PLAY OF PASSION

A slow smile spread across his face, the wolf continuing to glow in his eyes, but amused now in the most sensual of ways. “No, I don’t think so.” Taking her mouth before she could snap at him for that adorably arrogant statement, he began to move in her.

She’d enjoyed the hell out of their first ride, expected hard, rough strokes again; he was a young (younger!) male and finesse wasn’t exactly a strong point at that age. Except this was Drew—unpredictable, wild Drew. His strokes were long and slow and deep this time, and her claws were digging into his shoulders by the fourth, her body undulating beneath his.

He closed his teeth over her lower lip in playful reprimand. “You’re not lying still.” One hand cupped her breast, fingers tugging at the taut peak of her nipple.

Inhaling a gasping breath, she opened her eyes to fire a retort … and saw the wolf looking down at her. “Hello,” she whispered.

His answer was to kiss her, his tongue pushing inside her mouth in audacious demand, his body strong and beautiful above her as he drove her stroke by slow stroke to another shimmering peak. This time, she held him as he shattered, his body going taut above her.

When he collapsed on top of her, she nuzzled him close, one leg wrapped around him, the other raised at the knee by his side. It felt sinfully luxurious to lie here so very, very sated with a man who made her body sing … and who apparently, she thought, licking her tongue over a few of the claw marks on his shoulders, had no trouble with the fact that she got more than a little wild during sex.

To be honest—her grin was wide and bright—it would be pretty much impossible to be too wild with a lover as unrestrained and as enthusiastic as Drew. Rubbing her cheek against the side of his head, she ran her fingers through his hair, massaging his nape.

Stirring a little, he relaxed even more heavily on top of her.

And with that much muscle, he was heavy. But she wasn’t made of glass—and there was something to be said for being covered by the hot blanket of a sated male wolf. Smile curving her mouth, she tugged the top of the sleeping bag over him so he wouldn’t freeze, and then she continued to pet him, this wolf who’d made every one of her preconceptions come crashing down around her ankles.

Now … now they’d see what the future held.

They changed positions when he muttered he was “squashing her” and moved to tuck her by his side, one hand spread across her abdomen. Curling her body into his, she went to sleep, well pleasured, warm, and certain the area was safe. Her wolf wasn’t ready to give up full protection of her body, her self, to him—might never be ready to give that up to any man—but it was content enough with his skill and strength to close its eyes and let sleep sweep them both under.

She woke to find her nose snuggled into the crook of a male shoulder. There was no disorientation, no moment of wondering who he was—his scent was too familiar, too welcome. Allowing herself an uncharacteristic moment of laziness, she stroked her hand down his chest. He was asleep, his arms locked around her—no doubt about it, it was a possessive hold. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that, but being with a dominant predatory changeling male required some adjustments.

Adjustments.

She thought of her aunt, Adria, thought, too, of the adjustments Adria made daily, and felt her muscles begin to lock. No, she whispered inside her mind, no. Hawke was right—she wasn’t Adria. She’d kick Drew’s ass out the door the instant he pulled shit like Martin pulled with Adria.

Not that she could imagine that kind of passive-aggressive behavior from Drew. For all his sneakiness, he wasn’t subtle enough for that type of hostility, she thought with open affection. No, he was more likely to yell at her, and if that didn’t work—now that they were intimate—strip her naked and try to win by drowning her in pleasure. Those kinds of dominance games, she understood and welcomed.

Cheered up by the realization, she pressed a kiss to the part of him closest to her mouth. He stirred but didn’t rouse. Dropping another kiss on his skin, she pushed gently at him. He made a rumbling sound in his chest, the vibrations causing her nipples to tingle, pressed as they were against his muscular form, but he didn’t let go. She bit him on the jaw. “I need to get up.” When he still didn’t move, she pushed harder.

Grumbling, he loosened his hold enough that she was able to wiggle free. He immediately sprawled over the space she’d vacated, his face on its side, hair all rumpled. She couldn’t help it. She reached over and nuzzled a kiss into the warm curve of his neck. Another grumble. “Not a morning person,” she said, nipping provokingly at his ear—that got her a sleepy snarl. “I never knew that.” It was a half-wondering statement. She’d thought she’d known everything about him, but she hadn’t known this.

Startled, she kissed him one more time before trying to find a T-shirt. She finally located the one she’d been wearing the night before hanging over the limb of a tree branch. How it had gotten that far up, she had no idea. Standing on tiptoe, she’d just snagged it when she heard an appreciative wolf whistle.