My eyelids fluttering closed, I gasped.
Never had anyone—fuck, anythingin my entire life—felt so right.
So. Right.
He lowered his chest to mine and whispered in my ear, over and over again, loud enough for only me to hear, while he thrust deliciously in and out of me.
“I love you. I love you. I love you, my dream girl.”
I almost came from his declarations alone.
17
Well, I’ll Be Damned, Time to Play
Their Game and Fucking Win It
Hours later, when it was nearing lunchtime, hand in hand, Griffin and I strode into the treehouse, with Bobo on our heels. Hunt, Brady, and Layla were inside and looked up at our entrance.
The voice of a breathy narrator drifted from Layla’s iPhone, filling the space.
“…stole her breath. His waist-long, ebony hair curved around his face like the velvet curtains of the local theater, framing the striking beauty of his visage. His skin was smooth, pale alabaster, as light and alluring as the face of a full moon, the same one that controlled Rafael. Much as she’d been by Rafael, Hanita was enraptured by Guillaume. Never had…”
“Oh my God, Lay,” Brady griped from where he sat on the floor, surrounded by metal parts, his box of tools, and what appeared to be a small engine he was in the process of building. For what, I didn’t know. It wasn’t large or powerful enough for any of our Mustangs.
“Shut that shit off, already,” he said loudly enough to be heard over the audiobook.
Layla was bent over her sketchbook at the table, mischief dancing across her face. She tucked some hair punctuated with colorful feathers behind her ear, smudging a streak of charcoal along her cheek.
“Don’t even pretend you aren’t loving it, Brade, ’cause I won’t believe you.”
“…his hair tickled the pert, pink rosebuds of her nipples, striking a chord of ecstasy deep within her sex. She gazed upon his bareness, drinking in the vision, dragging her hungry perusal down his physique until it swept across the engorged shaft of his manhood.”
I chuckled, released Griffin’s hand, and sauntered over to the couch, plopping down beside Hunt, whose face was buried between the covers of a large tome. He appeared engrossed and entirely unbothered by the background noise.
Bobo’s claws clicked across the floor. He jumped onto the couch, claiming the open spot between Hunt and me. Hunt’s hand automatically dropped to Bobo’s back to pet him. Griffin sank into the open space between me and the armrest, leaning his body against me.
The heat of his body and his closeness only fueled our afterglow. I rested my head on his shoulder and waited for the twins to finish. It was often easier and faster that way.
With a long-suffering droop of his eyes and mouth, Brady looked at me and Griffin. “She’s been tormenting us the entire time.”
“…his arousal glistened enticingly along the head of his sex, a bead of moisture she wanted to drown in…”
I laughed. “It doesn’t sound that bad to me.”
“That’s ’cause you just got some. She claims it’s not erotica—”
“It’s not!” Layla interjected. “It’s paranormal fantasy. Sure, it’s spicy, maybe even smutty, you judger. But it’s not erotica. I’d know.”
“I’m sure you would,” Brady muttered with a shake of his head as he tightened a bolt before setting down his wrench.
“Hey,” Layla complained, speaking over the narrator, whose voice was only getting breathier as the scene heated up more. “There’s nothing wrong with reading about sex, you prude.”
Though I agreed, I knew Layla well enough to believe she’d chosen this particular book to torture Brady, just as he claimed. Tormenting him was her catnip.
Brady shook his head some more as he rose, wiping his hands on a rag. “Don’t be ridiculous. As if I could ever be a prude… I just don’t wanna have to hear about some wolf shifter going down onHaaaa-ni-taaah.” He punctuated the female main character’s name not only with the frilly pronunciation, but also with a head wag.
“Guillaume isn’t a wolf shifter,” Layla corrected. “That was Rafael. Guillaume is a vamp. And a superhot one.”
