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Hot breath ghosts over my spine, followed by a rough tongue as Owen licks up my back to the base of my neck, where sharp teeth clamp against my nape.
The slight shock of pain combines with the pleasure driving through my body, and I clutch the comforter tighter, my thoughts turning fuzzy.
Owen releases my neck to lean forward, his body covering mine, his panting breath hot against my ear.
Rough hands cover the backs of mine, and when I open my eyes, I see shadowed fur and claws instead of pale skin. Moaning, I lace our fingers together, pinned beneath Owen’s weight and at his mercy.
His body moves over mine with powerful surges, the slap of joining flesh mixing with my moans and his growls. Then his hips shove against mine, the tip of his cock pressed against my womb, and pressure builds inside me as his knot swells, testing the limits of my body to hold him.
I cry out, release crashing through me, and clutch his hands tighter. The swelling continues, my inner muscles burning, and just when I think I can’t take anymore, his cock pulses inside me, flooding my channel with hot cum.
Another rush of pleasure sweeps over me, then pulls me under, and the room blacks out. Or maybe that’s just Owen’s curse, wrapping around me, joining us together as intimately as Owen’s body joins with mine.
I float in darkness, my racing pulse slowing, my ears filled with the sound of Owen’s ragged breaths, in a state of semi-consciousness. A heart beats heavily against my back, like a drum that echoes through my ribcage, powerful and alive.
“What’s with you guys covering my eyes today?” I grumble.
Owen’s soft chuckle vibrates through me. “My werewolf likes you.”
I reach out a hand and darkness tickles against my skin. “I like your werewolf, too.”
Owen’s arms tighten around me. “It will settle down soon. Probably by the time our bodies unlock.”
At the reminder, my inner muscles clench around the knot buried inside me.
Owen groans. “Stop that or it won’t go down.”
I peer over my shoulder, sensing him without seeing him. “Is that a bad thing?”
His quiet growl fills the room, and a warm hand cups my breast. “It is if we want to shower and change the sheets.”
“Overrated,” I gasp.
Warm lips nuzzle the back of my neck. “You’re exciting my werewolf.”
“Good.” I wiggle my hips against him, and the darkness thickens.
But this is a darkness I don’t mind staying inside for a while longer.
SHORT CIRCUIT
Owen’s quiet breathing fills the room when the smoke that surrounds us finally dissipates, revealing that night has fallen.
The only light in the room comes from the moon as it peeks through the clouds covering the sky.
A shiver goes through me, and goose bumps rise on my arms and legs. Our combined weight pins down the comforter, which now needs to be replaced. Tears through the old fabric give proof to the times when the werewolf broke through Owen’s restraints, his claws ripping through what I hope isn’t a family heirloom.
The clouds shift, blocking out the moon for a moment before its dim light returns, highlighting the outline of antique furniture in the room and making shadows dance on the walls.
I stretch out my leg, searching the end of the bed for Greyson’s familiar form, but I find it empty. I can’t remember the last time Haut didn’t sleep in here, in one form or another, but it looks like he decided to give us privacy tonight, depriving me of his furry warmth.
Pushing up on my elbow, I peer over Owen’s body toward the closed bedroom door. It had been open the last time I remember, with lights on in the hall.
The room darkens once more, and a light scratching sound comes from near the windows. My pulse leaps, and I twist toward the sound, willing it to stop. I got enough sleep. Why would my mind mess with me now?
A sliver of silver light breaks through the clouds, and I flinch back from the man-shaped patch of darkness near the closet before I realize it’s the shadow of the armoire.
The scratching sound comes again, and my gaze jerks toward the window. For a moment, terror shoots through me when I see an arm with long fingers scratching at the windowsill. Then my mind registers the shape of a branch knocking against the glass. It must have landed on the roof during the storm.
