Page 86 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
Whilst snatching his glasses out of my hand, he silenced me the only effective way he’d discovered so far: by pressing his mouth to mine.
He claimed me again, deeper, hungrier this time. The hand in my hair tightened, sending delicious tingles across my scalp, a pleasure that bordered on pain. But I needed more, needed to taste him again.
I nipped at his bottom lip, drawing a startled gasp from him before diving back in, invading his mouth with desperate strokes, chasing away the last remnants of toothpaste to find what I truly wanted—that taste of summer rain, of something wild that called to me on a level I couldn’t explain. My whimper of approval vibrated between us as I pressed closer, craving more and more. All that mattered was getting closer, tasting deeper, drowning in him.
The idea that Maxwell was kissing me, actuallykissing me, was so absurd, so impossible that it spun me even dizzier. Maxwell hating me made sense. Maxwell kissing me? That was madness.
But his hands on my skin felt real. The heat of his mouth against mine felt real. The racing of my heart felt real.
Raindrops-lemongrass-Maxwell.
The scent that had guided me through the dark forest. The scent I’d followed back to safety. The scent that had become a beacon, a north star in my wolf form.
Raindrops-lemongrass-Maxwell.
Wait. No. Not quite that.
Raindrops-lemongrass-mine.
That’s what I’d called him.Mine.
Panic shot through me like ice water. I broke the kiss, shoving against him. Though his hand remained on my hip, he shuffled back, his eyes opening, confusion swirling in their depths.
Mine. My wolf had claimed him. Without my permission, without my conscious thought.
“Wait, wait, wait, but… what are we doing?” I gasped, my hand flat against his chest, his heartbeat thundering beneath my palm, echoing in my ears like a drum. My head spun, a dizzy cocktail of desire and confusion.
Maxwell’s eyes blazed as he stared down at me, his breath coming in short bursts. “Getting this out of our system,” he rasped.
This? What was “this?” The tension that had been building between us since that night at Meridian? The undeniable pull I felt toward him despite the fact he hated me?
“But… you’re straight. You’re totally straight. So straight.”
Maxwell’s gaze dropped deliberately to where my rather erect cock had tented the blanket. “If you say so,” he murmured, one eyebrow arched in challenge.
A mad urge to cover myself with my hands surged through me, but before I could move, Maxwell’s hands slid down my back and grabbed my ass through the blanket, kneading firmly with both hands. I gasped at the possessive touch, my knees nearly buckling.
In one smooth movement, he twisted me around so that he was against the wall, then settled his thigh between my legs—his very large, very muscular thigh—and pulled me toward him. The pressure against my achingerection sent sparks shooting through me, drawing an embarrassing whimper from my throat.
“Go on,” he whispered against my ear, his hands still gripping my ass, guiding my body in a deliciously slow grind against his thigh. “Show me how straight I am.”
Stunned wordless, my mouth did the only thing it could—latched onto Maxwell’s once again.
Our kiss was all-consuming. Each brush of Maxwell’s tongue against mine had heat flushing through my veins like liquid fire, turning my blood to molten lava.
Desperate, needy whimpers slipped out of me, and he responded with a groan that vibrated through his chest and into mine, his hands tightening their grip on my ass as he pulled me harder against his thigh.
“Fuck,” I gasped against his lips, the hands tangled in his shirt gripping tightly.
Maxwell growled and yanked my head back by my hair, exposing my throat. The sharp sting against my scalp sent a jolt of pleasure straight to my dick. His other hand slid up my back, carefully avoiding my injured shoulder—a fleeting moment of tenderness in the midst of our frenzy that somehow made everything hotter.
“You like that?” he murmured against my neck, tangling his fingers deep in my riot of curls.
Fuck, yes, pull harder. I love it when—
He tugged again, harder this time, and I couldn’t stop the raspy moan that escaped me. His lips curved into a smile against my skin. My hips bucked against his thigh, seeking more friction, more pressure, more of everything.This damned blanket—
And a second later it was gone, Maxwell having whipped it off the second I’d had the thought. The cool air hit my overheated skin, but I barely noticed, too consumed by the blissful friction of Maxwell’s jeans against my bare cock.
