Wolf Bargain (Wolfish 3)

Maybe there will be berries or herbs out here in the forest that they will test my senses with, but that thought is wiped away as quickly as I think it.

The boys clearly have another taste in mind.

In the instant that I stay looking at Rory, just a split second after the word “taste” has left my lips, he leans forward and kisses me. I fall a bit backward as my body turns around inadvertently to face him and he catches me in his arms. In one swift movement, he brings me up to hold against his chest.

His tongue pushes into my mouth and even though every time that I had ever kissed Rory before was an exhilarating temptation; this time it is so much more.

I’ve felt the heat growing between us for days, ever since the night of the wedding. I just hadn’t paid as much attention to it until now. Now … now … it’s overwhelming.

I wouldn’t be able to put this feeling into words if someone asked me to. I can barely piece it together in my own mind, drowning as I am in the pleasure of it. It’s as though I can taste the longing on his tongue and the passion on his lips.

I can taste the very matter that makes up his soul and rests on the tip of his tongue to share with me.

If I had thought the scents were overwhelming; this is completely consuming. I could stay here in this spot kissing him, and tasting him, until the night comes and goes and comes again.

But Marlowe doesn’t seem too keen on letting that happen. Not, at least, without claiming his share. He bumps purposefully into Rory to knock him off-balance and break up our kiss, his arms reaching to replace his brothers’.

Rory makes a small growling noise at him under his breath. Sometimes it’s

hard to tell whether they’re bantering or being seriously jealous with each other.

“I think she gets the point,” Marlowe says with a snort.

I laugh. He’s not wrong. I did definitely get the point.

“What about touch?” I ask, hardly able to catch my own breath. I find myself staring at Marlowe’s lips, tracing the shape of them. I want to taste them too.

And not just his lips.

My eyes drop to the tip of his sharp jaw, the slope of his shoulders, his well-formed torso … and then drop lower. My hand reaches towards the top of his pants, absentmindedly biting my bottom lip as I hook one finger through his belt loop.

“I want to feel you,” I say in a breathy whisper.

It’s as if, all of a sudden, all the noises of the forest have ceased.

All the rest of the world disappears. It is only me, Marlowe, Rory, and Kaleb now.

We’ve been married for nearly a week, but I’ve barely touched them. They’ve barely touched me. Out of respect for the turning, we’re supposed to wait.

I know we have to wait, but … but wait how long?

The three of them exchange glances that I can immediately read. I don’t know if it’s my human nature or the fact that I’m turning, but there is no mistaking the look in their eyes.

I stare back at them as I wait to see what they’re going to do.

“We can’t,” Rory says, thought I can tell it pains him. “She hasn’t finished turning yet.”

“And?” Kaleb says. “We’re already married, and the transformation has already begun. How do you know we can’t yet?”

His hand reaches out to me, stopping just before the back of one finger brushes against the exposed flesh of my shoulder. It hovers there, torturously so, so that I can sense him without actually feeling him.

“He’s kind of right,” Marlowe says, to all of our surprise. He’s not looking at his brothers, he’s looking at me. There’s a hunger in his eyes. “There’s nothing in the rules that says we can’t be together in the middle of the transformation.”

His eyes glow brighter for a second. “It only says we can’t before.”

Rory’s jaw works as he considers this.

“There are things that we’re supposed to do and things that we’re not really supposed to do. Some of the things are actual rules and others are more of, well, suggestions,” he says. After a second, his eyes start to glow a bit too, and they drop to rest on mine. “As far as mating is concerned … I suppose there’s nothing explicitly wrong with it happening after the turning’s begun. The virgin’s blood has already been spilled.”