Taming the Beast

“You’re hot,” she whispered, easing her thighs apart to allow his roaming hand access.

“You warmed me.”

“I should see what time it is.”

“Perhaps you should.”

More kisses. He nudged down the collar of her blouse and sweater and tickled her shoulder with his stubble.

“Will you let me?” she asked.

“I believe I’m quite busy right now. Perhaps you should try later.”

“Of course.”

“Hmm.” He hooked his thumb beneath the strip of her thong and nudged the fabric aside, working his fingers into her wet core.

Oh my. The whimpering sound she made would have embarrassed her more if it weren’t for Andreas’s own eager growls.

“If you were in my home—in my bed—I might keep you waiting,” he said quietly.

“Hmm?” She clenched tightly around his fingers and he swore. He had wonderfully agile fingers, and he knew how to work them. Spreading. Thrusting. Sweeping.

“I’m not going to last long inside you…if I can even last getting into you in the first place. You might end up being my first spontaneous ejaculation since puberty. Gods, your body—”

“What about my body?”

“I think you know.” He grabbed the elastic of her panties and tugged it down over her hipbone.

She leaned up a bit so he could work them down on the other side as well.

Pressing his hand firmly against her backside, he put his lips to her ear. “Full and round and lovely.”

“Goes with the hips.”

“I like those, too. You’re built like a goddamned Valkyrie.”

“I don’t know about that.” She rolled her shoulders back. “I’m missing the wings.”

“You don’t need them.” He nudged his cock between her legs, sweeping the head along her exposed slit, just to acquaint it with her warmth, her wetness. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Are you…takin

g anything? I don’t have condoms. I don’t generally fuck Fallonites.”

“Neither do I,” she muttered. Apparently, she’d found a kindred spirit in Andreas. “And yes.”

“Thank the gods.” He gripped her hip and pressed his face into her tropically-scented hair, stroking in and out of the grip of her thighs for a few moments. “I’m clean. I had a physical last month.”

“Even if you hadn’t, you’re a werewolf.”

He stilled.

“What?” she asked, and felt him shake his head.

“I suppose I’d allowed myself to forget just that quickly, but you hadn’t.” He tried to roll away, but she slung her top leg over his and opened up for him. She wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. She wanted his sex, wanted to be owned by that male thing between his legs.

Wanted to, quite simply, be fucked.

“Werewolves don’t carry STDs,” she said. “Their immune systems are too aggressive. I read that in a couple of those books I sent to the Afótama.”