Cry Wolf (Wolves of Angels Rest #7)(25)

He played her to the edge of orgasm, the rush of blood in his ears deafening him to everything except her panting, the plush curves of her inner thighs blinding him to everything except her pleasure.

When she jackknifed around him with a strangled cry, he shoved his hands under her ass to hold her up to his seeking tongue until he’d wrung every last quiver of delight from her nerves.

He’d just started to lower her back to the bed when she grabbed his shoulders and yanked him up.

She kissed him furiously, with a sharp click of teeth—his lower lip was in the way and took a bit of damage—and needy tangle of tongues, until all he tasted was the tang of blood and wine and her.

She guided his pulsing cock to her core.

“Condom,” he gasped.

“I have an IUD.”

He thought instantly of the improvised explosive devices he’d dealt with for years overseas and realized she was as dangerous to him in her own way. And he to her. But the wet heat of her body called to his, and he couldn’t resist her any more than he could turn his back on the mission against the Kingdom Guard.

He sank into her depths unsheathed and groaned at the even more intimate connection as her silky inner muscles closed around him. Bare, exposed, unprotected. His heart slammed in his chest, and his cock pounded almost as heavily. He couldn’t walk away after this.

But he had to.

The fury that gripped him tightened every muscle in his body, including his dick. Willow cried out again as she climaxed, and the spasms milked his own release. He plunged up between her thighs, rooted deep, shivering against her as he came apart, drenching her inside.

He settled beside her, facing her and still connected, his cock stubbornly refusing to hear the message that they’d finished.

“Willow,” he murmured.

She hushed him. “You don’t have to say anything.”

How did she know him so well? Nothing he could say would truly explain. He’d just be dancing around the truth.

And not just about werewolves, either.

She wrapped one leg behind his, holding him close. “You’ll be as safe as you can be, right?”

He kissed her forehead. “Always. You’re the one who liked jumping into rivers in the middle of the night.”

“You were right behind me.”

He’d always been chasing her, it seemed. And now that he’d caught her, he had to let her go.

That truth withered his cock and he eased away from her. She clung for a moment, then straightened her leg with a sigh and an almost imperceptible wince.

He smoothed one hand down her arm. “I was too rough.”

“No. Just right.” Her gaze flashed up to him. “I’ll be thinking of you tomorrow.”

If she thought hearing that made it easier for him to go, she was so, so wrong.

But he sat up and reached for his clothes, scattered around the van.

She too straightened, pulling the blanket up around her breasts, and he recognized the gesture for what it was: an attempt to regain some of the layers of protection they’d set aside in the heat of the moment.

“Will you call me?” The words burst from her a little too quickly, and he wasn’t sure if she really wanted him to, or if she just thought it was the right thing to ask. She continued, “Just so I know you’re okay.”

And if he wasn’t okay? Or if he was, what would he say next: I’m okay, but you’re halfway to becoming a werewolf. Would you like to learn about a secret world that will blow apart everything you’ve ever believed in and go through a transformation that will take away everything you’ve ever known? So we can have more wild sex?

He didn’t have the right to ask that of her. Maybe he could’ve hoped to make little country girl Wendy his forever mate, but country star Willow Raleigh was beyond his touch.

His hesitation had gone on too long. She pulled the blanket a little higher, wrapping the folds tighter around her curves, cutting off his view. As if she was already disappearing from his life.

However much of that he might have left.

It was for the best. He knew that.

And it still hurt like hell.

He stuffed his barely softened penis behind the fly of his jeans and zipped up with a violent jerk. Served him right if he caught himself in the teeth. He’d been careless enough to pull it out in the first place.

And now he was caught in the teeth of wanting her.

The wolf in him twisted restlessly, not understanding his dilemma. They had chosen—or so it felt—and while they would willingly fight for their kind, they would fight too for her.

But the wolf was a simple beast, and he’d learned long ago that life was not simple, not for wolf or man.

Autumn night surrounded the van when he slid open the door. It was like emerging into another world, cold and dark, and he wanted to dive back inside their warm nest. Inside her.

Instead, he braced himself in the doorway and stepped down. But he couldn’t resist a look back this time.

Willow watched him, her lower lip reddened from his kisses and slightly off-center so he knew she was biting the inside.

What was she not saying? He didn’t have the right to ask.

He raised his fingers gripping the door frame—part goodbye wave, part forcing himself to let go of the van.

She jerked her chin in acknowledgment.

When he pulled the door closed, the heavy metal clanged like a lockup. Or a lockout. Not for her, but for himself.