She didn’t answer—because right now all she could offer up would be a lie.
THIRTY-ONE
Munro struggled to control his lust, which had been brewing since his mate had brought him to the razor’s edge of release mere hours ago.
He could tell she was new to this kind of kissing, but that only filled him with a savage satisfaction. He had untold experience, and she was hot-blooded; he would have her panting after him—
She lapped at his tongue, and experienced Munro nearly came in his trews!
When he stroked her tight nipples, she gave a cry into their kiss and arched for more.
Fiery mate! His control burned away, as if scorched under the hot sun. He swept her up in his arms and started for the bedroom upstairs. As they ascended the steps, he leaned down and grazed his lips over her neck.
A flashback of his turning bite arose, but he shook away the memory. A kiss in the dip between her collarbones made her head tilt back. He took that as an invitation, sucking on her fluttering pulse point.
She shivered in his arms. “Yes.”
Against her damp skin, he said, “My fangs ache whenever you make me jealous and whenever I need inside you. They always ache.”
In the firelit bedroom, he set her on the bed, following her down. When they lay side by side, he took her mouth again, picturing all the things he was about to do to her.
Learn her curves. Taste her wetness. Plunder. Claim.
No. Canna take her. No’ yet. But he could give her pleasure.
As their tongues tangled, she clutched his hips and rocked her own to rub her mons against his sensitive cock.
With a groan, Munro cupped her breasts, soft mounds that molded to his hands. His Instinct warned about his delicate mate, but his body demanded ever more of her. As did his beast. It scented how wet she’d grown and howled inside to lap up her nectar. Begone, creature! This is all mine tonight.
When Munro plucked at her nipples, she whipped her hips, threatening to bring him off! Her passion convinced him that she didn’t love her husband. Unless she was simply too overwhelmed by everything.
Overwhelmed.
Damn it! Munro needed to pull back. But how? Wasn’t like he’d waited nine hundred years for this. Could he possibly return from the razor’s edge yet again?
Aye. He brushed his mouth to hers a last time. A shudder of loss racked him as he drew back.
They spoke at the same time:
“I canna do this.”
“I can’t do this.”
Her cherry-hued lips were kiss-swollen. She licked the bottom one as if she wanted another taste of him.
His shaft was so hard he feared he’d spontaneously come. Lick those lips again, female. Bring me off.
She murmured, “I feel like I’m in a stranger’s body. Little control over myself.”
He managed a nod. “Same.”
“I’m stronger than this.”
Focused on her lips, he muttered, “I fucking am no’.” He briefly closed his eyes, then met her gaze. “I will be. I am. Kereny, I will be whatever you need.” He forced himself to stand, wincing in pain. “I can wait till you’re more comfortable, more rested.” I can! Eyes off her sweet mouth, Munro. Ignore your throbbing dick. “This is no’ the time for us. But it’s coming. Fate canna be stopped.”
With the last bit of his restraint, he left the room and closed the door behind him. He collected the flask of whiskey that Loa had packed for him—a magical one, never to empty—and strode out to the terrace. A picturesque Transylvanian countryside greeted him.
Swigging whiskey and sucking in gulps of cool night air did little to tame his arousal. Never had he felt such need, as if he would’ve plumbed the depths of madness before he ever reached the heights of release. His female was so bloody perfect for him, with an innate sensuality just begging to be explored.
When he heard her crawl under the covers, he would’ve permanently given his right arm to join her there.
His new phone pinged, drawing his attention. Old messages and texts continued to populate in a random patchwork of data.
An email from the House of Witches had arrived, announcing the completed spell around Glenrial. The email had a terms-of-service contract attached. A five-hundred-page contract that he’d need to read.
Just then, a dinosaur’s roar sounded, alerting him to a text from his ward Rónan.
Rónan: Missing for weeks and you don’t head home? No. Cause you’re out honeymooning with your married time-traveling mate.
The whole pack must have heard the story. Wanting to know more about how the lads were doing—and to get details about Will and Chloe—he dialed Rónan’s number. The lad didn’t pick up.
Teenagers.
Munro texted: Emergency. We’ll be back asap.
Rónan: What if she doesn’t like us? I mean, I’m amazing, but Ben . . .
They both were a handful in their own ways. Typical of his age, Rónan was moody and rebellious, and Ben was painfully shy with a hair-trigger beast.