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“I think Saul might have something to say about it,” his voice rumbles as he opens the door.
If any icy resistance had built up in me during the car ride, it melts gloriously at the sight of my man.
My man.
He stands there in a suit of pale blue, a winter alpha wreathed in the fabric of his jacket, his muscles engorged, swollen, freaking ginormous-looking. He strides forward and then before I know it, he’s caught me and our lips are pressed together frantically.
I gasp and drag my fingernails through his hair, my sex wet right away, my womb continuing its war-drum pounding inside of me. She yells at me to forgo the date and instead just leap on him, wrap my legs around him, and then …
Oh, God, we’re doing it, somehow.
My legs are wrapped around him and he’s holding me up, the brick of the house cool against my back as we inhale each other. His growling sounds through the closeness of our kiss, his hands tight and rough on my ass cheeks, massaging, maddening.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Sparkplug,” he growls, pausing the kiss so that we can stare intensely into each other’s eyes. “You’re goddamn magic.”
“Magic?” I giggle.
“Yeah,” he smirks. “Because I don’t remember how we got here.”
“But now that you’re here …”
“It feels fucking perfect,” he finishes for me.
As he places me down – taking an exaggerated step back that makes me laugh – I almost tell him about my half-hope that Fiona already knows and is condoning our relationship.
But then he’d ask why I think that, and I’d have to reply that she made some nebulous comments.
Then what?
What do those comments even mean, exactly?
I’d have to face the blunt truth that she doesn’t know and when she finds out—
“Hey, Sparkplug,” he says, touching my chin and guiding my gaze to his. “Today is about us. Let tomorrow take care of itself.”
I lash my hand out and wrap it around his wrist, sinking into the moment, unable not to.
“Maybe I was just thinking that we still need to choose a nickname for you,” I sass.
His smirk widens, eyes flaring. “Is that so?” he growls. “And what did you have in mind?”
“Um,” I murmur, realizing I haven’t thought of one yet. “Flame?”
“What?” he chuckles. “Why Flame?”
“Because you always melt me up inside,” I say, silly tears springing to my eyes. “Every time I tell myself that I can make myself all icy, that I can build up any kind of resistance to you, you melt it, Saul. You melt it all away.”
He leans forward and kisses away my tears, warmth upon warmth. “Oh, Sadie,” he moans. “What the fuck would I do without you? Come on, let’s get inside. I want to show you something.”
“Okay,” I say and I can’t resist adding, “Flame.”
He grins and interlaces his fingers with mine, leading me over the threshold. Jasper turns and darts outside, going on one of his solo adventures.
I move my free hand through Saul’s dark steel peppered hair as we walk, righting it from where my lustful hands swept it back.
Our eyes lock and his expression seems to say so much, a volume that’s only audible to me.
It’s such a casual, relationship-style gesture. It’s the sort of gesture that should feel just plain wrong after so short a time.
And yet as we stare at each other, we both know it’s right.
“You’re going to make an incredible mother,” he says as he leads me up the double staircase and down the hallway toward my room.
“Why do you say that?” I murmur.
“Because it’s true, Sparkplug.”
“Okay, Flame,” I fire. “But what brought this on?”
“Just the way you looked right then, so curvy and perfect, with so much goddamn humanity in your eyes I could roar. You’re the most caring person I’ve ever met.”
“Nah uh,” I tease. “I’ll have you know I’m a secret devil, actually.”
“There’s only one place I want you to be a devil,” he snarls. “And that’s when you’re bent over for me, that pink pussy glistening, those thick thighs pressed together and those round ass cheeks just waiting to be spanked into submission.”
I can’t help but whimper.
In a sudden savage move of pleasure, he takes my shoulders and shoves me up against the wall.
“In fact,” he snarls, “I think my perfect sexy queen deserves a little treat before she sees her gift.”
“My gift?” I whisper, as his hand strokes down my side, over my hip, and then down my thigh and up between my legs.
“Yes,” he says, face so close to mine, breath taunting. “All queens deserve gifts once in a while, don’t they? But first, you have to do something for me.”
“Anything,” I gasp, as his indomitable hand presses against the mound of my sex through my pants.
I move my hand toward his crotch, but he catches it with his free hand and pins it lightly against the wall.
