Page 10 of How I Met My Mate

For a long moment, neither of us moves. Her eyes flick up to mine, and whatever wall she’s been holding up all evening falters.

I reach out, just barely brushing my fingers over hers.

“What are you thinking?” she husks.

“About how good you’re going to taste.”

Her pulse flutters in her throat, quick and uneven, and the scent of her—warm skin, coffee, something faintly wild underneath—hits me like a punch. I can feel my wolf pacing just under the surface, restless and alert, ready to close the distance between us.

“Awfully presumptuous, aren’t you?”

My mouth curls up in a grin. “That’s my middle name.”

Her eyes spark with amusement. “Oh, really? Your mother must not have liked you very much.”

“Nahh, she could just see what was coming.”

We’re grinning at each other now, comfortable. I want this forever, this banter, this closeness, the scent of her tantalizing me.

I reach up, fingers brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. My thumb skims her jaw, and her breath stutters out. The sound goes straight to my chest, to the part of me that’s been waiting for her since before I knew her name.

For a heartbeat, everything stills—her breath, mine, the steady ticking of the clock. Then she leans in, just enough that her knee brushes my thigh.

When our mouths meet again, the kiss deepens—no hesitation, no doubt at all. She tastes like coffee and sweetness and mine.

Her hand slides up my chest, over the steady hammer of my heartbeat, and my control starts to fray. I break the kiss just long enough to rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in.

“Alexis,” I growl, “If you want me to stop tell me now, because I’m just about to lose control.”

She shakes her head once. “Don’t you dare.”

Chapter Six

Alexis

Cole pushes me back on the couch, careful but single-minded, arms braced on either side of me so there’s nowhere for my attention to go except the impossible wideness of his chest, the ache in my lower belly, and the clockwork certainty in his gaze. I let his mouth claim mine, warm and hungry, his tongue leading mine in a silky dance.

He breaks away just enough to speak, his voice hoarse with need: “Last chance, Alexis. Tell me no and I’ll stop.”

I mean, I could say no. I should say no, if I had a single working brain cell left, but my entire body has gone to mutiny and I manage only a whimper, and Cole reads it exactly right. I’m barely still on this plane of existence, floating somewhere blurry and animal and much less anxious than my usual baseline.

He either likes that answer or has decided I’m not getting another chance, because suddenly his hands are everywhere—all at once and still impossibly careful. My shirt was not designed for this kind of situation, but I cared less than nothing as he peeled it away, all but growling at the sight of skin. His mouth mapped a trail down my throat, my collarbone, the soft of my shoulder. A little nip, then a soothing lick, leaving a heat that burned long after his lips left the spot.

He makes a noise, low and appreciative, and hoists me up, rearranging me like I’m weightless, and I feel the sharpest thrill at being handled by someone who could, if he wanted, open me up like a bag of potato chips.

My jeans are next on his to-do list, and it’s an operation that involves a growl of frustration, both hands, and the loudest zipper sound effect known to man. I’m suddenly, spectacularly naked except for my black lace bra.

He kneels, making a tableau out of himself: giant hands braced on either side of my knees, looking at me with something like reverence and hunger in equal parts. “Tell me what you want,” he says, and my first thought is, God, what don’t I want?

But it comes out as, “I want you.”

He rewards that with his mouth on my inner thigh. He trails kisses up, working his way torturously slow, then flicks his tongue along the edge of my underwear and I almost levitate off the couch. That earns a low, rumbling laugh and it’s the most wicked, self-satisfied sound I’ve ever heard. Then he’s peeling the lace down, and murmurs with sincerity that nearly undoes me. “You’re amazing,” he rumbles, and his palm skims a reverent path up my bare thigh, igniting every dormant nerve ending from my toes to my skull.

I clutch at the side of the couch, suddenly aware that I’m trembling, and Cole notices, of course, because nothing sneaks past those wolf senses. He ducks his head and kisses my knee, ridiculously tender, and then does it again, higher up this time, and again until he’s mapped a constellation from kneecap to upper thigh. His breath is hot, his tongue hotter, and when he finally closes his mouth over me I let out a whimper of pure need.

My hips jerk up, shameless. Cole groans the sound of it into my skin, and the vibration drags a moan out of me so loud that I’d have been embarrassed if I had the bandwidth to care. He’s relentless—alternating between slow, savoring licks and messy, needy ones that all but push me past any rational human threshold. He uses his hands to steady my thighs, spreading me wider, and I’m so far gone that I want to thank him for keeping me from floating off into the stratosphere.

Every muscle in me is tight, every thought a stutter, and when he looks up, his pupils are blown black.