Page 55 of The Werewolf’s Study Date

The silence in the room is deafening. You could hear a pin drop on the rug.

I stare down at the massive, stubborn, beautiful werewolf kneeling at my feet, holding my hand like it’s the most precious thing in the universe.

“You are an absolute asshole,” I choke out through a breathless, tearful laugh, wiping my face with my sleeve. “Doing this in front of thirty-six members of your terrifying extended family so I can’t even yell at you for making me ugly-cry.”

Boone lets out a ragged, hopeful laugh. “Is that a yes, Pope?”

“Yes,” I say, leaning down and throwing my arms around his neck. “Yes, obviously. A thousand times yes.”

The house erupts.

Thirty-six people erupt into roaring cheers, table thumping, and deafening wolf howls that rattle the timber beams overhead.

Boone stands, lifting me completely out of my chair and spinning me in a tight circle while his mouth crashes into mine in a fierce, breathless kiss. When he sets me down, his hands shake as he slides Margaret’s sapphire onto my left ring finger. It fits perfectly.

Linda throws herself into our arms, sobbing openly and crushing both of us in a lavender-scented bear hug. Thomas claps Boone on the back hard enough to rattle his rib cage, his broad face split into a massive, proud grin. Cousins swarm the table, popping champagne bottles, while Caleb howls at the ceiling from the kitchen doorway.

It is absolute, glorious chaos.

It’s nearly midnight by the time the last car pulls away and the house falls quiet.

Boone closes his bedroom door. The heavy brass lock clicks. He turns around.

The room is dark except for moonlight pouring through the dormer windows. It catches the sapphire on my left hand and throws a small blue flash across the quilt.

I stand near the foot of the bed in one of his oversized flannels, watching him. He doesn’t speak. He just looks at me like the party is finally over and I am the only thing left in the world that matters.

He crosses the floor in three long strides. His hands come up and cradle my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones, and he kisses me slow. Not hungry. Not rushed. Like he has all night and he plans to use every second of it.

He walks me back until my legs hit the mattress and I sit. He stays standing for a moment, looking down at me, then drops to his knees between my feet.

“Let me,” he says.

He unbuttons the flannel one button at a time. Each one gets a kiss. The hollow of my throat. The top of my breast. The soft skin over my ribs. When the shirt slides off my shoulders, he gathers it in his hands and sets it aside like it matters. Then his mouth is on me again, open and warm, moving over every inch he uncovers.

I thread my fingers into his hair. “Boone.”

“I know.” His voice is rough. Quiet. “I just need to look at you.”

He strips the rest away with the same care. No yanking. No hurry. When I am bare, he sits back on his heels and takes me in, moonlight on my skin, the ring flashing every time my hand shifts.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he says. “I kept thinking that all night. Every time someone pulled you away to talk. Every time I caught that ring on your hand. Mine. You’re mine.”

I catch his wrist before he can stand. “My turn.”

His brow furrows. “Maisie.”

“I want to.” I slide off the bed and go to my knees on the rug in front of him. My hands find his belt. “Let me love you like this first.”

He swallows hard. His fingers thread into my hair, not pushing, just holding. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.” I look up at him while I work his clothes open. “I want to.”

He is already hard when I free him. Thick. Heavy. Hot against my palm. I wrap my hand around him and stroke once, slow, watching his face change. Then I lean in and kiss the head of his cock like I kissed his mouth. Soft. Sure.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

I take him onto my tongue and sink down as far as I can. He tastes like heat and salt and him. I hollow my cheeks and pull back, then take him again, slower, using my hand where my mouth cannot reach. His thighs lock. The hand in my hair trembles.