How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship, #1)(51)

He tilted his head and she saw the wolf in his eyes.

“Run,” he said.

So she did.

She didn’t get very far, but she wasn’t trying to actually escape. She did pretend. She struggled, feeling herself swell and ache and yearn, even as she writhed against him. It was exhilarating and maddening because she wanted so much more.

He managed to grab hold of her easily enough, then swept her up and dumped her into the bed – their bed. He loomed over her, captured her wrists in one big hand, and held her down with the comfort of his weight.

And took her.

And kept her.

And gave her everything she yearned for – love and living and fulfillment.

She wrapped herself around him, legs and arms in coils, nails scoring down his back as she struggled still to reach something more, something glorious.

He gave her that, too.

A second heartbeat, she thought, his heartbeat, as the pleasure crashed over her.

There was nothing of ice in him then; he melted atop her – liquid, boneless, and prone – entirely hers.

When she grumbled about his weight, he huffed against her neck, where he was nestled, and flipped them both so she was draped over him.

She imagined walking with a white wolf along the tops of the white cliffs of Dover. She imagined the fur against her hand, the ocean scenting the air, and those ice-blue eyes looking up at her.

She looked down into them now, pale-lashed and fathomless, and so very warm.