Page 77 of The Patron Saint of Timber Hollow

"Well then,hypothetically,I would turn you around, press your pretty face against the hood of the Jeep and fuck you, Tiny."

"Just like that?" She asks, in that light, almost breathless tone.

"Mhm," I hum, then add, "Unless you have a better idea." I don't let her answer, though, needing to kiss her before I explode.

She meets my kiss, tilting her head back and opening her mouth to suck on my tongue. The sound that leaves my throat when I pull away could only be described as wolfish. The low grumble of satisfaction came more from my beast than my throat.

"What if I wanna kiss you again, Cinnamon?" Artemis hums, nimbly tucking her fingers down the front of my jeans, cool fingertips just barely brushing the base of my throbbing cock.

"W-" I stumble when she pushes her hand down my pants more fully, grabbing onto me and running her thumb over the head of my cock. "Well then, I guess I'd just have to pick you up right here, wrap these thighs around my hips. I'd make due," I croon, bending to kiss her neck. The pulse at her throat jumps with the contact, but I have to stop because I can see a family walking out of the nearby library that shares this parking lot.

Stepping away from Artemis, I give the approaching family with the small children singing the ABCs in high-pitched squeals my back while I struggle to contain myself.

If it hadn't been for them, I'm not sure I would have been able to resist sinking into Artemis, capturing her moans with my mouth. Taking her quickly, roughly, for the fifth time today.

When I offer my hand to Artemis to lead her into the store, I can't help but laugh a little, and she smirks in return, lacing her fingers with mine.

I'm going to have to find somewhere to pull over and fuck her again before I have to share her with Jay. Leave her dripping with me before he gets his hands on her. Already, I'm planning a different route for the drive home after getting pizzas.

"Do you need anything other than the steaks here?" Artemis asks as we walk towards the entrance, tongue still running alongthe points of her teeth—an almost unconscious motion. My wolf paces in my mind, watching, waiting for his turn.

"Yeah, a few herbs and some butter," I reply, opening the door to the market for her.

Artemis hums in response, slipping through the door and grabbing one of the little green shopping baskets. "Lead the way, Cinnamon."

The smile on her face makes my heart race, and my wolf watches her from the depths of my mind, observing her every move—her every breath.

With a nod, I direct her to the right, down the produce aisle to where the herbs are stored.

Artemis

I follow Saint around the little market carrying the green shopping basket, the cold metal biting into my hands. He smiles and waves at almost everyone here, blonde curls bouncing with every step he takes down the aisles.

Saint carefully chooses his items, making sure the herbs are good-colored. Holding them to his nose, he inhales the aromas before depositing them in the basket. Sprigs of fresh rosemary and thyme are bundled nearly in a bit of twine, the scent so powerful I can smell them without putting them up to my nose. Alongside the herbs, Saint also grabs a handful of garlic bulbs, fresh butter, milk, and a few blocks of farm-fresh cheese.

On my way past the display, I snagged a bag of spicy cheese curds and put them in the basket for a ride-home snack.

Then again, the way Saint's hoodie rides up every time he leans to grab an ingredient makes me want to devourhimon the way home.

"I'm no chef, Saint, but to my knowledge, steaks don't need cream and cheese to be made," I comment when he places yet another block of cheese in the basket.

"That is correct, Tiny." He replies, shooting me that goofy grin again.

"So, what are you making?" I press, accepting a container of heavy cream.

"How do we feel about homemade mac and cheese?" Saint asks, taking the now nearly full basket from my hands.

"I feel fucking amazing about it, Cinnamon." I immediately reply, mouth already watering.

"Perfect," Saint replies, smiling at me.

"What's the special occasion?" I ask, grabbing the steaks he points to in the butcher's aisle.

"Who said there was?"

"Well…" I start, keeping stride with him as we meander around the market. "My mom never really went through the trouble of making a homemade Mac unless there was a reason for it." I shrug, depositing a few kiwi fruits into the basket as we pass.

This is how I'd fed myself on the road. Wandering around a store and picking out a handful of items that spiked my appetite. The fact that Saint enjoys cooking will never get old to me.