Taming the Beast

“Oh? What was happening in your dream?”

He didn’t answer.

She wondered if he had gone back to sleep, but he disabused her of that notion when she reached for her tote again.

He pulled her against him, her back to his very protruding front, and her breath hitched.

“Does that give you some idea?” he whispered.

Gods, yes.

The man was shameless, and she didn’t really mind so much anymore. In fact, she liked the idea that she drew the attention of the town kook. She liked that he was different and that he had his own ideas. He wasn’t a man who moved with currents.

In fact, he was moving against her, and she’d never before wanted to be fucked so much.

“Um.” Tote all but forgotten, she dragged her tongue across her dry lips and tried to control her breathing. “You said you’d behave.”

“I am. I can’t control biology. I can’t help what you do to me.”

“Me?”

“Of course, you. Are you not laying here against me, all curves and soft skin? Your hair…” He drew in a ragged breath as his fingertips skated down her forearm. “Your hair smells like a tropical cocktail.”

“So, I’m to blame?” She’d wanted to scold, but there was no heat in her voice. It’d been a long time since she’d been pressed so intimately against a gorgeous male, and though Andreas may have been a wolf, he was no monster.

She was done with monsters.

“I dreamed of raising your skirt in the back,” he whispered huskily. “The hose…they’re not really all that durable, are they? In my dream, I tore a hole in them. I nudged your panties to the side and entered you. You were so wet.”

She was so wet.

She rubbed her thighs together and peered again toward her tote. Responsibilities called.

But why do I always have to be responsible?

Approval wasn’t something she sought anymore in manners of love and lust. Opinions of her peers and so-called friends didn’t matter. Even if she hadn’t been planning to hightail it out of Fallon at her earliest convenience, she would have taken what she needed from Andreas. She had to start living life and letting herself have things again.

“I like your panties,” he said low, working that hole into her hose. She didn’t stop him.

“Why?” she asked in a rasp.

His fingers were on her hip, working lower. “Because I like lavender.”

“That’s a color that looks good on me.”

“So you want to keep them? Your panties?” As his fingers danced down her thigh, they also inched up the fabric of her skirt.

She swallowed. “Yes.”

“I’ll do my best to preserve them.” He leaned, then, and his soft, full lips were at her ear, her cheek, her jaw. “In my home, I have quite a large bed. I could imagine you sprawling in the middle, like some conquered princess waiting to accept her fate.”

“I tend to do a little more than just accept. I tackle every task with the enthusiasm it deserves.”

“Hmm.”

Although the blanket was still pulled over them, the basement was quite cool, and she could feel the draft enter, chilling her ass and her wet thighs.

But he was warm. So warm.