Page 18 of The Werewolf’s Study Date

“Good,” he murmurs. “Come here.”

I don’t hesitate. I reach out and fist my hands into the front of his flannel jacket, pulling him down.

He meets me halfway.

The first press of his mouth is soft, careful, giving me room to back out. But I don’t want room. I part my lips with a quiet sigh, and the second I do, a low, rumbling sound vibrates through Boone’s chest.

His hand slides from my knee straight up to my waist, his long fingers gripping tight through my sweater as he pulls me flush against him.

Holy shit.

He kisses me like he’s been starving for it. Deep, firm, and thoroughly devastating. My brain completely short-circuits. All the anxiety about my grades, my scholarship, my entire life—it all dissolves into the heat of his mouth and the cedar-and-warm-spice scent of his skin.

Before I can process what’s happening, Boone shifts. His hands lock onto my hips, and he lifts me effortlessly off the bench and directly onto his lap.

I gasp against his mouth. I’m straddling his thighs now, my knees bracketing either side of his hips, looking down at him in the dim light. I can feel the solid, heavy ridge of his erection pressing right against my center through our jeans—hard and unmistakable.

“Boone,” I breathe, my pulse jumping hard.

“I’ve got you,” he growls softly, his hands sliding up under my jacket. His palms are scorching where they press flat against the cotton of my sweater, right over my ribs. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Since when?”

“Since the second you walked up to my table in the library, sweetheart.”

His mouth crashes back into mine, hungrier this time. His tongue sweeps past my lips, tangling with mine, and I thread both hands through his thick hair, tugging him closer. His wolf is right beneath the surface—I can feel it in the heavy vibration in his chest, the possessive grip of his fingers bruising slightly against my waist.

His hands slip beneath the hem of my sweater, his rough, warm palms making direct contact with bare skin. I arch into him with a sharp, needy sound, shivering at the contrast—the cold October air against his burning touch.

“Fuck, Maisie,” he groans against my throat, his lips trailing down to the sensitive skin right below my ear. He sucks a mark into my collarbone, and my hips jerk forward involuntarily against his lap.

The friction tears a groan from him—harsh and ragged, something snapping loose inside.

His hands slide around to cup my breasts through my shirt, palms firm against the fabric of my bra. He thumbs my nipples, and a broken whimper escapes my throat.

"You like that?" His voice comes out thick and rough.

"Yes," I pant, letting my head fall back. "Boone, please..."

"Please what?" He pulls back just enough to look up at me. In the dark, his eyes have gone completely, strikingly gold—irises glowing with raw shifter heat. "Tell me."

"Don't hold back." The words come out breathless, wrecked. "You're always trying so hard to be careful with me. Be a little bit of an animal about it."

Boone's pupils blow wide until the gold is just a thin ring of fire. His grip on my hips tightens to the edge of pain, anchoring me hard against his erection.

"You keep grinding on me like that, Maisie, and I'm gonna strip your pants off right here in the leaves, bend you over this bench, and fuck you until you can't walk straight."

The words rip out of him—dark, filthy, entirely feral.

The clearing goes dead silent except for our ragged breathing.

Boone freezes. His jaw locks, chest heaving, and the gold in his eyes flickers as his human brain catches up to what his wolf just snarled out loud. His throat bobs with a hard swallow, color flooding up his neck.

"Shit," he mutters, voice dropping into horrified mortification. "I'm—Maisie, I'm sorry. That was too much. I didn't mean to⁠—"

"Don't you dare apologize." I cut him off, voice shaking with equal parts shock and pure, molten arousal. A slow, wicked grin spreads across my face as I stare down at him. "Holy shit, Kinkaid. Is that what's going on in that polite head of yours?"

Boone lets out a ragged, strained laugh, burying his face in the crook of my neck. "You're killing me. You're actually going to kill me."