Wolf Song (Wolf Song Trilogy #1)(8)

“Maybe hotter and wetter. I need to cool off here before I can leave.” Beneath dark lashes, her eyes lifted to his, slanting a bold glance in his direction. “I think of you. But you never come.” She swallowed, as if the words of her confession clunked in her mouth, chunks of broken concrete she was determined to spit out and release. “Why today?”

“Why?” he repeated as if he’d suddenly had a lobotomy. And lost his vocabulary along with his mind. Her scent tantalized him, hypnotized him. Her gentle curves, the soft glow of her skin, the whole package melted what remained of his brain. He couldn’t tear his hot gaze from her. But she didn’t attempt to cover herself. The way he’d refused to hide his colossal hard-on when he shifted back to human form after they raced beneath the full moon. As if they knew each other too well for such false modesty. Maybe they did. But he wanted to know her better. In the full human biblical sense of the word. And every other way under the universe.

Why? The answer came to him suddenly, nearly blinding him. His wolf had known. Because it’s time.

He kicked off his sneaks and surged toward the lake. Plunged, splashing into the water, disturbing the placid surface. A great roaring beast who’d slipped its tether.

She stumbled, taking a surprised step back before standing her ground, and he realized she’d always only watched him from afar, even if his shirtlessness made her “hot” and “wet.” Jesus. The thought alone nearly killed him. He imagined parting her legs with his hands, testing her heat with his fingers until she writhed. Replacing his fingers with his mouth. Sucking her moisture. Tonguing the button of sensation at her core. Inhaling her essence. Tasting her.

Fuck. He needed to be inside her. Like he’d needed nothing before ever in his life.

She reddened as he neared her, as if she hadn’t expected him to come so close. As if she thought he would just continue to hail her from the bank. A chattering whassup from one totally bare-assed friend to another half-naked friend. As if he regularly greeted her as she bathed in his lake in her human form and he’d seen her in her hell yeah holy shit altogether glory many times before. As if he could continue to engage in a little cocktail party hi-hello-how-are-ya without approaching her. Without touching her. Without pouncing on her. As…if….

As if either he or his beast would be A-okay with that.

Yeah. Uh-uh. That’d be a hell no. No. More. Fuckin’. Words.

But the sounds coming from his throat didn’t form words. More like something between a growl and a groan. His wet jeans gripped his swelling cock like a vise and he unsnapped the top button, slid down the zipper to free himself. His erection sprang up. And out. No worries about shrinkage. No amount of cool lake water would deflate that throbbing girder.

She gasped, even though he knew she’d seen him before, his length, his thickness, his state of sexual stimulation, as he lay on his back, chest heaving, recovering from the sensual effects of the moon. Although, to be fair, she’d probably never seen him exhibiting this raw degree of pulsing need.

Nearly shaking, he struggled for control, for dominance, battling the wolf. He was not an animal. No moon glowed, gripping him with compulsion. The afternoon sun shone bright. She wasn’t prey to be stalked. She was a female to be caressed and stroked. Despite his hot fantasies, no way would he grab her and toss her onto her belly. No way would he jack her to her knees and slam into her like a rabid beast.

“I—just want to touch you,” he managed at last. “I won’t hurt you. Promise. I won’t do anything you don’t—”

“Okay.” Her voice, so soft, so sweet. Like when she sang to him. A musical lilt, a calming cadence. Cutting across his blather. Unclouding his mind. He stared into trusting eyes. Dark hazel. A dense forest green ringed by a thin border of lush brown, flecks of gold lightening the irises. Yeah. Summer. The fullness of the season, of August—warm and serene. Before the first crisp snap and crackle of fall.

“Okay?” Apparently he’d been lobotomized again. Struck f*ckin’ dumb. The wolf mocked his inaction, pacing faster, whining and growling, claws out and prickling his skin.

She stepped into him, as if as impatient with his stupidity as his beast. He realized how petite she was, how much smaller than he, her bones fragile, birdlike. This close he loomed like a great bull in a delicate china shop.

“I’ve waited for you a long time, Brick,” she said. “I want you to touch me.”

He seized her by her narrow shoulders, and forced his hands to gentle, to slide down her slick sides until he held her around the waist. A waist so tiny he could span it with his hands. The scent of her arousal clobbered him, the muskiness of sex overwhelming her more intricate and subtle fragrance. “Can I kiss you?”

“I think you’d better.” Her voice came out strong, as if she were consciously imposing an iron will to sound more forceful. To meet him. To match him. To stand with him on equal footing. But the words wavered a little at the end, her breathing uneven. She couldn’t quite hide her excitement, either, it seemed. She arrowed another glance up at him through a fringe of dark lashes. “Don’t you?”

He drew her toward him and she lurched into the circle of his arms. He pulled her into him. Closer. Tighter. His body hard. Rigid. Surrounding her. Her bare breasts smashed against his naked chest. Her legs jammed between his denimed thighs. He could wedge one hand between them and stroke her until she orgasmed and went limp. Or palm one of those rose-tipped tits. He didn’t think she’d stop him.