Page 61 of Bound to the Wolf
She took a few steps toward the love seat, or at least where she thought it was, but misjudged and tripped over the arm, splaying herself all over Reece’s lap.
His hand came down on her back like a brand. She stayed in place for several beats, soaking up the heat of it, trying to lie to herself about how much she enjoyed it. Still half-sprawled over his lap, she turned towards the table and held her hand out, feeling for the candle.
“What are you—” Reece started, but she found the wick with her fingertip and sent the tiniest, most infinitesimal little spark of magic at it.
The spark jumped from her index finger with a faint crackle, no bigger than the head of a match, and the wick caught with a tiny hiss and a curl of smoke. She was thankful when it litwithout exploding in anyone’s faces. Her magic was feeling more stable, but there were still strange flashes of wrongness, like there had been in the woods earlier.
The scent of juniper breeze, whatever a juniper breeze was, wafted up from the candle. The flame was barely enough to light up the outline of the table, let alone reach her and Reece.
“I guess you don’t need the lighter,” Reece said.
Delainey sat up and found herself straddling his lap. The candle from this angle gave a little more light.
His face was half lit and half in darkness, hair looking more black than red. She felt the solid presence of his thighs beneath her, the flex of muscle as he strained to keep her there. His hand had gone to her hip on instinct to steady her, not that she needed the help, and she had one hand on the back of the couch, keeping their chests barely a finger-width apart.
Every time she breathed, her breasts brushed against his chest. She couldn’t stop looking at him.
She needed to stand up. Staying here was a terrible idea. The worst possible idea in the world. It would complicate things beyond measure.
But Delainey’s body was already on fire, and she had been fighting this for too long. She was only one woman.
She leaned in and kissed him.
Reece groaned into the kiss and cradled her face, clutching her clothes, fingers brushing into her hair. He devoured her with his mouth, tongue sweeping in like a conquering hero. She swiped hers against his, savoring the taste of him.
She pulled her shirt over her head and threw it back.
Reece’s hands were on her immediately, sliding up the bare skin of her sides, and Delainey decided that thinking was overrated. Thinking had gotten her kidnapped, magically shackled to a werewolf, and stuck in a cottage in the woods.
Thinking could take the night off.
His palms were rough against her ribs, callused from years of work and fighting and god knew what else werewolves did with their hands. She could feel every ridge and groove of them as they mapped the curve of her waist and slid up to the band of her bra.
He fumbled with the clasp and she almost laughed—he literally had night vision—but then it gave way and his hands cupped her bare breasts, thumbs dragging over her nipples, and the almost-laugh became a sharp inhale that she couldn’t take back.
His skin was fever-hot. She’d known that from sleeping next to him, from every accidental brush of contact over the past week, but this was different.
His heat sank into her everywhere they touched, soaking through her like she’d stepped into a bath. She ran her hands up his arms and felt the dense muscle under his skin, the coarse hair on his forearms, the cords of his shoulders bunching under her fingers as he pulled her closer.
“Bedroom,” she said against his mouth. He tasted like the beer he’d had earlier and something wild underneath.
He stood with her still wrapped around him, hands gripping her thighs, and carried her through the doorway.
The shift in position pressed her core against the hard ridge of him through his sweats, and she sucked in a breath at the friction. He laid her down and followed, and the mattress dipped under his weight, tilting her toward him.
The bedroom was almost pitch black without the candle they’d abandoned, but there was just enough light that she could make out the planes of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lips were swollen from kissing her.
He pulled his own shirt over his head, and she let her hands find what her eyes couldn’t fully see. The broad slab of his chest, the sparse hair between his pectorals that was coarser than thehair on his head. The ridged landscape of his stomach, muscles twitching under her fingertips as she traced them lower. A scar on his left side, raised and smooth, that she followed from his ribs to his hip.
His skin was taut and hot everywhere she touched, like touching sun-warmed stone.
She tugged at his waistband, and he kicked the sweats off. She hooked her thumbs into her own shorts and underwear and shoved them down, and he helped drag them the rest of the way off her ankles, his fingers trailing fire along her calves as he did.
Then they were bare against each other and the full shock of skin on skin made her dizzy.
His chest hair rasped against her breasts. His thighs were thick and hard between hers, covered in the same coarse hair, and the weight of his cock pressed hot against her hip, thick and insistent. Delainey could feel him pulse against her skin.
Every point of contact between their bodies felt amplified, like her nerve endings had multiplied overnight.
