Page 123 of Black Willow Witch
Crew eyed him closely. ‘You don’t think they’re right, do you? That she’d go back to him?’ It was evident by his tone thatheheld no such opinion.
‘No, I don’t. They need to believe that, so they do.’
‘If you’re not worried they’re right, why are you looking so grim?’
‘Because if they’re not prepared to let this go, their next move won’t be to come back here – they know I won’t change my mind.’
‘So they’ll go to her,’ Crew reasoned before spitting out a curse.
‘Yeah. And that I really don’t want.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
As a large, calloused hand snatched one of her nachos, Emberlyn frowned at Ripper. ‘You’restillhungry?’ The dude had just demolished a large platter of chicken wings.
Dunking the nacho into her cheesy dip, he replied, ‘Nope.’
‘Then why . . .’ Emberlyn trailed off with a sigh as he held it up to her mouth.Werewolves and their need to feed those under their care.‘You don’t have to go this far to ensure I eat.’ She bit into the nacho.
‘I know that.’ He dunked what was left of the nacho into the dip and then offered it to her. ‘Humor me.’
She chewed on it, inwardly rolling her eyes.
Satisfaction leaked into his gaze – it was easy to see even in the bar’s dim lighting because he sat so damn close, his thigh pressed against hers beneath the table, his arm slung over the back of her chair in a gesture both protective and possessive. Occasionally, the hand attached to that arm played with her hair or doodled circles on her shoulder.
‘I said bye-bye to my personal space the moment I agreed to “serious”, didn’t I?’
Mirth warmed his eyes. ‘Pretty much, yeah.’ The reply was utterly unapologetic.
Honestly, she wasn’t that bothered by it. Having him swallow up her space this way made her hormones giddy and tipsy. They were all but throwing themselves at him.
A delicious sexual awareness steamed the air, humming with the promise he’d earlier made: ‘When we go back to your place, I’m going to eat your pussy until you beg me to stop.You thinkyou won’t beg. Wrong. You’ll be so wrecked by then you’ll do whatever I want.’
She was honestly curious as to whether he was right. It wouldn’t embarrass her to beg – her pride wasn’t so fragile. And ‘wrecked’ sounded somewhat intriguing.
Hearing a familiar feminine laugh, she looked to where Paisley and Crew were going hell for leather on the dance floor. They both had some serious moves.
Not far from the clan’s brewery restaurant, the bar was very old-timey, comfortable and invitingly lively. The décor was neutral and warm, and wooden veneer paneling adorned the bar’s walls. The upbeat vibe appealed to her magick, and little motes of it dusted her skin.
There were no dress codes or fancy drinks. A wide selection of beers were served, as well as hearty foods. Classic cocktails, various liqueurs and even coffee were also offered.
She and Ripper had picked a circular table that had a good view of the stage, where the live band played. Consisting of werewolves from all three clans, they were pretty good.
The music didn’t override the rest of the noise – the place was far too crowded for that. As such, there was a whole lot of chatter, laughter, clinking of glasses, sizzling of hot food and the cheers or disappointed groans coming from the pool table.
The patrons tonight were all werewolves, and most were from Ripper’s clan. Those not sitting around were amusing themselves using the dartboard, pool table or gambling machines, while others danced to the live music.
Emberlyn had done enough dancing for the evening. Ripper hadn’t at any point joined her on the dance floor. But he’d watched her like a hawk from their table, a dangerous heat flooding his gaze.
Feeling the velvet rasp of his tongue against her throat, she asked, ‘What are you doing?’
‘Your magick is dusting your skin, and I like the taste of it,’ he rumbled. ‘It’s sweet and warm with a distinct tang. Makes me . . . hungry.’
Her belly clenched at the sexual undertone to his words. ‘Maybe don’t lick me too much in public. I’d rather not get wet in a room full of people who have an enhanced sense of smell.’ She carefully picked up her beer, conscious of how it had become slippery from condensation. It was her third drink of the night and, at this point, she was almost as tipsy as her hormones.
Ripper seemed to have a hollow leg. He’d downed beers, a whisky and two tequila shots. Yet, he seemed sober as a judge.
His lips grazed her ear. ‘I never would have guessed you’d order beer.’
