cunt so slowly you cry my name."
A strangled sound escapes my throat—part whimper, part moan.
Because his words are painting vivid pictures in my mind that make my entire body throb with want.
"I think about fucking you so thoroughly that every Alpha in this town knows exactly who you belong to," he continues, his voice getting rougher, more possessive. "So the next time some kid apprentice asks if you're single, the answer is crystal fucking clear."
"Wes—" I start, but whatever I was going to say is cut off by a sharp knock on the door.
We both freeze like we've been caught doing something illegal.
Which, technically, we kind of have been.
"Uh—Dr. Carter?" comes a young voice from the hallway. "We've got two more checkups scheduled in the main kennel. You said to remind you when Mrs. Henderson arrived with her dogs?"
Wes pulls away from me like he's been burned, running a hand through his hair and taking several deep breaths. The professional mask slides back into place, but I can see the frustrated desire still burning in his eyes.
"Give me five minutes," he calls back, his voice admirably steady considering what we were just discussing.
His eyes find mine again, searching.
"You okay?" he asks quietly.
Am I okay?
I'm standing in a veterinary clinic washroom, soaked in my own arousal after listening to the most explicit fantasy anyone has ever shared with me, feeling like every nerve ending in my body has been set on fire.
But I nod anyway.
"I should go," I whisper, already backing toward the door. "You have patients waiting."
"I'll drive you home," he offers immediately, taking a step forward like he's going to follow me.
I shake my head quickly. "No, you have work. I'm fine. Really."
I'm not fine.
I'm the opposite of fine.
But I also can't handle being in a confined space with him right now when my self-control is hanging by the thinnest possible thread.
