Page 42 of Howlin’ For You

As my body tries to recover, my lust never dims. I watch as he caresses my skin, grounding me to him. But I need more.

“Nick,” I whisper, voice hoarse. “Take me upstairs.”

His crystal blue eyes meet mine from between my legs, beard damp and nostrils flared. “You want more?”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your knot ever since you told me about it,” I admit, tugging at him until he leans over me. “I want you to split me open.”

His smirk is devilish, sending a fresh wave of wetness between my thighs. I’ve never been so turned on in my life. “My woman is insatiable. I can’t wait to hear you beg.”

With that, I’m lifted over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry as he turns toward the stairs.

My woman.

The second time he’s said it tonight, and it’s overwhelmingly right. I should be kind of weirded out, I think, but I’m so desperately into it.

I want him to claim me. I want to be his.

The muscles in his back shift as we walk upstairs and down the hallway toward what I hope to God is his bedroom. I expect him to throw me on the bed and have his wicked way with me, but he’s careful as he leads me back down to my feet.

“You have ten seconds to get that dress off or I’m ripping it,” he says, blue eyes flashing with promise. As much as I want to watch him rip it, I actually love this dress, so I scramble to obey. It falls to the ground in a gentle whoosh of fabric, my nipples pebbling in the cool of the room.

“So sensitive to every little change.” He steps to me, shirtless, and I lose focus.

I knew Nick was built like some sort of Greek god, but I honestly had no idea that he was so well-defined. He looks like something out of an airbrushed magazine.

His broad chest tapers down to a trim waist, eight-pack abs rippling down to an Adonis belt, pointing straight to the one place I want to be.

His chest has a light dusting of hair, but he’s less hairy than I thought he would be, considering he’s a werewolf.

He takes my hand and lifts it to his heart, shivering when my skin makes contact. “I can’t describe how good it feels when you touch me.”

“And I haven’t even gotten my hands where I want them.”

With that, I’m pulled into a hard kiss, a passionate thing that careens me right back to the trembling mess I was downstairs.

“Get on the bed,” he growls.

Yes. Sir.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

NICK

Ican still taste Izzy’s release on my lips—melted cinnamon, vanilla, and nutmeg—spicy and sweet.

Just like Izzy herself.

She was magnificent as she took her pleasure. A queen. A goddess I want to worship.

Izzy follows my instruction, taking her time to lie on her back against the pillows and stretch for me.

“Good girl,” I say. I can’t help but praise her.

Her whole body erupts in goosebumps as she rubs her thighs together. The thighs I’ve spent all night marking. Already, little red bruises bloom on her skin.

They’ll be even brighter tomorrow.

I eye her neck as she waits for me, specifically the spot right where her neck meets her shoulder. The spot I’ll bite when she accepts our bond.