Page 17 of Hellhounds Never Lie

Slowly, as if to let me have the chance to stop this, Dillon lifted his huge hand to bridge the small gap between our bodies. No way was I stopping him. I wanted this. Wanted him. And that was such a novelty.

My reaction to Dillon had happened so fast… It was crazy. The smart thing would be to slow things down, but every part of me rejected that idea.

I hadn't really wanted anyone in so long, I’d begun to wonder if more than my magic had been damaged by my past mistakes. But I didn’t have to wonder about that anymore. Every part of me was surging to life.

Tonight, I wanted nothing more than to revel in this man and this moment.

I didn’t want to think about the future. Or the past.

Maybe this was just some life-affirming reaction to being chased down the road by the damn wolves, but I wanted to grab on to this man tonight. I wanted to experience joy and pleasure and the wonder of having a bone melting orgasm with another person. Dillon wouldn't disappoint, I knew that like I knew my own name.

I was already panting when Dillon's massive hand slid around my neck and cupped the back of my head. I hummed at how warm and good it felt. Then I lurched forward, throwing my body against the hard mass of Dillon's muscled one. The hellhound didn't even sway under the force of the impact.

"Want you," I whispered. I eagerly rubbed against his hot body—and yes, he was both literally and figuratively hot.

Then Dillon's mouth met mine in a crush of lips, the clack of teeth, and the wet heat of dueling tongues.

Yes. This. More.

I broke the kiss long enough to pull my sweater off and toss it to the floor, but I kept my T-shirt on. I couldn’t take it off. Not yet. But I would. Later. In the dark. Maybe.

When Dillon lifted me, putting those big strong hands under my ass and hoisting me up until our faces were level with one another, I squeaked in surprise. Fuck yeah. Being manhandled was hot. I wrapped my arms and legs around the larger man, loving the way my hardening cock rubbed against Dillon's bulge.

Then my back was pressed against the wall. The surface was cool through the thin fabric of my T-shirt, a sharp contrast to the heat of Dillon’s body pressed against mine. I shivered. Or maybe it was the way Dillon rolled his hips that was making me tremble.

"Fuck.” I groaned the word against his lips before ripping my mouth away. “I'm going to come in my pants if you keep doing that."

Dillon huffed out a soft laugh as he mouthed the side of my neck and did that thing with his hips again. My whole body burned and ached and felt so damn good. If I didn't know better, I’d almost think my magic was coming to life, that’s how good Dillon was making me feel. I wanted to laugh at how insanely happy that made me. Maybe there was hope. And maybe Dillon was responsible for that hope.

"Bedroom," I demanded. "Now."

"Yes, sir," Dillon said.

He was probably teasing, but those words amped my arousal to another level. I hadn't even known I could be so turned on without having my dick touched.

Dillon's long thick fingers squeezed my ass again as he lifted me away from the wall and carried me to my bed. I offered a quick thank you to my earlier self from three years ago who'd picked out the king-sized bed and another to my earlier self of this morning who'd changed the sheets.

When we arrived at the side of the bed, I expected Dillon to toss me on the bed, but he didn't. He lowered me to the mattress with gentle care and I didn't know what to do with that. I hated being coddled. My mother and brother had smothered me with care after my magic had been assaulted. But Dillon didn't know about that. That wasn't why he was being gentle and careful. It was almost like he thought I was precious.

But I wasn't breakable, and I refused to be treated like I was. I was a survivor, and I could take whatever I was dealt. Even in bed.

I nipped at Dillon's bottom lip and bit down until I tasted blood.

Dillon shuddered against me. And then the big guy was moving, pushing clothes aside. His large warm hands slid under the hem of my shirt.

I froze.

Then Dillon froze too.

I looked down. Shit. My hands were wrapped around his forearm so tightly I’d probably cut off the blood to his hand. But I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t let him under my shirt. I didn’t want him to touch those scars or see them. Either of those things sounded horrible.

My heart pounded.

He sniffed the air and winced at what I imagined was a whole lot of fear in the air. Dillon moved to pull away, but I couldn’t let go of him. I didn’t want him to leave. I just didn’t want him to touch me.

I was so fucked up.

Dillon rolled off me to lie beside me on the bed. He didn’t try to extricate his arm from my hold. I pulled his hand out of my shirt but even then I didn’t let go of him. It was weird, right, to hold on to someone’s arm like this? I half wanted to pull his large hand to my body and curl around it like it was a teddy bear. I didn’t. We stayed like that for several long minutes as my heart slowly calmed. Dillon didn’t speak, like he understood I needed a minute to get control before I could do anything else.