This was Kenzie younger, before they’d mated. Shifters aged slowly, but fifteen years could bring a change. Kenzie had borne a child since then, and her breasts were fuller now, but they’d been plenty sweet when she’d come to him in the roadhouse, where she’d been dancing with her friends.
Dancing, letting her ass sway in that tight, short black dress, drawing the eyes of every male Shifter in the place. Bowman’s anger had wound high as he’d watched her being watched. He’d already decided she was his.
She came to him in the dream as she’d done that night in the bar, arms overhead, body undulating slowly to the music. “Hey, Bowman. Come dance with me.”
She’d been slightly drunk, and he’d figured her friends had dared her to flirt with him. Whatever the reason, his cock had flared to life, not that it had been very flaccid while watching her enjoy herself.
“I don’t dance,” Bowman had said in a harsh voice.
Instead of blushing and stammering, as a submissive wolf would, Kenzie only gave him a wide smile. “Too bad. I love it.”
She walked away from him, giving him another smile over her shoulder. Walked away on those long, strong legs and mile-high shoes. The little shit.
Bowman had kept his eyes on her the rest of the night, and when she’d waved her hand in front of her face and told her friends she needed some air, he’d followed her outside.
She’d let out a little yelp as he caught her and pulled her around the corner to the back of the roadhouse. This side faced no parking lot, just weeds and the beginnings of woods.
Bowman had pushed her into the wall, curving over her, one fist planted beside her head to brace himself.
Was she afraid of him? Intimidated? Cowed? No, she said, “Bowman, this is a new dress,” and tried to shove him away.
“You want to dance?” Bowman had said, his voice going guttural. “This is how I dance, Kenzie.”
Kenzie’s irritation had fled, her golden eyes softening. “Yeah?”
Bowman leaned in to her, thrusting his knee between her thighs. “Exactly like this. Do you want to dance with me now?”
Her whispered “Yes” had almost made him lose it. Bowman was very careful about what females he had sex with, and how much he let himself go. He couldn’t afford to drop illegitimate cubs here, there, and everywhere.
With Kenzie, he didn’t care. He wanted her to carry his cub, wanted to put his hand on her abdomen and feel the cub kicking there. Needed it.
How he didn’t have complete sex with her that night, Bowman never knew. He must have had massive self-control, which he seemed to have lost lately.
Very quickly, he had his hands up her skirt, her panties down, her slick heat in his hands. She’d arched against him, the sounds from her mouth uncontrolled, her hips moving against his fingers. Bowman pleasured her with his hand, using one finger, then two, then three. At the same time, she’d fumbled open his jeans, her palm cupping his aching hardness.
They’d pulled at each other, rubbing, sliding, grinding together. Kenzie’s breathless climax had opened up spaces inside Bowman he’d not known were there. Her honey had poured over his hands, her teeth on his earlobe had made him come himself, his seed flowing against her fingers.
“Don’t stop,” she’d moaned. “Please.”
Bowman, shaking, had brought her to pleasure again. Their kisses after that had been hot and savage and, at the same time, needing and loving.
It had taken a long time for both of them to calm down. Then they’d leaned against the wall, side by side, breathing hard, taking in the peace of the night.
They’d cleaned up with paper napkins Bowman had stuffed into his pocket from his fast-food lunch earlier in the day. Kenzie had straightened her clothes and given him a wide smile.
“I gotta go,” she said. “Thanks for the dance.”
“Anytime,” Bowman thought he answered. He watched her walk off, as graceful as ever in those high heels, tossing her napkin into the nearest trash can. She’d gone back into the bar, calm and uninhibited.
Bowman hadn’t been able to keep still. He’d torn his clothes from his burning body, shifted to wolf, and gone for a long, long run.
He wanted to do that now. Then again, he wanted the woman he found in the kitchen, who said, “Hey, Bowman,” and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Want to dance?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Bowman didn’t bother to ask where Ryan had gone. This was a dream—Ryan would be well, and Kenzie and Bowman were alone.
Kenzie kissed his lips, then she took a step back, unzipped the dress, and let it fall, showing him what he’d suspected that night at the roadhouse—she wore nothing underneath but a pair of black lace panties.
This Kenzie was not from his past. She was his Kenzie now. Her body showed new lines, her breasts were rounder, her nipples large and dark.
Her attitude hadn’t changed, though, even after fifteen years of being mated to him. She canted her hip and smiled up into his face. “Now, what about my dance?”