Page 265 of Immune

“Tiny Terror, if you even dare start fishing for praise right now, I will give you way too much of it,” I warn, even though I’m not really sure that can be considered a warning.

“Good,” she breathes.

“Dangerous word.”

Her thumb strokes over the head of me, spreading the wetness there, and every thought I have suddenly turns to smoke. It takes a whole lot of effort, but I manage to catch her wrist gently before my knees do something embarrassing.

“My turn,” I say.

She opens her mouth, but I kiss her before whatever insult she was about to sling at me leaves her mouth, tugging her shirt up. This time, she lets it come off. Then the underlayer. And then there she is in the low light, pale patches of skin scattered over olive skin, scars and bruises and strength, every inch of her telling a tale of a survivor.

I breathe out harshly before rasping, “You’re wildly distracting.”

“That all you got?” she asks, her mouth twitching now.

“No,” I answer. “But I’m trying not to scare you away with the whole list.”

“Chicken.”

“Damn straight.”

That makes her smile. A real one. Small, but fucking real, and I can’t help but lower my mouth to her throat. Not against the claiming spot. Not yet. I kiss below her jaw as I lead her to the bed, laying her down before reaching her collarbone, then the slope of her breast.

Her breath catches when my tongue circles her nipple, and I draw it into my mouth, sucking gently at first and then harder when her hand fists in my hair.

“There?” I murmur.

“Yeah,” she breathes.

I do it again, and she arches toward me, wild honey flooding the room so strongly my Alpha almost climbs right out of my skin. I move lower with my hands on her hips, tasting her skin, her stomach, and every shaky breath she lets me have.

When I reach the waistband of her trousers, I look up. “Can I?”

Her face flushes beautifully as she answers, “Yeah.”

I strip her slowly, because rushing feels like letting panic win. Trousers down. Underwear after. And then my mouth goes completely dry at the sight of her, slick and swollen and trembling.

Dakota’s knees press together despite her injury, and I catch one gently. “No hiding from me now.”

“I’m naked.”

“I did notice, yeah,” I tell her. “I’m doing pretty well with it, too.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m being so brave right now.”

“You’re an idiot,” she breathes, less bite and more heat in her words.

“You’re not wrong,” I tell her, and she laughs once, shaky and embarrassed.

Good. That’s better.

I kiss the inside of her knee, then higher along her thigh. She goes still and whispers, “Ewan.”

I pause. “Too much?”

“No,” she says, her fingers curling into the sheet. “Just... talk.”